Ensign Meris - A Seat at the Bar
Meris/Brian
(( Deck 5, Section 7 – Corridor ))
Following their conversation with Lieutenant JG Bergmen, Meris had returned to their quarters to replace the placard beside their door. Although they had volunteered to do it themself rather than further inconvenience Mister Bergmen – who had been kind and sweet enough to correct the issue – they quickly discovered that replacing the placard was harder than it appeared.
oO What do they do, weld these things in place? Oo
Eventually, they discovered that the trick was to remove two small screws hidden on the underside of the placard. After replicating the appropriate spanner, they removed the old placard and replaced it with the new one. As they stepped back to examine their handiwork, the corner of their mouth twitched in satisfaction at a job well done.
It was now approaching time for the evening meal, and Meris was eager to continue their examination of the various species that made up the crew of the Artemis. However, they realized that by limiting themself to the Artemis, they were missing a broader opportunity – especially given their current proximity to Deep Space 224. With that realization, they instantly recalled the captain’s suggestion of chicken's wings at Molly Malone’s. Deciding there was no time like the present, they secured their quarters and set out.
(( Molly Malone’s Irish Pub – First Promenade, Deck 225, Deep Space 224 ))
Meris arrived at Molly Malone’s and was nearly overwhelmed by the impossibly green decor of the Irish pub. From the floor trim to the lighting above the bar, every surface seemed to lean into a singular color identity with almost militant enthusiasm. Somewhere beneath the flood of emerald, the pub's wooden furnishings and brass fixtures fought to be noticed. The smell of fried starches and warm spices filled the air, undercut by a subtle hint of roasted malt.
It was crowded. Loud. Alive. Meris paused near the entrance, taking in the scene. Tables were packed with a mix of Starfleet officers and civilians, some laughing over shared meals, others hunched in quiet conversation. Overhead, the soft buzz of Irish folk music hummed through vintage-style speakers, lending a distinctly terrestrial warmth.
oO This will be an excellent location to further my cultural observations. Oo
They made their way toward the bar – a long stretch of dark wood polished to a reflective sheen, lined with stools and anchored by a mirrored wall crowded with bottles. Meris scanned for an open seat. Near the center, they spotted a woman in Operations yellow they thought they recognized. It was the same officer they had seen in Elysium speaking with that exceptionally beautiful Kantare woman.
The stool to the woman's left was open.
They approached, stopping beside the stool.
Meris: Pardon me. May I sit here?
Storm: Response.
With permission granted, Meris climbed onto the stool, perching themself upon it—but quickly found themself unsure where to place their feet. There were multiple levels of footrests, none of which seemed quite right. The lowest ones were too far down to reach comfortably, while the higher ones would have left their knees awkwardly close to their chin. In the end, they simply let their legs dangle.
oO What an uncomfortable sitting posture. There may be a cultural emphasis among the Irish on enduring discomfort. Fascinating. Oo
Meris: I am Ensign Meris. Helmsperson for the Artemis. May I inquire as to your name?
Storm: Response.
Meris nodded.
Meris: A pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant Storm.
The bar menu rested on a small vertical display near the edge of the counter. As they flicked through it, they caught glimpses of names that piqued their curiosity.
oO What is corned beef? How do they 'corn' the beef? How do you make a fish into a taco? Oo
Meris glanced at the plate in front of Storm. They leaned over slightly and sniffed. They decided that it smelled very ... Irish.
Meris: May I inquire as to what you have ordered, Lieutenant?
Storm: Response.
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Ensign Meris
Helm Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240207M14