“That's one thing that most Starfleet officers have in common,” S'Lone thought almost bumping into Cynndle who was making for the same entrance to the Main Cantina/Bar on SB-B. “Punctuality.”

“Greetings Lieutenant, glad you could make it,” S'Lone said clapping his hand onto Cynndie's shoulder.

Cynndle smiled, “Definitely needed a drink after that shift and misadventure. It still boggles my mind that it even happened though I am sure they will get to the bottom of it soon enough," he said as they walked into the bar. “Let's grab a seat, there is usually something near the back.”

The two grabbed a table near the back where it was quieter.

As they sat down Cynndle noticed a chance to S'Lone's uniform, “Looks like congratulations are in order.” he said and gestured towards S'Lone's collar.

S'Lone replied sheepishly running his fingers over the dual pips of a Full Lieutenant that newly adorned his collar, “Awe thanks Cynndle. It just happened.”

“The only thing that is different is that I seem to be getting more salutes from Ensigns,” added S'Lone.

“I can believe that they never quite know what to do with a lieutenant junior grade. I swear some do, others don't, some start, then stop." Cynndle said with a laugh, “Not that I overly care but the inconsistency definitely stops when you become a full lieutenant I hear.” He looked around for a minute, “What you after?”

A dark thought crossed S’Lone’s mind, the slow death of my hru'diranov (Grandfather). Pushing the image aside he responded, “A Tawny Port for now.  Mass domination of the Alpha Quadrant within 2 decades,” S’Lone gave a wry smile. “Baring that an Intel Slot posting after I’m done with my stint as a Deck Officer.”

“What about you,” S’lone asked.

Cynndle laughed at that, "Well guess that puts us in opposition then, my plans are on the same timeline." He paused for a moment and thought about what drink he was after. “I think I will get an Andoran whisky; my academy roommate got me hooked on it.” He turned just as a waiter walked past and placed the order for the port and whiskey before looking back to S'Lone. “Intel would be fascinating, I am a bit torn between chasing command because its command but Strategic Operations and fleet operations have always been an interest of mine," shrugging he leaned back, “Depends on what is open really otherwise I will push for Officer of the Watch.”

S'lone ordered a one ounce pour of the Taylor Fladgate 40 year old Tawny Post, looked Cynndle square in the eyes and said in a regretful voice which came out as almost a whisper, "The red collar of Command is a heavy burden," reflected S'Lone, “Having been a ship's Captain back when I ran a civilian transportation business running materials in conflict zones, I experienced the highs of eeking out a successful delivery against all odds and the lows of losing valued crewpersons.” S'Lone took a sip of his port, “I think red suits you. And the way you handled the stress of dealing with a malfunctioning Torpedo, is a mark of your character.”

“Thanks, appreciate that,” Cynndle said in response, “You settling in ok? I know some people were only happy with the number of refugees that were coming through, hope no one has given you any trouble for being a Romulan?”

S'Lone replied, "Being ½ Betazoid ½ Romulan I get mistaken for Vulcan a lot so I avoid much of the overt negativity, but I think Romulan hate crimes will continue to escalate.”

“Sadly, but here's to hoping that it won't be the case; know several other Romulans on the station, all good people,” Cynndle remarked. “Too many people and friends were lost in the collapse of the empire and in the events before. It is senseless for such behaviour to even take place.”

S’Lone lifted his glass, “To absent friends,” he toasted.

“To absent friends,” Cynndle responded raising his glass.

Together they drank a toast.

S’Lone tried to hide a stifled yawn, “I think I’ll hit the rack. Night Cynndle.”