May 24, 2020, 10:15:22 PM5/24/20
((Kitchen, Deck 4, SS Wildfire))
Jock returned to the very small but functional kitchen after having delivered a plate of buffalo wings to The Marth's table. The large thick door slid shut loudly behind him as Jock as his eyes adjusted to the only room on the ship that was brightly lit.
Donovan: I need those Duck Confits. Are the Guinea Fowl Blanquettes going to be ready on time?
As a young man, Jock was recruited from Scotland on Earth by a CCMS recruiting drive and became a Marshal. Years later, he followed his true passion for food and cooking by finally saving enough to attend an elite cooking school. He quit the CCMS.
Many years later after graduating, low-paying apprenticeships, and penultimately becoming a Sous chef, Jock opened his own fine dining restaurant "The Crowded Star" on Ketar V, specialising in poultry dishes. But the expensive restaurant struggled for repeat patronage, due to its cost and remoteness in the Shoals. Enter "The Marths", who had made Jock a job offer at a time when the chef was facing mounting debt and un ugly divorce. The job was as a handsomely paid chef on a "niche freighter", to replace the previous cook who had burnt herself badly in, ironically, a cooking oil fire. Jock jumped at the chance, and in a blink of an eye left his old life behind on Ketar V.
The Marths then promptly upgraded the ship's kitchen to Jock's specifications.
Garawas: ::Quietly:: Yes Chef.
Raacuc: ::Casually:: Running slightly behind with the Blanquettes, Jock.
In a fit of rage, Jock pulled the chef's hat from his head and threw it onto the ground, before he gave his Bolian and Bajoran understudies a piercing look.
Donavan: LISTEN YOU &$#$#^! &%&^ &^&&%$ CONFITS ARE FOR THE &%#^%* CAPTAIN, AND HIS GUESTS, DOING A &%^%&^ &%^^% BUSINESS DEAL, WHILE YOU &%&&^ @^%##!%# WITH YOUR *$$&^#!!! SO, LETS FOCUS #$% @# $#%@#@ CONFITS, AND #@#$% @#$ ^#$#@. IN ABOUT AN HOUR THERE'LL BE AROUND FIFTY ^$^%&& HUNGRY ^$^%&& CREW WALKING IN HERE AND I WANT TO SERVE THEM BLANQUETTES, NOT #@% @#@^# !@@$#& @%^*@#! DO I %$%$##$ MAKE MYSELF %!@^* CLEAR?!
Garawas: Got it.
Raacuc: Yes, Chef.
Donovan: LET ME HEAR YOUR %#$#$$ %#$%$ @#%^ VOICES!!!
Garawas/Raacuc: ::In unison:: YES CHEF!
Donovan: Much Better! That's how ^$#$@ $%^$% %$^^ ^##$%%^@^ run a &%##@% kitchen ^#$#$#*@!
The Bajoran and Bolian cooks both turned back to their stations, while Jock picked up three silver bowls, then went back out of the kitchen to the bar area of the galley that now also doubled as a pass. He began to prepare a duck jus.
Normally when the galley was full, the only thing to be heard was a raucous crew. But when it was near empty, he could easily hear different conversations...
Zuccaro: I do believe you failed to state the condition required of said item, and so, ::he gestured with a flourish of his hand to the crate,:: we brought you the item as required in a condition you failed to state you required said item.
Josett: What is it you told us that one time? ::She grinned at Marths, perfectly carefree and absolutely not calculating their exit strategy.:: "The devil's in the details."
Zuccaro: Captain... Can I call you Captain? ::He leaned a little forward on his arm.:: The problem is not the problem; the problem is your attitude about the problem. We delivered the item to which you have a problem, however, what you fail to see is the problem is now your problem, not our problem. Savvy?
The Marths, who had his chin rested on his hand and a finger over his mouth, took in a deep breath before he spoke.
Marths: No, you see the problem is that you think my attitude toward the problem is the problem. Yes, the devil is very much in the detail, and herein lies the problem. My attitude toward the problem is redundant - the fact is, the core *problem* is, there's a mirror here sitting in front of me. Context. That mirror is in pieces. Detail. You have a problem as much as I do.
Zuccaro: I don't believe you're keeping up here, old boy. We did the job. We get paid. Done and dusted.
Marths: I'm keeping up *juuuuust* fine.
Josett: Well, you know Ollie. ::She smiled at him, eyes twinkling, then turned that smile on Marths, as dazzling as she could muster. The man had a weakness for women, after all.:: The Marth has been good to us, and you can understand his disappointment.
Marths: ::Smiling at Josett:: Aren't you pretty. ::Mimicking Josett:: Well you know, Ollie... ::Normal voice:: maybe we could work out an arrangement that involves ::winking to Lena:: the lovely lady here. I have a warm Jacuzzi.
Josett: I'm sure we can figure something out. You'd still like your mirror, we'd still like to get paid...
Jock's duck jus preparation (and let's be honest eavesdropping) was interrupted by the quiet whisper of one of his cooks placing three plates in front of him.
Raacuc: ::Whispering:: Confits are up, Chef.
Donovan: ::Dry, sarcastic whispering:: %#$@$#% wonderful. ::Gesturing with head to kitchen:: @%#$%#&.
As Raacuc left, Jock grabbed a nearby small jug, and with a spoon swirled the sapphire looking jus on to each plate to make them look like a work of art. He expertly picked up and carried the plates, all on one arm, and made his way to the Captain's table. The smell of stale oil invaded his nostrils. The only way they were ever going to get rid of it was to rip and replace the whole galley - something Marths had resisted.
Marths: I've spent time in prison. As I'm sure you have. My last stretch was a long one. ::Shaking head:: Too long, never again. But last time, instead of just fighting, forming gangs and trading in substances, I also tried to get an education. I failed, but ::chuckling:: I studied law! Can you believe it? ::Holding out hands wide:: The Marths! Learning about law. ::Raising finger:: What amazed me was how centuries old cases still affect the law to this very day. ::Gleefully smashing hand on table:: Amazing!
Donovan: Sorry to interrupt, lady and gentlemen. ::Placing plates on table:: Steamed Duck Confit with a Duck Jus.
Marths' left wrist band silently vibrated, informing him that Bonus, Buttercup, and their haul were back aboard the Wildfire.
Marths: ::Looking at Jock:: We were just about to discuss a centuries old law case over this ::sniffing:: mmm, delicious meal. But, *Oh Baby*, unfortunately I'm going to have to send our two guests to the brig.
The ship's computer was programmed to keep a permanent site-to-site transporter lock on all crew, *and* any visitors that came aboard. It was also programmed to "silently" (without a confirmation tone) perform commands when hearing the two words "Oh Baby".
It did so as programmed, and transported Lena and Ollie to the brig...
((Brig, Deck 4, SS Wildfire))
The two "guests" each beamed into a holding cell.
The ship's Keeper, "Roller", a large hairy (except for his perfectly bald head) Human/Tellarite bybrid who was as wide as he was unfeasibly tall, moved over to the cells, towering over the two of them. He spoke in a deep, gruff voice.
Roller: Ooh, 'allo...
He stepped closer, and looked them up and down. A wicked smile appeared on his face, showing how many teeth he was missing (which, given 24th century health standards, must have been deliberate). He slowly licked his palms, before addressing them.
Roller: ...my... *pretties*. We're gonna 'ave lots of fun.
He gave them a pointed, wheezed, evil snicker, before his face turned to disappointment as the two pirates were beamed back to their own ship.
((Meanwhile, back on the Bridge, Deck 1, SS Wildfire... ))
Elliot and Peregrine were already back at their consoles as The Marths took his seat.
Marths: Those two are back on their ship. Tell me you got something good.
A devilish smile appeared on his face, before he began barking orders.
Marths: ::To Tygin:: Get us out of here, Buttercup. Warp 5.3 for as long as you can, then cover our tracks. Same as usual. ::To Manstead:: Give her all the power she needs.
Marths: The rum will have to wait. We have a freighter to raid.
On his chair's console, Marth tapped away a command to authorise the transfer one single strip of latinum from his own anonymous account into that of Ollie and Lena's, with a reference note: "Ritchie v Atkinson (1808, Earth)".
Jock $#%^@*$ Donovan
Henley "The Marth" Marths