Ensign Lyra Voss: Anyway, Pasta
Sarah Terry
((Evan Ross’s Quarters; Upper Habitat Section, StarBase 118))
Even a quick glance around Ross’s quarters made it evident: the jump to homemade pasta was not for the faint of heart. She could feel the tinge of his embarrassment - after all, it wasn’t as if they knew each other well. But she’d been so grateful for his kindness and conversation at the awards ceremony - maybe saving dinner could return the favor. She tried to straighten out the amusement on her face a bit.
Voss: I didn’t mean to… just wow! Well, I’m really glad you called! And I brought chocolate. So uh, what exactly were you trying to make?
At least chocolate seemed like the right idea.
Ross: Oh wow... - thanks! Come on in. ::he gestured her to enter the chaos:: I'm not even sure what I was attempting, the recipe says Pomodoro, but I didn't really get there. The dough is way too sticky. So I thought do the sauce, can always replicate the pasta, but... oh well...
He shrugged in the general direction of the kitchen before running a hand through his hair and somehow depositing even more flour in the process. She handed him the chocolate bar as she walked in and started surveying the damage.
Voss: ::gesturing toward the kitchen:: May I…?
Ross: Please, make yourself at home. Would you like a drink? Sorry, I already started.
She noticed a bottle of Saurian brandy on a small side table as she walked into the kitchen to wash her hands. And the flour on the floor. She tried again not to smirk - all the hallmarks of disaster.
Voss: Oh sure, thanks. Um… bourbon, if you have it?
That tended to be a drink humans had, wasn’t it? She’d done a poor job acquainting herself with Terran alcohol at the Academy, probably because she’d spent half her time there as a shut-in and hadn’t wanted to go full sad-lump by drinking alone. The memory made her wince. At least she was a (mostly) recovering recluse by now - it had only taken a whole gap year of therapy to get there… Ross brought her a glass of amber liquid and then took a cautious step back from the kitchen.
Ross: Hope I didn't cross your plans for the night?
She laughed. If only he’d heard what she was just thinking.
Voss: No, no. You saved me actually. My only plan was unpacking more suitcases, and I’m thrilled to leave that for another day. ::turning to face the kitchen island, with her hands on her hips:: Okay! So let’s see where we are here…
Ross: Just tell me what to do. You can't make it worse, believe me. ::he grinned wryly:: So... how did the mission go for you? First one, right?
Her finger was moving down the PADD displaying the recipe as she read through it, when he asked about the mission and she froze. There was no easy answer to that question. Was he asking sincerely? His emotions certainly felt sincere, but “it was going well until I let a telepathic nebula creature into my brain and it made me want people dead” seemed a touch too honest for dinner conversation. And actually… she imagined he’d already heard the broad strokes of what they’d done on the Narendra, which undoubtedly included her psychic escapades, which undoubtedly made it obvious that she was a Betazoid - a fact she had not opened with when they’d first met, when she had deftly brought up things that reminded him of his ex, asked about his estranged sister, and wouldn’t shut up about space. And now she’d taken a far-longer-than-socially-acceptable pause to think through this, so she needed to say something.
Voss: ::slight stammering:: I… it… it was intense. I mean, I guess they always are. I hallucinated my childhood dance teacher yelling at me. That probably doesn’t always happen. And trying to stay in contact with the nebula creature without passing out or losing my mind was a challenge…
Ross: ?
He only managed to get out a few words of response before she cut him off in her nervousness.
Voss: ::flustered:: And I’m – I’m sorry to… I just wanted… I am a Betazoid. Maybe you already… but you were wondering when we met if you’d run into a telepath, and I am a telepath, but it just felt really awkward to jump in and say it then, but I probably should have, and I’m so sorry. I swear I’m not actively trying to read anyone’s thoughts, but sometimes things pop up and I… just… yeah. But you can… feel free to ask me anything. My ex, my fraught relationship with my mother, anything. I’m an open book. A profoundly awkward open book.
The words had really gotten away from her, and she braced herself for his reaction and resisted the urge to crouch down and hide behind the kitchen island. Thankfully, it was less dire than she feared.
Ross: ?
She felt both enormous relief and deep embarrassment. Her face turned red all the way to the tips of her ears and she held her head in her hands for a moment with self-conscious laughter before she took a long sip of her drink.
Voss: ::self-deprecating:: Four above… see, your kitchen may be a mess, but my brain is a mess, so you’ve got one up on me.
Ross: ?
Voss: ::trying to recover:: Anyway, pasta. That’s a thing. And pomodoro sauce. Looks like the tomatoes are already crushed and simmering, so garlic/basil olive oil infusion is next? Then we can tackle the pasta dough. I’ll start chopping garlic, if you want to chop basil?
Ross: ?
They both took places at the kitchen island and started chopping. Lyra grabbed the bulb of garlic, broke off some cloves, and started smashing them with the broad side of a knife to make it easier to peel the skins. Her cheeks were still a lingering shade of pink, but she tried to resurrect the conversation.
Voss: How was the mission for you? I heard you and S’zurak were almost blown up - that’s a hell of a way to end things.
Ross: ?