There was a certain stereotype involving certain duty posts, even if they weren’t entirely true if one truly looked at statistics. It was a certain expectation of a Betazoid being a Counsellor – they were empaths, after all, so dealing with people’s feelings seemed fitting – and Klingons being Security Officers because they tended to be physically superior to many other species.

Usually, Saffiya was fairly sure that she had ditched those stereotypes as part of her journey through the ranks, but regardless, she had found herself surprised upon getting transfer papers for a Klingon doctor. That was the second Klingon that didn’t fit the stereotype of “Blood and Honour!”, and the Captain found herself very much looking forward to meeting him.

And because she was a little impatient sometimes, she did so as soon as the poor man had arrived and been assigned his quarters, and before he could make it more than a few feet out of his door.

“Ensign Ovam.”, she said – a little too enthusiastically perhaps. “Welcome to the Valkyrie.”

Ovam was getting his bearings. It was always strange getting settled in new quarters. To be honest he didn’t get much sleep. There was a sense of anticipation that was a bit overwhelming. Every assignment, every command, and every place were different. His time within Valhalla was an unexpected respite and as he left his quarters to report to the sickbay he was suddenly face to face with his Captain.

To be honest he was surprised, he even felt his pulse increase and his jaw tighten out of reflex. He clenched his fist, a natural reaction when a Klingon faced an ambush. After a moment, he took in a deep breath and only manage to articulate one word.

“Captain?”

Saffiya offered a vaguely pacifying gesture. “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” She paused. “I do see that I did not succeed.”

When she apologized, he was taken aback. Before Starfleet most of his experience of officers were other Klingons. Apologizing wasn’t their way; it was an odd experience receiving an apology. When she implied that he was startled he ground his teeth, was she trying to insult him? No… Starfleet was different, he knew better instead he offered a small smile.

“No need to apologize ma’am,” he replied in a more neutral tone.

Saffiya inclined her head. No apologising to Klingons. Got it.

“Did I do anything wrong,” he asked her more bluntly.

“No, not at all.”, she said and shook her head. “I am trying to meet with all new officers, and my ready room is so embarrassingly messy that I figured I would just come here instead.”
Which, she realized now, had been a rather bad idea.

He hated small talk and as he stared at her he lightly cleared his throat.

“Please come in,” he finally said as he opened his quarters and stepped aside for her to enter.

Saffiya sighed internally. This was really not going the way she had planned – but then again nothing ever seemed to go like planned, and she had long learned to be somewhat flexible.

It was sparsely decorated; it was evident that he was still figuring out how he wanted to organize his quarters by the random objects scattered around.

“Would you like anything to drink? Maybe some bloodw…. Some tea,” he asked catching himself and offering a more appropriate drink.

Saffiya smirked. “Oh I do drink bloodwine.”

Ovam stopped and awkwardly turned to face her.

“I owe you an apology Ma’am, I think I misjudged you,” he told her honestly. He didn’t bother to ask her as he made his way to the barrel he had shoved into a corner. He grabbed two mugs and filled them.

The Captain took a seat, taking in her surroundings. It didn’t look so different from her own personal quarters – who had time to decorate? – just a lot less of a mess. “I make it a rule to taste everything at least once, no matter how odd it sounds. I think a lot of people seem to forget that even Humans had and have popular dishes with ingredients that are not commonly associated with food.”

She was thinking about ancient Spartan black soup, which contained blood. Or the fact that insects were still staple in the cultures that didn’t want to rely on replicators.

As she got herself seated Ovam returned with her mug placing it before her. He took the seat across from her and placed his mug before him.

“You would have gotten along with my father, he had the same philosophy and so do I,” he told her.

She shrugged. “People are put off by the strangest of things, and talk about others because if they were to talk about themselves, no one would listen. I am somewhat sure as a medical officer you’ve faced that one way or the other.”

“Unfortunately, it is common among most civilizations even among Klingons. People call me names like Doctor Death behind my back. They can’t accept that a Klingon is in a vocation which focuses on making people better. The only difference is slandering someone could mean death where I come from. I… Feel like I don’t walk on what do you call them? Egg shells? That’s the phrase right?”

“I can assure you that Lieutenant Frisco will not allow those nicknames.”, Saffiya frowned. “And I understand the idea of having to… walk on egg shells.”

“The federation facilitates a culture where we can be open with words, it’s a double edged blade because people can gossip without repercussions,” he told her as he grabbed his goblet.

“Not entirely without repercussions. I suppose what you have to consider is that, more often than not, it’s a game. A pastime people play when they are bored. A way to connect. Still, there’s a line to be drawn – and I am sure you will find your place here.”

“Captain, it would be my honor to drink with you. IwlIj jachjaj,” he roared before he his goblet and taking a gulp of blood wine.

“May your blood scream.”, she replied as she took a – much smaller – gulp from her own goblet.