01-26-2026, 09:01 PM
== Wairaran Orbital Dock / Facility ==
With the ship secured in a parking orbit. The engineers running around fixing things. And all his own duties completed and reports filled in. Flint decided to take the opportunity to explore the Wairaran facility.
And due to the Wairaran's racing heritage, the orbital facility seemed to be more of a pitstop than a traditional orbital dock. A fact that wasn't lost on the tactical officer as he prowled from bay to bay looking at the parked ships racked up or visible through the large windows. Including their nemesis. The Tusslebout.
He was on his way to what he assumed was an obligatory pilots bar. It didn't matter what the culture. There was always one somewhere.
Being off duty, Flint had changed into his civvies. Nondescript chinos, shirt and a pair of mirrored shades. Along with his brown leather flight jacket, the only part of his ensemble that betrayed his lineage by displaying the Yeager's insignia on one sleeve and a Starfleet roundel on the other. His hair immaculate, he nodded to the large bouncer by the door and stepped inside.
It was was as good as setting foot on a new planet as he passed the threshold. The temperature rose. The volume increased. The lighting levels fell. And the smell. Flint took a deep breath and smiled.
Passing by tables of crews and individuals, he headed straight for the bar where several other patrons were already seated, and there were a few empty stools.
A large burly Wairaran with an impressive moustache who had been busy cleaning a glass asked; “What'll it be?”
“What's good?” Said Flint back while running his eyes over the impressive array of bottles covering the wall behind the bar.
“Give him a £&^%£(.”. Said a woman stepping up to the bar. “One for me too.
The sound of what the woman said went above both Flint's and the Universal Translators comprehension, sounding not like words, more like a strangled scream or something.
She was about Flint's height, well toned, and had long dark curled hair flowing over her shoulders.
The bartender regarded her then allowed himself a wry grin as he turned as picked up a bottle containing a vivid purple liquid.
“Two £&^%£(.”
The woman smiled as she picked up her glass. “I think I read in your language, the phrase is 'Cheers.” Shesaid necking the purple liquid in one..
“It is.” Replied Flint picking up his glass. He held it briefly up to the light then he too moved it to his lips and swallowed it in one.
It tasted like picked onions for the first second or so. He'd expected it to burn like whisky. But it didn't exactly burn. More immolate its way down his throat.
“Another?” Asked the bartender.
“Please.” Smiled the woman.
Flint considered breathing.
“Maybe I should introduce myself,” Said the woman before she took her second shot. “Jentsh Per. Pilot of the Tusslebout.” Then to the barman. “Mogtesh, maybe our guest would like some... Water.”
== TBC ==
With the ship secured in a parking orbit. The engineers running around fixing things. And all his own duties completed and reports filled in. Flint decided to take the opportunity to explore the Wairaran facility.
And due to the Wairaran's racing heritage, the orbital facility seemed to be more of a pitstop than a traditional orbital dock. A fact that wasn't lost on the tactical officer as he prowled from bay to bay looking at the parked ships racked up or visible through the large windows. Including their nemesis. The Tusslebout.
He was on his way to what he assumed was an obligatory pilots bar. It didn't matter what the culture. There was always one somewhere.
Being off duty, Flint had changed into his civvies. Nondescript chinos, shirt and a pair of mirrored shades. Along with his brown leather flight jacket, the only part of his ensemble that betrayed his lineage by displaying the Yeager's insignia on one sleeve and a Starfleet roundel on the other. His hair immaculate, he nodded to the large bouncer by the door and stepped inside.
It was was as good as setting foot on a new planet as he passed the threshold. The temperature rose. The volume increased. The lighting levels fell. And the smell. Flint took a deep breath and smiled.
Passing by tables of crews and individuals, he headed straight for the bar where several other patrons were already seated, and there were a few empty stools.
A large burly Wairaran with an impressive moustache who had been busy cleaning a glass asked; “What'll it be?”
“What's good?” Said Flint back while running his eyes over the impressive array of bottles covering the wall behind the bar.
“Give him a £&^%£(.”. Said a woman stepping up to the bar. “One for me too.
The sound of what the woman said went above both Flint's and the Universal Translators comprehension, sounding not like words, more like a strangled scream or something.
She was about Flint's height, well toned, and had long dark curled hair flowing over her shoulders.
The bartender regarded her then allowed himself a wry grin as he turned as picked up a bottle containing a vivid purple liquid.
“Two £&^%£(.”
The woman smiled as she picked up her glass. “I think I read in your language, the phrase is 'Cheers.” Shesaid necking the purple liquid in one..
“It is.” Replied Flint picking up his glass. He held it briefly up to the light then he too moved it to his lips and swallowed it in one.
It tasted like picked onions for the first second or so. He'd expected it to burn like whisky. But it didn't exactly burn. More immolate its way down his throat.
“Another?” Asked the bartender.
“Please.” Smiled the woman.
Flint considered breathing.
“Maybe I should introduce myself,” Said the woman before she took her second shot. “Jentsh Per. Pilot of the Tusslebout.” Then to the barman. “Mogtesh, maybe our guest would like some... Water.”
== TBC ==