Incommunicado – A taste of the local culture (Part 3).
by Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin
Post Details
OLD:
"Remembering home." She waved a hand to dismiss his concern. "the point is, there a things more important than pride and honour. Debasement is irrelevant, if it means your cause is served. You do what you must."
ON:
"I'll drink to that." replied Meryn, almost stoically. Such a tone seemed inapproriate for these settings - and he wasn't normally one to talk about his own past. He detested the braggarts who exaggerated their military achievements and spent their lives recounting them. Something about the woman had got his guard to drop before, though the Bajoran had a feeling it would happen again. "So, if you don't mind me asking, Miss, where is home?"
"Here." She was pouring busily. "before, the ass end of the galaxy. You?"
"Guess." he replied. It was arrogant given that he had no idea where his host was from, but on the other hand the entire quadrant had fought a war due to his home planet, even if the woman was a full decade younger than him she'd still have been a teen during the conflict. "Though I'll give you a clue: you won't, or shouldn't, have much behind the bar from my planet. Our faith is strong and important to us, but you won't find much alcohol of any worth there."
"I'm guessing you're from Bajor? But I could be wrong," she was playing with him, teasing. "though more recently a confined shuttle with a bad replicator I think."
Meryn smiled "There in one." he answered. Her reluctance to talk about where she was from was intriguing, but he knew he'd get nothing more out of her. "Not the most interesting planet for someone in your line of work I'm afraid - the synthalhol is bad, the beer's not much better, Springwine doesn't travel well, and out this far neither does most of the other produce.
"You may not produce much booze, but you do produce" She reached behind her for a bottle. "fire breath spirits, distilled in Lonar Province, and a bargain at ten slips of Latinum a shot." She held out just out of reach, "a taste of home to bring back memories?"
Relma's eyes widened. He'd not had anything of the sort since the cold nights of the winter in Lonar Province when he was 11. "Just a bit." he replied "Where did you get that, by the Prophets'?"
She put the bottle on the bar and started to mix another drink. "on my last job, I met the distillery rep. They started brewing it and smuggling it off world to fund the resistance, back in the day. Now they just sell it for profit, though getting it all the way across the quadrant doesn't half put the distribution cost up."
The Bajoran took the aroma in - it stung his nostrils as all the memories of those nights came flooding back. He examined the back of the bottle: Ches'sarro Oak was the name listed as the distiller. The name seemed familiar to Meryn, but he couldn't place it. "I can imagine." he replied "This side of the Federation I can't get anything from Bajor without spending an arm and a leg. Are you sure that's right? I don't ever remember being told it was sold to help fund the resistance. I think the Borath cell may even have attacked the distillery in the 2350s because they thought they were collaborators." Slowly his mind worked back through the years. "Yes, yes that's how Halmah got the scars on his left leg. Who told you the story about when they started making it?"
"A man called Ches'sarro Antos."
"Nice family business." muttered Meryn. Something wasn't right here. The name Ches'sarro was too familiar to be a coincidence. He was sure someone with a similar name had been killed only a couple of years after the end of the Occupation. And the spirit, he was certain, had not been sold to raise funds for the Resistance. The bottles the Borath cell used to keep themselves warm in the night in the bitter winter of 2361-2362 had been taken from a Gul's personal cellar during an assassination attempt, he thought he remembered being told. A business on Bajor in the period, run by Bajorans, wold not have been allowed to begin if the Cardassians were not certain they could trust the proprietors - and certainly not if they had any connection whatsoever with the Resistance. If the communications black-out wasn't in effect he would get in touch with Lupa and Halmah as soon as he could to check his information. "Do you still have a contact with the company, Miss?" he asked, with his brow furrowed and anger beginning to burn in his eyes. He could not be sure of his suspicions, but something here was definitely not right. Why, for one thing, had he never seen the brew on Bajor since the Occupation? It wasn't as if he didn't know his Bajoran alcohol. Something was most certainly not right here.
"Of course. They dropped by every few months on the Pride of Betazed to make sure I kept their brew in stock. I should probably get more in. There's more than a few people here who like to end their evening shooting Bajoran Braindeaths until they can't see straight. I'm going to be down to my last case soon."
Relma's eyebrow raised. "What is a Bajoran brain death?" He asked, though he felt as though he may well end up regretting it.
"A shot of Firebreath, half a shot of kanar and half a shot of Jagermeister." She gave him an impish look. "want to try?"
Meryn's face displayed a strange mix of disgust, horror, and even anger. Any drink called 'Bajoran...' should not have Kanar in it. If a man had said such a thing to him he'd probably have hit him, if most women had said such a thing to him he'd likely have yelled at them, but again the strange familiarity of the woman saved her in this case and he held back the anger inside, He simply shook his head and replied "No thanks. I really detest Kanar." He wasn't lying. Even the thought of the putrid drink made him recall the prison they'd endured in Jalanda and the Batal labour camp and what had been done to Harena - and himself - there. The guards had held him down and poured it down his throat until he'd nearly choked on the stuff while they stood in line to have their way with Harena. Even the thought of Kanar now was making him feel queasy... and his sister's screams and sobs, he could still hear them as clearly as if she was right there with him. He sat with the horror of the experiences spreading over his face: at that moment more than ever before he had known that he wanted to be a soldier and to protect the weak from brutality. To, as the bartender had put it, 'do what you must.' "Why do you have Kanar here?" he asked "Surely on this side of the Federation you don't get any Cardassians? Who the heck else could stomach that swill?"
"Well, me for one.." She signaled for the drinks she had just mixed to bee collected. "quite a few others have a taste for it too, and then there's the Cardasdian embassy staff."
The Bajoran shook his head and chuckled at the notion that his host drank the stuff, but the levity stopped at the latter mention. "An emba...wha?" His face was a picture of dumbfounded-ness. Why on earth would the Cardassians have an embassy here: on the far side of the Federation. Surely there couldn't be many Cardassians in the area. Meryn's suspicion was aroused... they were up to something. He was sure of it.
"Told you this place wasn't for the quiet. The Cardassians are downstairs, under your feet in fact, though the actual doors are a little way down."
"Thanks for the heads up." replied Relma "I'll do my best to stay out of their way." He immediately, almost sub-consciously, scanned the bar for Cardassians and hunched his shoulders over, adopting a more defensive posture. "I can't promise I won't react to provocation if we do meet." he muttered almost under his breath.
OFF:
Chief Warrant Officer First Class Relma Meryn
Chief Operations Officer
Yolanthe Ibalin
Civilian, Owner of the Box of Delights.
by Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin
Post Details
| Title | A taste of the local culture (Part 3). | |
| Mission | Incommunicado | |
| Author(s) | Alderman Yolanthe Ibalin | |
| Posted | Sun Jun 10, 2012 @ 1:04am | |
| Location | The Box of Delights, Promenade Level 2. | |
| Timeline | SD57, 2100 hours. |
"Remembering home." She waved a hand to dismiss his concern. "the point is, there a things more important than pride and honour. Debasement is irrelevant, if it means your cause is served. You do what you must."
ON:
"I'll drink to that." replied Meryn, almost stoically. Such a tone seemed inapproriate for these settings - and he wasn't normally one to talk about his own past. He detested the braggarts who exaggerated their military achievements and spent their lives recounting them. Something about the woman had got his guard to drop before, though the Bajoran had a feeling it would happen again. "So, if you don't mind me asking, Miss, where is home?"
"Here." She was pouring busily. "before, the ass end of the galaxy. You?"
"Guess." he replied. It was arrogant given that he had no idea where his host was from, but on the other hand the entire quadrant had fought a war due to his home planet, even if the woman was a full decade younger than him she'd still have been a teen during the conflict. "Though I'll give you a clue: you won't, or shouldn't, have much behind the bar from my planet. Our faith is strong and important to us, but you won't find much alcohol of any worth there."
"I'm guessing you're from Bajor? But I could be wrong," she was playing with him, teasing. "though more recently a confined shuttle with a bad replicator I think."
Meryn smiled "There in one." he answered. Her reluctance to talk about where she was from was intriguing, but he knew he'd get nothing more out of her. "Not the most interesting planet for someone in your line of work I'm afraid - the synthalhol is bad, the beer's not much better, Springwine doesn't travel well, and out this far neither does most of the other produce.
"You may not produce much booze, but you do produce" She reached behind her for a bottle. "fire breath spirits, distilled in Lonar Province, and a bargain at ten slips of Latinum a shot." She held out just out of reach, "a taste of home to bring back memories?"
Relma's eyes widened. He'd not had anything of the sort since the cold nights of the winter in Lonar Province when he was 11. "Just a bit." he replied "Where did you get that, by the Prophets'?"
She put the bottle on the bar and started to mix another drink. "on my last job, I met the distillery rep. They started brewing it and smuggling it off world to fund the resistance, back in the day. Now they just sell it for profit, though getting it all the way across the quadrant doesn't half put the distribution cost up."
The Bajoran took the aroma in - it stung his nostrils as all the memories of those nights came flooding back. He examined the back of the bottle: Ches'sarro Oak was the name listed as the distiller. The name seemed familiar to Meryn, but he couldn't place it. "I can imagine." he replied "This side of the Federation I can't get anything from Bajor without spending an arm and a leg. Are you sure that's right? I don't ever remember being told it was sold to help fund the resistance. I think the Borath cell may even have attacked the distillery in the 2350s because they thought they were collaborators." Slowly his mind worked back through the years. "Yes, yes that's how Halmah got the scars on his left leg. Who told you the story about when they started making it?"
"A man called Ches'sarro Antos."
"Nice family business." muttered Meryn. Something wasn't right here. The name Ches'sarro was too familiar to be a coincidence. He was sure someone with a similar name had been killed only a couple of years after the end of the Occupation. And the spirit, he was certain, had not been sold to raise funds for the Resistance. The bottles the Borath cell used to keep themselves warm in the night in the bitter winter of 2361-2362 had been taken from a Gul's personal cellar during an assassination attempt, he thought he remembered being told. A business on Bajor in the period, run by Bajorans, wold not have been allowed to begin if the Cardassians were not certain they could trust the proprietors - and certainly not if they had any connection whatsoever with the Resistance. If the communications black-out wasn't in effect he would get in touch with Lupa and Halmah as soon as he could to check his information. "Do you still have a contact with the company, Miss?" he asked, with his brow furrowed and anger beginning to burn in his eyes. He could not be sure of his suspicions, but something here was definitely not right. Why, for one thing, had he never seen the brew on Bajor since the Occupation? It wasn't as if he didn't know his Bajoran alcohol. Something was most certainly not right here.
"Of course. They dropped by every few months on the Pride of Betazed to make sure I kept their brew in stock. I should probably get more in. There's more than a few people here who like to end their evening shooting Bajoran Braindeaths until they can't see straight. I'm going to be down to my last case soon."
Relma's eyebrow raised. "What is a Bajoran brain death?" He asked, though he felt as though he may well end up regretting it.
"A shot of Firebreath, half a shot of kanar and half a shot of Jagermeister." She gave him an impish look. "want to try?"
Meryn's face displayed a strange mix of disgust, horror, and even anger. Any drink called 'Bajoran...' should not have Kanar in it. If a man had said such a thing to him he'd probably have hit him, if most women had said such a thing to him he'd likely have yelled at them, but again the strange familiarity of the woman saved her in this case and he held back the anger inside, He simply shook his head and replied "No thanks. I really detest Kanar." He wasn't lying. Even the thought of the putrid drink made him recall the prison they'd endured in Jalanda and the Batal labour camp and what had been done to Harena - and himself - there. The guards had held him down and poured it down his throat until he'd nearly choked on the stuff while they stood in line to have their way with Harena. Even the thought of Kanar now was making him feel queasy... and his sister's screams and sobs, he could still hear them as clearly as if she was right there with him. He sat with the horror of the experiences spreading over his face: at that moment more than ever before he had known that he wanted to be a soldier and to protect the weak from brutality. To, as the bartender had put it, 'do what you must.' "Why do you have Kanar here?" he asked "Surely on this side of the Federation you don't get any Cardassians? Who the heck else could stomach that swill?"
"Well, me for one.." She signaled for the drinks she had just mixed to bee collected. "quite a few others have a taste for it too, and then there's the Cardasdian embassy staff."
The Bajoran shook his head and chuckled at the notion that his host drank the stuff, but the levity stopped at the latter mention. "An emba...wha?" His face was a picture of dumbfounded-ness. Why on earth would the Cardassians have an embassy here: on the far side of the Federation. Surely there couldn't be many Cardassians in the area. Meryn's suspicion was aroused... they were up to something. He was sure of it.
"Told you this place wasn't for the quiet. The Cardassians are downstairs, under your feet in fact, though the actual doors are a little way down."
"Thanks for the heads up." replied Relma "I'll do my best to stay out of their way." He immediately, almost sub-consciously, scanned the bar for Cardassians and hunched his shoulders over, adopting a more defensive posture. "I can't promise I won't react to provocation if we do meet." he muttered almost under his breath.
OFF:
Chief Warrant Officer First Class Relma Meryn
Chief Operations Officer
Yolanthe Ibalin
Civilian, Owner of the Box of Delights.