Capt. Shayne: Inc-lemon-t Tidings
Quinn
((Arboretum, Deep Space 33))
“Hobnobbing” was not typically his brand of interest or tolerance, but did that word really qualify when it was his officers he was speaking to? He decided it wasn’t. These people weren’t stuck up diplomats or ambassadors with exceedingly preposterous titles that basically signified their ability to speak for a singular asteroid somewhere in the Lambata Cluster. No, these people were family- hard earned, hell or high water family. And every now and again, he could testify from experience, a tussle of the hair from Dad couldn’t hurt.
Of course, the moment he caught the subtle look of Niac across the room, his priorities were changed. The Trill grouch didn’t lie, even when he might want to, and for two men in their respective positions, a look said what words couldn’t. Still keen to ensure that his officers would enjoy their well-deserved time off, he shuffled his way towards Niac’s imposing figure, smiling and conversing as he went.
Finally he arrived, and ceased smiling, only conscientious an instant before that his grin was not fake, and thus, not prone to stopping on its own.
Niac: Ambassador Buford is looking for us, sir. Sounds serious.
Shayne tried not to scoff. While he didn’t know enough about the man to make a proper judgment of his character, his ability to speak was almost unsurpassed. When such windbags chewed air, everything was serious.
Shayne: What, someone trample a bromeliad?
If Shayne had the patience, or the inclination, or the ability, or the land, or the skill, or the interest, he suspected he’d make a decent gardener himself. As it stood, there was something anathema to sense about cultivating- pun very much intended- such a fragile and coaxing hobby in the cold, miserable, empty depths of space.
Niac: His exact words were 'with all due expedience,' sir. I'm not sure how lemon squares factor into that timeline but I'm willing to bet the Federation won't fall between here and the pastry tray over there.
He looked at the buffet table, with most people still surrounding the entrees and hors’ d'oeuvres. He looked at Niac.
He looked at the table.
He looked at Niac.
He looked at the table, and moseyed towards it. His eyes flashed dubiously before taking three of the lemon squares out and placing them on a nearby plate.
Then he picked up the tray of them and swiftly retreated, Niac by his side.
Shayne: Lemon square, commander?
Niac: Response
((Short Timeskip, Buford’s Office, Deep Space 33))
Shayne munched on his eighth lemon square, deliberately oblivious to the confusion of Buford, who flashed his glance between the captain, Niac, and the tray.
Shayne: Let me get this straight. Deep Space 33 will be playing host to a Sheliak diplomacy contingent trying to resolve a matter of contention in the Isles?
It was almost lunacy to Shayne’s ears- the notion of the Sheliak ever being invited aboard was a troubling one, and even though he was all for the growth of possibilities… in his experience, Sheliak bad.
More to the point, he wasn’t even aware that their internal and impressive collapse had left them with any sort of diplomatic clout or credibility anyway. Was it a diplomat they’d welcome, or a warlord, keen on establishing legitimacy in the Isles for its own purposes? Was it a ploy? Surely it couldn’t be as simple as that. The Sheliak held very little respect for humanoids, but even they’d have to understand how suspicious this was. And yet Buford seemed rather sanguine about this whole thing; something Shayne doubted he could ever be.
Buford: Response
He turned to his XO.
Shayne: Thoughts?
Niac: Response
Tag/TBC…
Captain Randal Shayne
Commanding Officer
NCC 69829
G239202RS0