Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - This Meal May be Recorded for, uh... Strictly Innocent Purposes
Carter Schimpff
(( ‘Appetite Optional’, Ferenginar ))
MacKenzie: I don't know if you know this, but I love hasparat. In fact, I often complain it's not spicy enough. Someone must have sent this as a gift. But who could have known we were here?
Munro: Probably a lower decker trying to curry some favour. No doubt they'll drop it into conversation when we do the next shift rotation :: smirks mischievously at Mackenzie :: I'll put them on Delta.
Roy lifted his glass slightly, as if in mock salute to the poor soul who’d soon be exiled to Delta shift for culinary war crimes.
An assignment to Delta shift was the Artemis equivalent of saying ‘you did this to yourself.’
Bancroft: Back home, we had a tradition of dropping a surprise casserole, or perhaps a nice bottle of wine, on people we liked. This… feels more like a threat.
He smiled mildly as he said it, but in truth, he wasn’t entirely sure it wasn’t a threat. Especially considering the way MacKenzie’s eyes had lit up at the arrival of the platter.
There was a gleam in them that suggested either deep affection or imminent violence. He hadn’t yet learned to discern the difference.
MacKenzie: Shall I dish you some?
Only Addison MacKenzie could make ‘shall I dish you some?’ sound like both hospitality and a legally actionable warning.
She didn’t wait for an answer – not that anyone at the table had expected her to – and by the time Roy had drawn breath to respond, she was already slicing through the hasperat with the brisk precision of a surgeon.
He watched as she portioned the pinwheels and placed one with finality on his plate, like it was a surprise piece of evidence at a felony trial.
MacKenzie took the first bite herself, and for a moment, Roy dared to hope.
Three chews in, however, her jaw slowed like it had hit resistance. Her eyes glossed over. One nostril streamed openly.
It was, objectively, the most violent reaction to apparent joy he’d ever witnessed.
MacKenzie dabbed, blew her nose, and recovered with alarming speed, offering them both a watery-eyed grin that somehow read as both challenge and endorsement.
MacKenzie: Now that is good hasparat!
Roy stared at the pinwheel on his plate with the sort of cautious reverence one might afford unexploded ordinance.
Roy drew in a slow breath through his nose. Not a steadying one, but the kind a condemned man takes before the hood goes on – and speared a large chunk of his pinwheel with an air of grim determination.
Somewhere in his upbringing, there had been a lesson or forty about meeting adversity with grace. He very seriously doubted the instructor had ever envisioned this specific scenario, though.
He lifted his fork, and the spice hit him before it had even crossed the equator of his face.
The thing was radiating. It had an aura. He was fairly certain if he passed a tricorder in front of it to check for radiation, the tricorder would have melted.
But, he had been raised to be a polite dinner guest – he took a large bite.
The first sensation to hit him was salt and vinegar – sharp, bracing, and almost pleasant.
The second was – there was no other way to put it – regret.
The third was heat, but not the kind one tasted. No – this heat bypassed the tongue entirely, shot straight down the vagus nerve, and lit up his pain receptors like he was being electrocuted.
By the time he swallowed, he was fairly certain he could see through time.
His eyes watered immediately. Not a gentle misting – no, this was a biblical event. His lashes clumped together. A single tear tracked down his cheek. His sinuses attempted to flee his skull.
Somewhere deep in his abdomen, something ancient and primal whispered: you have made a mistake.
Roy breathed out very slowly through his nose, because breathing inward wasn’t really an option any longer. His nostrils felt… exfoliated. As if the hasperat had personally sandblasted the interior of his skull.
He forced his expression into something that approximated calm.
A second later, his palate was seized not by more heat, but by a blossoming of actual flavor. Something floral, something citrus, something slightly metallic, and–
–was that a distant ringing in his ears?
He tried to blink normally.
He did not succeed.
He sat up straighter, dabbed politely at the corner of one eye with his napkin, and pretended everything was fine. First rule of Bancroft table manners? Show no weakness. Second rule? Especially not in front of the Captain.
He cleared his throat – or attempted to – while Munro took a cautious sip of her scotch. Nothing emerged from his mouth but a faint croak and what he swore was a wisp of steam.
Munro: :: coughs :: Isn't dining supposed to be pleasant?
Bancroft: ::sniffling:: We’re physicians, Commander. Only fair to experience the full ::holding back a burp:: spectrum of pain… before we can treat it.
He reached again for his beverage and took a modest sip.
It didn’t help, but it did give him something to do with his hands while he contemplated how many layers of his esophagus he was prepared to sacrifice for dignity.
MacKenzie: Response
At that moment, the Ferengi proprietor returned to their table with what was very unmistakably a bucket. The substance inside was white, opaque, and slightly creamy.
Ferengi: Freshly sourced :: winks at MacKenzie :: on the house.
Roy wasn’t sure which part was more distressing to him: ‘freshly sourced’ or ‘on the house.’ Neither suggested a positive outcome in this establishment.
Munro: No, I'll stick with this :: raised her glass ::
Bancroft: I’ll admit to being tempted, but I think I’ve passed the point where dairy would help. It might be time for ::dry wheeze:: spiritual intervention. Perhaps I’ll see if Doctor Jaran is free later on.
MacKenzie: Response
Munro, bless her, pushed the rest of her hasperat gently toward the center of the table with all the finality of a woman saying ‘thanks very much for the raw plutonium, it’s lovely, but I absolutely won’t be touching it.’
Munro: Captain, feel free to finish this? I'm not putting my mouth or my body through anymore pain :: smiles wickedly :: I am enjoying watching the showdown.
Bancroft: ::hoarsely, trying to rally:: Captain, your fortitude is truly admira– hrkhkhggg– truly admirable, ma’am.
He was not crying. He refused to be crying. The tears were simply the physical manifestation of his respect for the Captain and Commander Munro. Yes, that was it.
MacKenzie/Munro: Response
And then – just as he opened his mouth to ask a neutral question about dessert – the front door to the restaurant slammed open with bureaucratic fury.
A squat Ferengi in a rumpled pinstriped uniform stormed into the dining area, wielding a PADD like it was a bat’leth.
Ferengi Inspector: FRING! ::bellowing towards the back of the restaurant:: Are those off-worlders EATING?!
The proprietor poked his head out of the back, blinking with the slack-mouthed guilt of someone caught with actual red hands.
Ferengi Inspector: This is the THIRD time this week! Your food service license has been revoked for nearly two months! ::rounding on the three officers:: And as for you three– ::eyes narrowing:: –did you sign the waiver?
Roy’s heart made a small, elegant leap against the inside of his ribcage. There had been no waiver. At least, none that he’d signed. And he usually read things before putting them into his mouth.
Bancroft: ::whispering to MacKenzie and Munro:: Are we about to become culinary fugitives?
MacKenzie/Munro: Response
Through their conversation, Roy’s ear caught the tail end of another rant from the Ferengi Inspector.
Ferengi Inspector: –absolutely not bribing me enough to turn a blind eye to this. Three more fatalities and I have to fill out an incident form, Fring!
A long pause followed, during which Roy set down his fork very, very slowly.
Bancroft: ::voice low:: Captain, Commander, may I suggest a… strategic tactical withdrawal? I did pass a high-speed street-luge course just down the block. It’s Ferengi tax-law themed. You race gravity sleds while evading debt collectors, and it seems ideal for anyone wishing to immediately leave this establishment.
MacKenzie/Munro: Response
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1