Lt Cmdr Quentin Beck - A Date So Blind, He Doesn't Know It's A Date

[Quentin Beck]

((Chief Medical Officer's Office, Sickbay Complex, Deck 10, USS Ronin))

Quentin sat at his desk in his office, fingernails drumming rapidly against the flat surface as he studied the latest reports that had been shared by the USS Blackwell regarding the samples he, Niac, and Solana had been able to provide for the base Tarellian plague. Initial findings were hopeful, if a bit skeptical about finding a solution, and it looked like they were already planning the return trip to bring the samples to one of many secured medical labs near Earth. That was good news.

Even if he'd been hoping to be included with part of that research.

Truth be told, though, he wasn't even sure if he'd be allowed to visit the planet's surface, let alone depart the Ronin to head straight into the heart of the Federation when there was even the slightest chance he was still carrying the base virus. It seemed to be taking quite a long time for them to make up their minds about it, too - he'd been one of the first to submit his paperwork and a blood sample. Fingers crossed they were just caught up in red tape at the moment.

He was just about to shut off the monitor and head back to his quarters… when his combadge chirruped, drawing his attention. Arching a brow, he hoped for the best as he thumbed the comm.

Thoné: =/\= Clean Hall to Sickly Bay =/\=

Quentin blinked. He didn't recognize the voice on the other end of the line, nor did he remember what or where exactly was the Clean Hall. 

Beck: =/\= This is Doctor Beck. What can we do for you, Clean Hall? =/\=

Thoné: =/\= Medical Emergency! Bring a Napkin and some wine! =/\=

He blinked again. In all the time he'd been a Doctor - hell, in all the times he'd been a person - he had never once heard someone call for a napkin and a bottle of wine for a medical emergency. He had a funny feeling this was a prank call of some kind.

Thumbing the mute, he pulled up a diagram of the Ronin and brought up the readout for the Clean Hall Lounge. Klo…wahkan? 

Quentin blinked a third time. When the hell had – when had they opened up a whole new restaurant on the ship and he hadn't noticed? Wrinkling his nose, he brought up the record for the proprietor, Zevya Thoné, who was listed as a civilian member with a title that he was almost certain was made up.

He almost sneered. Then thought better of it. He didn't know much about Klowahkans, nor if they were actually related to Aurelians or just had symmetrical evolution, but he could assume his allergies might kick the hell up just getting near the restaurant. He sighed, then turned the mute off again.

Beck: =/\= Understood. I'll be on my way shortly. =/\=

((Zeyva’s Kitchen, Clean Hall Lounge, Deck 6, USS Ronin))

About ten minutes and a hefty dose of antihistamine later, Quentin turned the corner to approach the Lounge and… stopped when he saw Tess Evinrude rounding the exact opposite corner at the exact same time. Arching a brow, pulling the emergency medical kit more firmly against his side while also carrying a bottle of Andorian blue wine in the other hand. Then he continued forward, coming to a halt just outside the doors to the Lounge and almost nose to nose with Tess.

Beck: Mister Evinrude. Fancy meeting you here.

Evinrude: Response

Quentin opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by the doors to the Lounge parting to reveal not just one but three bird-persons, one of which was tucking a napkin into the collar of who he was sure he recognized as Om-Zora in what he could only assume was an intimate sort of moment… and he could feel his nostrils start to itch despite the medicine coursing through his system.

Thoné: Guests! Please, come and sit down!

His nostrils flared a little and he sniffed before glancing over at Tess, looking very confused. Then he sloooowly, caaaarefully turned to step through the doors, brandishing the bottle of wine a bit like a club and clutching onto the medkit.

Om-Zora: ::in a monotone:: Evening to you both.

He would be… polite at least. It didn’t mean he liked them.

Beck: Lieutenant. ::to Thoné:: Correct me if I'm wrong, but this doesn't look like a medical emergency, Ms. Thoné. ::a beat:: Mrs. Thoné? I apologize, I am not familiar with Klowakhan formalities. Maybe 'Chef' is more appropriate, considering the setting?

Evinrude/Robin/Thoné: Response

Om-Zora: I didn’t realize there would be more people.

Beck: ::under his breath:: You and me both, sister. ::clearing his throat, louder:: I, uh… brought a bottle of Andorian wine as I was given no parameters for what I should bring. I hope that works.

Evinrude/Robin/Thoné: Response

Om-Zora: Well, you know what they say. Birds of a feather, and all that.

Quentin let out a little snort, reminded too quickly of Dekas, whom he hadn't seen for quite some time. He studied each of them in turn, considering things for a moment, then shrugged and slid into the seat, setting the medkit down on the floor beside his chair. He considered making an excuse, that he had something important to attend to… but considering he was mostly just waiting to hear from the Blackwell, he figured it wouldn't hurt to indulge the Klowahkan chef.

Beck: So… what's on the menu, Chef?

Evinrude/Robin/Thoné/Om-Zora: Response

Beck: Okay, then… do you have any specialties? I am a bit of a foodie myself, so I'm willing to try something I've never had before.

Evinrude/Robin/Thoné/Om-Zora: Response

He folded his arms together on the table just in front of him, fingers curling against his elbows.

Beck: So… what's the occasion? I've never been pranked into a dinner before…

Evinrude/Robin/Thoné/Om-Zora: Response

[Tags/TBC!]

Lieutenant Commander Quentin Beck

Chief Medical Officer

USS Ronin NCC-34523

A238810SA0