Arthur Summerside: Say What You Wil

[Lt. JG Kivik]

(("Frasier's", Grand Mezzanine, Amity Outpost))

Ukinix: ::Still waving tricorder, smiling:: You’ve earned yourself a reputation, Arthur.  I came here for a quiet frothy. ::looking at tricorder results:: You have me unprepared.  ::Looking at Arthur:: Or was that part of the plan?

Arthur smiled at the Commander’s tricorder-waving. It was a good show, and Summerside understood the message. He’d suspected that the further up the chain of Commander he reached, the more ‘resistance’ he would find - the less willingness to be candid and forthright. 

oO What is it about authority that makes folks obsessed with ‘controlling the message’? Oo

Summerside: You really believe I’d go to the trouble of following you out to the pub just to catch you off guard? Why, that would hardly be in the spirit of proper journalistic integrity. As truth would have it, I’m here with a professional acquaintance - Miss Kiyaini Ri’zella. ::Arthur waved to Kiyaini, sitting at a booth not but 10 feet behind Ukinix:: Perhaps you’ve met?

Kiyaini snorted. A most ‘improper’ expression, but one which Arthur appreciated. Propriety was a limiting factor to truth. He’d much rather have dinner with someone forthright in their derision.

Ukinix: ::Lowering tricorder:: We haven’t.

Ri’zella: I haven't had a chance to attend the press conferences yet, or request an interview through Dr. Orrey. ::smiles, wryly:: Pleased to meet you, Commander.

Summerside: No? Well, Commander, I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least offer for you to join us. I’m sure we’d both appreciate hearing your thoughts on what Amity Outpost is lacking in its journalistic resources – besides, it’s bad luck to drink alone. What do you say?

Ukinix: You are aware that the Federation Diplomatic Corp has media protocol that I have to follow.

Summerside: I would expect nothing less. Frankly, I’ve been surprised at how open your people have been thus far.

Ukinix: Tell ya’ what.  ::Turning to barperson:: Excuse me, mate?

Barperson: What can I do for you, Commander?

Ukinix: ::Friendly handwave:: It’s a pub, call me “Wil”.  ::gesturing to Arthur::  This is Arthur Summerside.  He’s a journalist!  Would you mind holding on to ::looking at tricorder:: the recording device in Mr Summerside’s hat, the one in his coat pocket, the one hidden in his sleeve, and his entire left shoe which seems to be a recording device, while I have an unequivocally one hundred percent off the record conversation including everything that was just discussed or occurred after Mr Summerside ordered those drinks, with he and his colleague, who will also hand over any recording devices she might be holding on her person or otherwise?

Barperson: ::slightly confused:: Uh – sure. I can do that.

Commander Ukinix turned to Arthur, who squinted back. Perhaps the message was more muddled than Arthur had anticipated. This was going beyond ‘controlling the message’ and into near-paranoia. Still, he did very much want to pick the Commander’s brain, even if it did need to occur entirely off the record.

Ri'zella: I a) do not carry recording devices when not doing interviews. ::Kiyaini's near perfect memory was more than good enough for that, the only time she did them was when she absolutely needed a formal record::, b) am pretty sure this isn't an interview anyway, so why would it be on the record?

Summerside: ::To Ri’zella:: It seems the Commander is worried that I’ll twist his words somehow, not that I’m in the business of word-twisting. ::To Ukinix:: Check your tricorder again, Sir, and I think you’ll note that my recorders are off. After all, as I said, I am here for a meal - not a press conference. ::To the bartender:: That said, if you really intend to confiscate my shoe in order to have a casual chat about journalism on the station, I’ll hand it over. ::To Ukinix, leaning in:: But I won’t forget the rather blunt implications.

Ukinix: Response

Arthur glanced at Kiyaini with an inquisitive scowl, curious what her take on the situation was.

Ri'zella: I do, sometimes, just like to meet fellow journalists to get to know them, and as I said, since neither you nor the Ambassador has thrown a press conference yet. Instead of just issuing press statements, I have not had an opportunity to talk to any of the senior staff.

Ukinix: Response

Arthur slowly and carefully removed his hat, delicately pulling a thin recorder from within the band. He placed it on the bar. Next, he popped the cuff button off his left jacket sleeve and removed a receiver from his inner breast pocket. Both he handed to the befuddled bartender, who was clearly unsure what they were expected to do with the items.

Summerside: I appreciate the value of redundancy, Commander. As a former Chief of Engineering, I expect you can understand.

Ukinix/Ri'zella: Response

Lastly, Arthur tucked the lip of his left shoe sole under the toe of his right and pried it off, lifting it and setting it down dramatically on the bartop.

Summerside: There. Now, what say we bring that ‘frothy’ over to the table and have ourselves a conversation. I’d say a civilized conversation, but then, I am sans shoe. Most uncivilized. But I assure you - nothing you say will wind up in any article written by me.

Ukinix/Ri'zella: Response

TBC

==

PNPC Arthur Summerside (he/him/his)

Civilian Journalist,

Amity Outpost

V239806K11