Ensign Revek stepped through the doors of the USS Fresno’s cocktail lounge and immediately stopped dead in his tracks.  The tall and lanky Denobulan ran a bony hand nervously through dark brown hair.  This was not the Mess Hall.  The room featured solid walls to either side of him, although a smattering of decorative trinkets displayed on shelves were hung among various pictures of current and past crew in different group poses, all of the images celebratory and representative of a particular past festive event.  At the end of the room were two large viewports that ran from floor to ceiling.  The bulkhead wall that spanned in between featured an etched Starfleet delta, with the image of a couple cocktail olives impaled with a toothpick sticking out of the Starfleet logo as though it were some kind of alcoholic drink.  Lettering below it read ‘U.S.S. Fresno’.  

Revek had found the ship’s bar instead of the Mess Hall.  The young Denobulan almost turned back around and departed.  He wasn’t looking to get buzzed, he had spent a while getting settled in to his quarters after beaming over and was just feeling extremely peckish.  He’d have simply replicated up something easy from inside of his quarters and kept unpacking, only as luck would have it his replicator was on the fritz.  A work order had been put in to repair it before Revek had been supposed to arrive on board.  But with all the hands of Engineering committed to transitioning the Fresno over to its more specific role, the young Ensign supposed it had been relegated to the back of their marching orders as a secondary need.  Fair enough, he knew he was lucky to even have his own private billet.  Revek was a special case.  Most of the Ensigns on this ship were bunking up in communal hallways, and if they were hungry then they would be reporting to the Mess Hall, regardless.  At least being a part of Fresno’s primary Bridge Crew afforded him his own space.  This was luxury plenty enough to him, considering that personal space was practically a foreign concept when it came to the immense size of the average Denobulan household.

His gaze caught sight of a pair of replicators at the bar.  They were each embedded in a pillar that ran from floor to ceiling at opposite ends of the bar’s countertop, facing outward in a position that was clearly designed for the crew to help themselves.  It seemed that the attendant at the bar was only there to serve up the mixed drinks.  An impatient impulse struck him.  Screw it, this would suffice.  Revek just wanted something to settle his stomach.  He didn’t want to take the time to backtrack and figure out where the Mess Hall was.  It could be right next door for all he cared, he just wanted to eat.  He’d once heard a human describe this state of mind as “hangry.”  Yes, Revek was… Hangry.  He made his way to the pillar closest to the entrance of the lounge, and perused the replicator’s menu selection before settling on a choice.  A plate of kidneys materialized in the alcove.  The kidneys of the Denobulan Lemur were drenched in a heady sauce, and these were a comfort food Revek was quite fond of.  There wasn’t a replicator that existed that was capable of doing it the same sort of justice that Mother or the rest of his step-mothers could with their home cooking.  But it would do.

Revek picked up the steaming hot dish and initially turned toward one of the tables, but noticed he’d caught the seemingly critical eye of one of the crewman seated at the bar.  The man appeared to be in his 30s, at least as far as Revek could judge human-like features. While Revek’s own uniform reflected the gold color of Operations, this gentleman was framed in Science blues.  Two solid pips and one black indicated the rank of Lieutenant Commander. His eyes held a depth of wisdom that suggested a far greater span of years than his apparent middle age.  The spots that were dotted along his temples offered an explanation.  This was a Trill!  Revek had barely noticed their presence hidden under a wild mane of yellow hair and the mutton chop style beard that ran down his cheeks.  The rakish facial hair gave him a rugged, rough-and-tumble look. Yet, it clashed with his thin, wiry frame, which hinted at something less imposing.  It was a contradicting enigma, in Revek’s estimation.  Revek’s eyes darted back to the man’s spots.  Was he joined, perhaps?  Revek hoped so, the concept was one that he found fascinating.  Revek had conversed with quite an eclectic array of other humanoids, but he had never met a joined Trill.  He found his feet taking him to the barstool next to the other man rather than at the table he had originally been aimed at.

“Fresh off the boat, eh?” the man grunted as Revek was seating himself.

“Pardon?” Revek asked, gingerly setting his plate down.  Its aroma tantalized him, joining his ever growling gut to perform a symphony of enticement.  But Revek’s curious nature got the best of him.  He couldn’t help himself when it came to chatting up a new face.  And this was a Trill!  Still, the expression the man used confused him.  “Boats?  Was there some kind of body of water aboard Starbase 72?”

The wild haired Trill just chuckled.  “Nah, man.  You’re new, right?  I can tell by the lost puppy dog look.”

“Oh, yes I suppose that is perceptive of you.  I am lost.” Revek found himself admitting.  “I thought this was the Mess Hall at first.  Guess I’m just a little thrown off, and it shows.  But, yes.  First day, first ship for me!  Not just the classroom, or another simulation at the Academy.  This is going to be the real thing, as they say.”  He found himself finally poking at his plate.  Apparently his hunger was going to override his curiosity of this stranger, after all.  Foregoing any further optimistic platitudes, he finally stabbed one of the kidneys with a fork and eagerly dug in to his meal.  His newfound companion simply raised his brows at the young Ensign’s decision to abruptly devour the meal in front of him with no preamble.  Midway through, Revek was suddenly conscious of his manners.  Denobulans viewed conversation while eating as a waste of time.  Another Denobulan would not have been put off by the sudden end to the conversation once eating had commenced.  But it also occurred to him at this moment that not every species saw things that way.  “Have you been aboard the Fresno for long?”  It was a weak and trite, if apologetic attempt at continuing the conversation.  Revek was nothing if not always willing to adapt out of respect for the different cultures he found himself surrounded by.  Especially considering his decision to join Starfleet.  He flashed a wide smile, far broader than most humanoids were capable of, forgetting that Denobulans’ exaggerated expressions also often came across as unsettling.

The Trill pursed his lips in awkward surprise of the ridiculous looking expression before letting out an amused snort and a chuckle.  “Nah, I’m new here too.  Just got in.  I haven’t even gotten around to unpacking, yet.  But first day, same old routine.  Just with new faces, and another ship.  You’ll get used to it.” 

The Ensign nodded, seeming to readily accept that the more seasoned officer might be past Revek’s own level of eager and optimistic enthusiasm regarding a new posting.  His eyes then flicked down to the glass in front of the Trill on the bar’s counter. The unmistakable scent of real alcohol, not synthehol, had suddenly hit him. He raised an eyebrow in judgment. “Just arrived, you say, Lieutenant Commander?”

The other man waved a hand dismissively.  “Oh, relax.  We’re allotted the time to settle in, yeah?  They don’t expect us to immediately report for duty.  Today is all about getting settled, getting comfortable.  So loosen up!  Matter of fact…” the Trill trailed off as he raised a hand to flag down the attendant at the bar.  “Hey!  My friend here could use a drink!  Another bourbon, on the rocks!  For uh… well hell, what was your name?”

“Revek.  Ensign Revek.” the younger Denobulan offered nervously.

“Right.  For Revek, here!”  The Trill finished.  He casually offered a hand.  “Dren.  Dren Lor.  Science Officer.”

“Communications Specialist, for me.” Revek offered in response as he accepted the proffered hand and shook it.

“No shit?” Dren asked with further crude directness that caught Revek off guard.  “I wouldn’t have imagined many linguistics experts would end up on some Engineer’s barge.” the Trill said offhandedly.  

“Well, they seemed a lot more interested in how much I knew about the mechanics of subspace communications.” Revek clarified.  “But I could ask the same of why a Science Officer would be wanted here.”

“Ah, that makes more sense.” The Trill was nodding.  “As for me, there’s overlap between Science and Engineering.  The way they approached me when they offered me this post, told me they wanted someone to offer a different perspective on things aboard this ship.”  He shrugged.  “I guess it makes good sense for us all to have a different set of skills, long as we can still apply them to the problems that come along to try and knock us on our asses.”

Revek found himself fascinated by the blunt, carefree demeanor of the senior Science Officer.  As the attendant behind the bar finally delivered the drink Dren had ordered for the younger officer, it signaled the start of a deeper conversation, loosening the Denobulan’s tongue even more than usual.  Revek spoke of life on Denobula and how his technical expertise on the Fresno’s mission stemmed from his interest in how subspace equipment worked.  How as a child he had built and played with ham subspace radios, tinkering around with them to boost their range.  Dren in turn spoke of his expertise in the study of Science before his joining, and how he had progressed to his current rank in Starfleet.  His joining had been very recent, and he spoke of how the experience of his symbiont’s past lives bolstered his knowledge.  “Lor’s had a… colorful past.  My days are certainly never boring, anymore.  But its influence can sometimes make me bite off more than I can chew.  Lor has definitely made me more uh…”  The Trill shrugged, finding it suddenly difficult to explain.  He finally smirked as he settled on a satisfactory word.  “Emboldened.”  

The Denobulan was thoroughly fascinated and awestruck at the idea of it all.  “I suppose that’s the thing with the symbionts, right?  You get to live more than one life, get all those experiences.  Must give you quite the edge, but it sounds like you gave up some of yourself in exchange.”  That last bit was said more solemnly.

“Exactly!”  Dren pounded a fist on the surface of the bar to emphasize the exclamation.  The two of them had gathered up a few empty glasses of the bourbon by this point, and they rattled on the counter with the impact.  The buzz of the room quieted for just the briefest of moments as many paused to regard the commotion Dren had caused, before their background banter resumed again.  Both officers had become too inebriated to even notice.  The Trill continued.  “My entire family acts like they don’t even know who I am, anymore.  Sure, the Commission prepares us to expect this.  But it’s still…”  For just a moment, Dren was at a loss for how to go on.  But with a forced stoicism, he chose to forego whatever he had been about to confide.  He clearly wasn’t comfortable talking about it.  Instead, he leaned forward ever so slightly as though he were sharing a secret.  That cocky, confident bravado returned.  “It’s more than just an edge, you see.  For whatever I gave up…  Those lifetimes have given back tenfold!  Lor’s been in battles, politics.  There’s been relationships.  And here I am, all of those stories wrapped in to one!  An edge doesn’t even begin to describe something like that!  I don’t know what to call it, if I’m being honest.”

Before Revek could even decide how to respond to that, he felt a light tap on his shoulder.  He spun around, just a touch more wobbly than he expected and this caught him off guard.  He was greeted by a stern, neutral Vulcan expression.  The woman who had vied for his attention stood not quite a foot shorter than Revek’s lanky frame, her short black hair worn in the sort of cut that Revek had seen with just about every Vulcan he had ever met.  Despite her disparity in height next to his, she still retained an air of authority with her hands clasped behind her back.  The collar of her blue uniform bore the same pips as Dren’s; two solids and a single black one.  “Ensign Revek.  Lieutenant Commander Lor.  I assume you are aware that all newly posted officers are required to report to sickbay for an initial medical evaluation upon boarding.”

The young Denobulan visibly paled.  “Uh… we were just… I mean, it’s our first day, and…”  While typically an endless source of conversation, Revek was suddenly at a loss and fumbling for words that had easily flowed just moments before.  It did little to bolster them when the Vulcan officer merely raised an eyebrow, her expression otherwise unchanging.

It was Dren Lor who offered explanation.  “Ah, Doctor T’Lan!” he greeted cheerfully.  “We were just celebrating our arrival.  Surely you wouldn’t deny us a drink after a long trip!”  Apparently Dren was electing to double down on the predicament the two had suddenly found themselves in.

“A drink?” T’Lan asked as she cocked her head to the side, glancing pointedly at the collection of glasses the two had racked up.  A drink would imply one singular drink, Lieutenant.  Not the several you have clearly consumed.”

Revek cringed.  The impression he was making his first day aboard was not going as he planned.  Dren however, carried on seemingly unphased.  “As I said, we were celebrating.”  He flashed a dazzling grin.

“Celebration or not, regulations require that medical evaluations be completed before engaging in recreational activities.” T’Lan said flatly.  “In your current inebriated states, conducting these assessments would be illogical, as they would not provide an accurate baseline for future comparisons.”

“I apologize, Doctor.” Dren replied in a solemn tone that was anything but.  “It would appear that we’ve started our day on the wrong side of logic.”

Revek stared at the Science Officer, his mouth agape in disbelief at his companion’s amused disregard for their situation. He stammered, “Yes, ma’am! I’m sorry, I didn’t intend… That is, I didn’t realize…”

The Vulcan Chief Medical Officer turned to regard the Denobulan’s distress with another raised brow.  For the briefest of instants, it seemed the Vulcan’s expression softened.  Very imperceptibly.  She turned her gaze back to Dren Lor.  “Lieutenant Lor, despite your recent arrival, one of your rank should be well aware of the regulations. However, given the Ensign’s understandable unfamiliarity, I am willing to disregard this oversight, provided you both report to Sick Bay promptly in the morning to complete your required examinations.”

Revek breathed a sigh of heavy relief.  “Absolutely, Doctor!  You have my word and my apologies for the ignorance!”

T’Lan inclined her head towards Revek in acknowledgement.  “Then further discussion on this matter is unnecessary.  I shall see the both of you in the morning.”  With that, the Chief Medical Officer of the Fresno turned and made for the exit of the Lounge.

“See what I meant about Lor making me bite off more than I can chew?” The Trill commented offhandedly as they watched her depart.