Capt. Shayne: Grosgrain and Gold, Part I
Quinn
((Arboretum, Deep Space 33))
Shayne had to admit; the station's diplomatic staffing contingent- those poor buggers who thought they’d be writing treaties and managing ambassadorial positions as ensigns- knew how to clean up nicely.
The arboretum was decorated subtly and with some taste; the room that the open area provided was itself a boon to those as cramped as Arrow’s compliment. Food, some of it replicated, and some of it fresh, was laid out; in the pursuit of a tradition to carry forward, he’d insisted that a significant supply of both ice cream and ripe fruit be placed on the buffet table, harkening to those ancient mariners of old upon their return to friendly port for resupply.
Aside from that, chairs and tables were present, along with a more ornate stage than Shayne was used to, a microphone and a small supply of boxes for various chest-ladening pursuits.
He had to say- his invitation to Ohnari had paid off. A clutch of desserts that he could only assume were her doing lined the end of the table, and Shayne was already eyeing a lemon square with lustful intent. The smells were the real victory, though; they wafted warmly throughout the space, recirculating throughout the vents and crevices of their spacious compartment, and lended a sensation of home that was difficult to get through artificial means. Between the warm strings of lights and the presence of plants and water fixtures, the stars above, visible through the transparent aluminum greenhouse dome, were a reminder of just how magical their everyday life was.
And as Shayne greeted incoming persons with a nod or a smile or a slap on the back, he could take to heart just how lucky he was to be among them.
Imprudance was not something he was known for, and yet, he was confident that when the general population stood to attack the food, his beloved lemon squares would be demolished. So he waited until no one was watching, and then hurriedly, inelegantly, piled the custardy concoction into his face-
-just as Ensign Zabi turned the corner.
Shayne put on a pleasant smile as he overroad his body’s sensible judgment and sent the square straining down his gullet before it was properly chewed. The smile continued as his throat muscles yowled in protest, and by the time it was down, he had worked up a sweat. He dabbed at his lips to remove further evidence, and nodded at the approaching Zabi.
Shayne: You’re right on time, Helmsman. The presentation will be starting, well, presently.
Zabi: Response
He was still instinctively swallowing soft chunks of intransigent square that had become lodged in his throat during the emergency swallow.
Shayne: Typically I’ll present awards, promotions and that sort of thing, and then we eat and drink and make merry. Within reason, of course. I’d advise you to find a good seat before they’re gone.
Zabi: Response
As Shayne broke away to climb the steps to the stage, he caught sight of MacKenna, and favored her with a smile and an air-blown kiss. And then, because Niac was nearby, he clarified with a nod towards him.
MacKenna/Niac: Response(?)
Shayne clomped up the wooden steps and tapped the antique microphone, getting the chatting crew’s attention. He glowered over them before smiling again. Sometimes it was fun being the cranky old man- even if Niac had infinitely greater skill, reason and time to earn that designation.
Shayne: Here we are again.
At this point, it had become a tradition, and an observation of the gratitude he felt to those who were still with them- and notably, those who weren’t.
Shayne: We will get to the food presently. But first, business. Some of you have been very damned heroic and Command says I need to honor that. I’ll be honest, y’all- the sooner you stop exceeding expectations the sooner we get to the buffet table next time.
He paused as the crew laughed, or didn’t- the trick to being cool under pressure was making everyone else think you were cool under pressure.
Shayne: To that end I have a phenomenally inconvenient number of awards, proportions and trinkets to hand out to various peoples here tonight. As such, I think we’d better get started. Commander MacKenna, please step forward. Gingerly.
The crew didn’t have to think back terribly hard to understand Shayne’s comment. His beloved’s poor foot had been truly hideously injured during the calamities that befell the Libris. His well-meant sarcasm covered a painful worry that he had not even allowed himself to feel until the most hazardous healing had been completed successfully- a worry that gnawed at his bones and kept him from sleeping well, for fear that her career might be done. As was so often the case, Ash MacKenna had proved him wrong without a single word, and he could only love her for it.
Shayne: Commander; it’s no secret that you sustained considerable injury on Libris, injury that would have caused even the most stout-hearted to wither. Yet you maintained an impressive focus and commitment, and have worked most studiously to overcome this injury. It is with decidedly mixed feelings that I present you the Purple Heart, with sincerest hopes I need never do so again.
He leaned in close after offering both his hand and the box in question, and whispered quietly.
Shayne: I mean it. And I love you.
MacKenna: Response
When he withdrew the mask of pure captainy-ness (most definitely not a word, but he was the captain) was back on, affixed firmly to his features. He joined in the last few smatterings of applause before MacKenna disembarked. TBC... Captain Randal Shayne Commanding Officer USS Arrow
NCC 69829 G239202RS0