Lt. JG T’Fearne - Magic Beans
Teayl Thorn
((Brew Continuum, Deck 14, USS Ronin))
T’Fearne tried—truly tried—not to stare accusingly at the Petty Officer Crewman Third Class who had flagged her down the moment she stepped into the Brew Continuum. The part-time barista wore the expression of someone who had just witnessed the slow collapse of civilisation and was now appealing to Security to restore order to the universe.
T’Fearne: ::gaze serious:: Crewman, please elaborate on “The beans are gone”?
The crewman shifted from foot to foot like the deck plating was heating up.
Crewman Third Class: Yes, Sir. I—I took a short break, um you know…and when I came back, the beans were gone.
oO Don’t say it. Please don’t say it. Oo
Crewman Third Class: The fancy Klingon beans.
The security officer's jaw tightened only slightly.
T’Fearne: ::brows raised, voice neutral:: The Q'Onos Kav’ten Varietals?
Her favourite blend.
The part-time barista shrugged, but nodded.
T’Fearne suppressed a sigh. She had been on her way to the Brew Continuum for just such a cup, and now this had happened.
The scent of the last shot poured of the Kav’ten still lingering in the air. A complex bouquet of dark cacao notes, a hint of caramel and a faint edge of some smoked spice that only Klingon cultivars carried and her half-Vulcan olfactory senses detected with cruel precision.
She pulled a PADD from under her arm, the picture of a mildly pained security officer forced to document the galaxy’s most illogical crime. On one hand, she would rather be anywhere else than filing a petty larceny report about coffee, on the other, she really wanted the unreplicated beans in her favourite blend.
The barista finished their account, consisting of a vague timeline, some suspicious crew movements, and a complete inability to describe anyone more specifically than “you know, medium height.”
T’Fearne: Thank you, Crewman. I will begin reviewing sensor logs from 0430 to 0645. If additional information is needed, I will… return.
The barista audibly gulped and scurried back to the shiny machine that was the heart and soul of the Brew Continuum and there for the lifeblood of the ship and the crew.
The initial incident report filed, T’Fearne stepped back from the counter and surveyed the café. Alpha shift rush was in full swing, and most tables were overflowing with caffeine-fueled crew. She needed a quiet spot to start sorting through the data—movement records, environmental sensor logs, and caffeine consumption trends.
Then she caught it again, the unmistakable aroma of recent Q'Onos Kav’ten. Her nose led her to a table with a single occupant.
Captain Niac sat alone by a bulkhead. posture relaxed, gaze focused on a PADD of his own. He looked to be enjoying a morning or perhaps a late-night beverage—and the cup at his elbow held only the faintest trace of the stolen blend at the bottom. More importantly, he looked like someone who had been sedentary long enough to have seen something.
T’Fearne approached, braced, PADD clasped behind her back.
T’Fearne: Captain Niac. Apologies for the interruption, Sir. Could I have a moment of your time?
Niac: Response
She nodded, shifted to an at-ease stance, eyeing his empty cup.
T’Fearne: I am well. Still restricted to light duties following the slight reaction to the plant-based inoculant. I expect I’ll be cleared for full active duty soon. How are you, Sir?
Niac: Response
She inclined her head, accepting the pragmatic wisdom.
T’Fearne: ::slightly resigned:: Understood, I’ll report to sickbay to confirm. At present, however, I am conducting an investigation regarding the theft or disappearance of the ship’s supply of Q'Onos Kav’ten coffee beans. :: stiefling a surge of jealousy:: I believe you may have been the recipient of the final cup from that blend before its disappearance. Your presence here suggests you may have been in the vicinity during the relevant timeframe.
She gestured to the espresso machine that now sported a flagrantly illogical handwritten sign taped to the front of the grinder.
We regret to inform you that the Klingon bean varietals are temporarily unavailable due to a supply inconsistency. Please direct all questions to Security.
T’Fearne: ::indicating the chair across from him:: May I join you? I have some questions.
Niac: Response
Her eyebrows shot up as she took the seat.
T’Fearne: I’m not suggesting you had something to do with it, Captain. Only that you might be able to assist with my initial enquiries. I believe it was during our first meeting that you observed that starship life run on paddwork and a fair amount of coffee and tea. The importance of coffee to the Ronin culture is clear to me, Sir.
She lifted her hand slightly toward the Brew Continuum around them, a hole in the wall establishment, carved out of Deck 14, but it had become a staple of Ronin shipboard life.
Niac: Response
[Tags / TBC]
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Security Officer
USS Ronin - NCC-34523
R240107T14