“That’s a punch in the face, Deep.”  The young ensign held up the glass, eying the remnants of the drink.  Ensign Blake Porter had become a regular at the bar, and Yaaya ‘Deep’ Deepre had come to appreciate the kid’s taste.

She slid a quiet smile across her lips, “It’s all about the flavors in the mix and how you balance the sweet, spicy and the rest.”  Deepre went to work on a refill, “You still trying to get the attention of Ensign Lake?”

Porter’s face blossomed red, rolling his eyes.  “She at least knows I exist, no thanks to you.”  The Bajoran bartender had assisted him a week ago in mentioning to Ensign Jerica Lake about Porter, pointing him out down the bar.  “We did catch each other in the corridor a few days ago – she was carrying a book.”

“Did you ask her about it?”

“I did.  It’s some romantic book.  She said you might like it but wasn’t sure I would.  I told her it’d be nice to sit down with her and hear about it, maybe.”  He groaned at her long stare, “I did my best, Deep!  She did say yes, so that’s my good news.”

She poured his refill and handed it over, “Good, then.  At least your listening to me finally.”  She spotted a new face entering the lounge.  She observed to herself, “This should be interesting.”  Porter glanced and his eyes went wide as he skittered off to a table.  Yaaya slipped a napkin to a space and greeted the new arrival, “Lieutenant Commander Haigh, welcome.”

The Lieutenant Commander had been uncertain as to whether going to the Lounge was a good idea or not. Temptation lay in many glass bottles behind the bar. The bartender’s actions were, unbeknown to her a gateway to that temptation. Fortunately Lavender had the mental fortitude to beat that temptation into the ground with a sturdy two-by-four. ‘Lieutenant Commander’ wasn’t her preferred form of address but after some intensive counselling she’d come to accept that she held that rank and should own it, rather than treating the title as some sort of elitist affectation. She slipped onto an adjacent bar stool and offered the bartender a smile, her lip rings dancing as she did.

“Thank you,” she said, getting settled in the seat and brushing a stray wave of purple hair from her face. “Call me Lavender. And you are…?”

Yaaya took in the chief medical officer. She had heard about her in passing conversations at her bar and in and around the lounge. Deepre was an ardent believer in the Vulcan idea of IDIC and steered away from casting judgments in most cases.  In Lavender’s case, she admired the woman’s commitment to the look from head to toe – especially the head.  The commitment to detail in the makeup alone was considerable.  As a bartender, she had long ago given up trying to have a look.  A quick, tight ponytail behind the head, and it was game time.

“Head Bartender, USS Denver.  Thankfully, I avoided getting assigned a rank.  Yaaya Deepre – Bajoran exile in family and planet.  Some folks call me ‘Deep’.  She gestured to the assorted bottles, “I can make you anything you want – plenty of stuff that’s clean.”  She gave the woman a kind look, “Clocked the look you gave the bottles when you walked in – I know that look.”  Yaaya slid a PADD across the bar counter, “I don’t allow anything with real alcohol behind my bar…and I check every day.  Some idiot tried to replace a few bottles the first week I was here.” She let a rare smirk cross her lips, “He hasn’t stepped foot in since.”  She grabbed a rag and cleaned off a recently vacated space, “I take what I serve seriously…and with this war on, I don’t need to worry about leaving people worse than when they came to me.”  She leaned on the counter, eyeing the CMO, “I can make anything.  I’m partial to a hot cider chai with a little whipped cream.”

Lavender visibly relaxed as she heard there was no alcohol on the premises. The Head Bartender was right, clearly she knew her stuff and Lavender had to respect that, even if the open discussion about her receding alcoholism was slightly jarring. Talking about it with her direct and only superior on the ship i.e. the Captain was one thing, this another. Still, Lavender admired the brass, as she always did in everyone. Straight to the point, no sickly small-talk, just how the Doctor liked things. The right side of her mouth stretched into a smirk at the words he hasn’t stepped foot in since. So people were scared of Deep, like they were scared of Lavender too. She was getting the impression already she was in good company. She raised both hands in a show of submission.

“Your turf, your rules,” she asserted, glad of Deep’s no-alcohol policy. “Good to meet you.” Lavender’s grey-green eyes took in the blonde Bajoran and her confident manner, the lights of the bar turning her irises more toward the latter of the two colours. “Please may I have… something interesting. A soft drink I’ve never had before. Just, no synthohol.”

Deepre tapped at her PADD on the bar, “Let’s see what we’ve got.”  She scrolled through the lists she had curated over the years, marking a few notes.  A few minutes later she went to work at the bar, slinging various ingredients with care, “I know only what I see and hear.”  She explained, “I don’t get access to dossiers – and I’m plenty fine with that.  Leaves me with using my bar and the menu to get to know folks.”  She nodded to the ensign far across the lounge, who had fled when Lavender approached. “He’s still glancing over here occasionally.  You have a reputation, apparently.”  Her hands deftly sliced up the oranges, sliding them to the side while she flipped a copper mug up and over to the counter.  “Chief Medical isn’t an easy gig.”  She slid one completed drink onto the bar, “Option one – Ginger Beer with Orange essence and slices – the beer label is a misnomer – it’s a ginger soda with a helluva flavor profile.  I’ve got two more to test your palette with.”

Lavender’s interest followed Deep’s gaze over to the Ensign who was suddenly looking anywhere but at her. When she turned back to face the bartender again a smirk was lifting one side of her mouth with amusement.

“That’s one form of respect, I suppose. You can ignore what you hear about me. As Arin would say (she feigned an Irish Accent for a moment) it’s all bollocks. Most of these have never even spoken to me. Too scared.” Lavender handled the glass, feeling the cool smoothness of the tumbler for a second and took a drink, her reaction played out by the rest of her face after a moment’s consideration, while her mouth was still occupied with swallowing.

“Mmm… not bad. Refreshing, earthy, acidic, peppy… possibly a little sweet for me.”

Deepre’s smile widened. “There’s a chapter for your future biography.” She slid the other two drinks towards her. “These might be more your speed.” The Bajoran wiped her hands on her towel. “You find your drink. You could make this a habit.”

“I can definitely think of worse things than trying everything on the menu…” Lavender replied with a smirk and grabbed the other two glasses.

“This should be funny, let’s see what Ensign Chickenshit thinks of these… thanks Deep, have a good shift.”

With some swagger, the doctor swung off her barstool and made a beeline for Ensign Porter, who looked progressively more anxious with every step she got closer. Lavender took the seat bang next to his and struck up a conversation.

Yaaya watched with bated amusement as the two got on.  When punches weren’t thrown and Porter remained where he was, she turned to her next customer.  Sometimes, things worked out.

She hoped that would continue.