Seats were being taken around the dining table, the meal still some time away, however. Hors d’oeuvres had been placed strategically along the length of the table, carafes of water and bottles of wine in clusters so all could easily help themselves. Not enough to ruin appetites, but to satisfy any desperate hungers and serve as delicious samples before the real treat of the evening arrived. The aromas wafting from the kitchen were an olfactory siren song, tempting all with the promises of what was to come.

Right now though was a chance for conversation, for the satiating of social needs before culinary. And into this, as the sun outside was hanging low on the horizon, warm orange light spilling through windows, Tikva sat herself down at the table, dragging along a date for the evening, and taking the first pair of empty seats they came across. The hat and jacket had been ditched at some point earlier in the afternoon. Around the same time that Adelinde had beamed down from Canopus. Crisp slacks and a white blouse were a safe and neutral option with Tikva’s blue dress.

“Evening, ladies,” Tikva said as she sat down, smiling warmly at the two captains she’d sat herself down with. “Harper Brooks and Charlotte MacColgan,” she declared with a quiet snap of fingers and a quick point at her compatriots to confirm their identities. “Looking forward to whatever delicious treats Wyll has prepared?”

There was a strange little guest set by Charlie’s plate once she’d sat down- a small mint in a tiny little pot, placed gently to the side as she took one of the empty seats. Her eyes were already on the food, things her humble little farmer mind had never seen before and indeed couldn’t even begin to guess the names of. Maybe it was the food, maybe it was the talk with Harrison, but she felt more lively now than she did twenty minutes ago.

Adjusting the brim of her USS Melbourne cap so it looked less like she was trying to hide herself in its shadow, Charlie settled into her chair and tentatively took a hors d’oeuvre, giving the thing an inquisitive look before glancing back up at the Commodore. “Aye, that’d be me, ma’am,” she replied, just enough bravado in her voice to be heard. A moment of crisis- wait, is she still ma’am in a casual setting?- and Charlie defaulted to pretending she didn’t notice her own stiff spine, lightly tossing her cane up against the wall, and taking a test bite.

Harper was swirling the wine in her glass and looked up when the Commodore spoke. “I am indeed looking forward to whatever has been planned for this evening.  I have to say, I have never attended anything like this, so I’m rather enjoying myself.” She offered a warm smile and took a sip of the wine. It was delicious and just what she needed. “How about you, Commodore?”

“Far too many times,” Tikva answered immediately. “And not enough as well.” She smiled, shaking her head side to side in thought momentarily. “And please, let’s skip the rank and formality tonight. Just Tikva will do.” And then her cheeks flushed slightly. “I am so, so sorry,” she said to her companion, who merely nodded in response. “Ladies, this is Adelinde Gantzmann. My more sensible half by far.”

Lin offered a polite nod while she poured a glass of the red for herself and Tikva, offering to do the same for Harper and Charlotte. “A pleasure.”

Tikva took her glass in hand quickly, a tasting sip, before setting it down with a satisfied sigh. “Okay, the longer this particular day has gone on, the more and more I’m starting to agree with the mandatory fun order. It’s been a hectic year and a bit.”

“Aye, I’ll toast tae that,” the Scotswoman down the table agreed, raising her own wine glass slightly, though she didn’t yet take a sip. Something told her this… whatever this was, wouldn’t be taste-tested best if it was chased down by alcohol. “Pleasure tae meet y’all, hectic year be damned. Jus’ hope it won’t get too loud…”

Being in a room with three strangers with nary a crisis in sight was about as far as Charlie was willing to stretch her social skills, but the attempt was being made regardless.

“It had better get loud,” Tikva said with a grin, answered by Adelinde rolling her eyes just a touch. “Animated conversation! Food being eaten and enjoyed with gusto!” Another salute, another sip. “Trust me, I’ve attended admiralty dinners before. Well, attended, was present at.” She shrugged. “Polite chit-chat, table manners and the unending clinking of silverware and fine china.”

“You’re going to be dancing by the end of the night, aren’t you?” Adelinde asked.

“We’re going to be dancing,” Tikva corrected, then looked to both Harper and Ceres. “We’re going to be dancing,” she repeated, with mischievous mirth that wouldn’t be denied.

Varen’s head appeared over their shoulders, the scent of a myriad of herbs twisted around garlic rolling forth, cut with sharp vinegar tang rolling from an earthenware plate in his hands. Clusters of perfectly formed tan balls, speckled with a patchwork of green and umber shards, formed delicious-looking mountain ranges across the dish. At the centre of the doughy huddle, a pair of terracotta dishes held a dark vinaigrette and a light coloured sauce.

“Then you’ll be needing plenty of energy to keep up with Tikva. I present for your first delight…” He set his shoulders dramatically, clearly in his element, play acting as a maitre d. “Gourmand Gourgerés with confit garlic and locally grown rosemary, served with a Bajoran-style aioli and a vinaigrette from Lohar province.”

He slid the plate onto the table between the women before descending into a playful bow.

Four pairs of eyes narrowed at the dish, attempting to disassemble the announcement.

“It’s cheesy rolls and garlic dip,” Varen whispered from the corner of his mouth as the collective brows furrowed. Across the other side of the large table, an ensign slid a similar plate to the other guests with noticeably less pomp.

“Smells delicious,” Harper said as she took a roll from the plate and then held it up to those sitting around her. “I know I’m starving, and I can’t be the only.” She offered a smile and the plate of rolls. The last few months had been taxing on Harper and her crew, and she was grateful for this chance to take a breath and slow down for a bit.

Harper looked to Tikva before speaking again. “I have to say, I’m not much of a dancer. I’m afraid that’s not a talent that I can claim to have. That’s something that I am sure any of you would not want to see,” she said through a laugh.

“Concurred,” Charlie agreed, finishing off the hors d’oeuvre she’d been destroying in the background before jabbing a thumb at the cane leaning nearby. “Grace isn’ somethin’ I quite got in spades, as it were. ‘Sides, think the food’ll be enough fer me.”

Pastries were a bit rich for her- even though they were undoubtedly delicious- but cheese rolls and garlic dip? That was much more to the speed of this particular farm girl. She promptly dropped two and a bit of sauce on her plate, anchoring her metaphorically down to the table- just in case someone tried to drag her onto the dance floor anyways. Always helped to have an excuse.

“Well, if we get roped into dancing this evening at least we have each other,” Harper stated. “I’m sure we will both the topic of conversation for quite some time,” she said as she did a mock toast with her wine glass before taking a sip. She should probably lay off, but she was having a good time and she didn’t get to drink very often.

“She never said it would be good dancing,” Adelinde chimed in, taking a roll for herself, ripping it in two and then handing one half to Tikva. “For someone who dances around me when sparing, she’s remarkably lead-footed on the dance floor.”

“Excuse me, but there is no lead in my foot, thank you very much,” Tikva countered. “Love you,” she then said on receipt of the cheesy roll. “Titanium, composites, a duranium frame. Just to name a few things in my foot. But no lead.”

And then a heavenly sigh followed as Tikva finally bit into the cheese roll. “Okay, Wyll, I want the recipe for these. These are magnificent. I’m sure I can convince my doctor to let me put these in my regular diet.”

There was a very quiet “oh” coming from further down the table as Adelinde and Tikva joked, and Charlie now seemed very, very focused on her cheese rolls. Not dancing suddenly seemed like a somewhat more difficult endeavour than it had before.

“Dancing is, of course, optional. Though always strongly encouraged.” Varen lifted a rotund glass from his little-used seat at the table, a dark smoky liquid sloshing against the crystal container. “And a couple more of these, and I promise none of you will have to worry about looking like a prat. I’ll be embarrassing enough for all of us.”

To prove the point, he leapt into a flourishing spin that ended in an uneven wobble, the contents of his drink attempting to arabesque out of the shallow glass alongside him.

“No one has to worry about looking a fool in this house.” Varen smiled, offering Charlie a comforting wink as he righted himself.

“Wyll! The gravy is doing something weird.” The sharp voice of Harrison called from the kitchen, an unfamiliar tone of panic on the older captain’s voice. With a performative eye roll, the rotund man bounded off towards the kitchen, offering a slight leap for his audience’s pleasure.

“As a guest and as a commodore, I order you to go and rescue that gravy,” Tikva joked, trying to give off as serious a glare as she could while leaning into Adelinde with her shoulder. “Dinner can’t be that far off with the gravy nearly ready, can it?”