Lt. JG T’Fearne - This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Beans
Teayl Thorn
((OOC: This Crewman Carstairs is just a general NPC, feel free to write some of his tags if you want to Brian.))
((Brew Continuum, Deck 14, USS Ronin))
T’Fearne seized Carstairs by the front of his uniform and lifted him clean off the deck plating with unceremonious Vulcanoid strength. His boots dangled, scraping uselessly at the air as she pulled him nose-to-nose. Her dark, soulless eyes bored into his.
In contrast to her actions, her tone was calm when she spoke. Almost gentle. Which made it infinitely worse.
T’Fearne: What have you done with my beans?
Crewman Carstairs: ::strangled squeak:: N-no…nothing, sir, I swear—
From beside them, a voice drifted over like someone commenting on the weather.
Niac: Better tell my partner here what she wants to know, Mr. Carstairs. Can't control them when they get like this. Should've seen what she did to this Naussican that got a bit rude back on DS9. How many bones had to be reconstructed in that poor fellows face, Lieutenant? I seem to recall the number twenty seven being thrown around but...hmmm...maybe I shouldn't use the term 'thrown around' just at the moment.
T’Fearne blinked. The mist of green, caffeine-deprivation-induced rage faded, bringing her to her senses by the pure illogical nonsense of the Captain's statement.
T’Fearne: You are mistaken, Captain. ::sighing, but indulging the charade:: There was no record of such an event, and no one has ever found a body or any evidence to suggest that it did occur.
Carstairs made a whining, helpless noise.
Carstairs: ::swallowing:: Sir, please, you can’t, it's against…the—It’s not the Starfleet way.
The corner of the Vulcazoid's mouth curled in the faintest show of amusement. To be able to deceive by telling the truth was particularly satisfying. She was aware, though, that they had created a spectacle in the Brew Continuum.
The Captain crossed his arms over his chest and asked the question again.
Niac: What does this rancid box of stench have to do with our missing beans, Mister? Remember...she can tell when you're lying and you know what she hates more than thieves? Lying thieves. Gives her a headache. You don't want to give the nice Lieutenant a headache, do you? Of course you don't.
T’Fearne stiffened at the Captain’s comment. She didn’t tell many people what her Betazoid capabilities were. Most thought of her as a Vulcan, and she let them continue under that assumption. Had it been an educated guess on Niac’s part, something in her performance review or psych eval from the academy, or was it just part of the ruse?
She covered her lapse in attention by hoisting the Crewman slightly higher.
T’Fearne: Speak the Truth, I will know if you lie! ::addressing Carstairs, but briefly eyeing Niac::
Carstairs: ::straining, gripping the Vulcazoids' wrists:: Wait, wait, wait—please! You’ve got this all wrong. Sirs. Just let me explain the misunderstanding. The Klingon beans are of good quality! They don’t get that stuff out here. I met this merchant at the Farm, at this place with a funny name, “The Trill’s Pacifier”...::glancing worriedly at Niac:: or whatever, you know, the casino. He offered me a shipment of Ferengi beans if I traded what was left of our Qo’noS stock. It sounded like an even swap! He swore it was just as good and the crew would like these just as well…::head drooping between shoulders, looking morosely at the fetid container:: It seemed like a good deal at the time…
The Captain listened as the confession tumbled out of the man's mouth.
Niac: Well well well...this takes the case in a whole new direction. What do you say, Lieutenant...think you can put Mr. Carstairs back on the deck without throwing him through it? Would save me a bit of paddwork.
Obligingly, she lowered him gently back to the deck. Adjusted his collar neatly. Plucked a speck of lint off his shoulder. But her mind was already cycling through probabilities. The Captain seemed to believe the details to be true, but she was not so sure. Everything had a sheen of sliminess, like an oil spill. Half-truths carefully wrapped around omissions.
T’Fearne: ::calmly:: How much?
Carstairs: ::confused:: Sir? Just an even swap of the beans. I swear I didn’t know they were—:: nose wrinkling:: weird like that.
True, but not what she had been asking.
Niac: Response
The Vulcazoid nodded as the Captain put his finger on the root of the problem.
T’Fearne: Is that it, Mr Carstairs? Gambling? You mentioned the casino. You wagered more credits—or latinum than you had. Lost more than you could cover. And when asked what other forms of payment you could get your hands on, you made a… creative deal? And you thought we wouldn't notice the difference. ::eyeing the Ferengi Beetled Beans with disgust:: Where are the Q'Onos Kav’ten beans right now?
Carstairs went still. Too still.
She pointed a single finger at him and tried to pin him to the bulkhead with her obsidian gaze.
Niac: Response
Carstairs bolted. With out a word, just pure, panicked flight as he sprinted out of the Brew Continuum and vanished around the corner.
The security officer didn’t immediately leap after him. She exhaled once, deeply and turned to the Captain. Mild amusement in her dark eyes.
T’Fearne: If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ll go attend to that.
Niac: Response
T’Fearne: As you wish, Sir. It’s your ship.
((Corridors, Deck 14, USS Ronin))
The Security officer stepped out with purpose, falling into step beside the Captain’s seemingly enthusiastic stride. Was it her imagination or did his stride lengthen? She matched it. Did he speed up? She went faster.
Within seconds, they were flat-out running through the corridors of the ship in hot pursuit of the hapless crewman Carstairs.
They hit an intersection and skidded to a halt.
Niac: Response
T’Fearne pivoted, ready to dash toward the bow, until the Captain’s voice pulled her in another direction.
[Tags / TBC]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14