Posted by Lieutenant Commander Alex Cross (Chief Counselor) in Main sim - 1800 Hours Sal III Market - BBQ Shin Dig

Posted by Gamemaster GM CockRoach (Gamemaster) in Main sim - 1800 Hours Sal III Market - BBQ Shin Dig
It was going on 1800 hours in the evening, the sun was just starting a slow descent to setting, and much of the large central open air market area of the main colony had been converted into a large open air bbq buffet like series of lines and tables. At least 100 some colonists were present, a mix of those who would be eating, those who would be managing the food, and those who would be distributing or managing drinks.

The air was a mix of crisp forest/mountain air, seasoned smoke, cooked meat, oils, spices, and more. The heady mixture making everyone eager for the final product to be ready to consume. The tables held a mixture of local and locally grown Federation vegetables.

GM CockRoach

The early evening air carried warmth and smoke, the unmistakable scent of grilled meat and spices drifting on a soft breeze that curled through the gathering like an invitation. Laughter, music, and the low hum of conversation blended together—alive, vibrant… familiar.

And into it, Alex stepped.

Lieutenant Alex Cross didn’t arrive in uniform today.

He moved through the entrance in relaxed, unmistakable New Orleans style—effortlessly put together, like he hadn’t tried too hard, but still knew exactly what he was doing. A lightweight, short-sleeve linen shirt rested open at the collar, crisp but breathable in the heat, its subtle pattern catching just enough light to stand out without demanding attention. The sleeves sat just right on his arms, hinting at the strength beneath without showing off.

Dark, well-fitted trousers—just shy of formal, but far from casual—paired with polished leather loafers completed the look. Clean. Comfortable. Intentional.

Jewelry was minimal, but deliberate.

A thin gold chain rested at the base of his collarbone, occasionally catching the light when he moved. A simple bracelet—dark leather with a small metallic clasp—wrapped his wrist, worn enough to suggest it meant something. On his right hand, a subtle ring—nothing flashy, just a quiet accent—balanced the rest. And his watch… classic, understated, functional. The kind of piece that didn’t need to prove its worth.

Everything about him said ease.

But it was his presence that settled the space around him.

Alex paused just inside, dark eyes scanning the scene—not clinically, not like he was working—but instinctively. Reading people had long since stopped being something he did and had simply become part of who he was. He picked up on the small things: who was relaxed, who was pretending to be, who needed space, who needed company.

And for once… he let it go.

A slow breath filled his lungs, the kind that grounded instead of measured. Smoke, spice, laughter—real life, not filtered through duty or responsibility.

A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth.

This wasn’t a briefing room. Not a counseling session. Not a crisis waiting to unfold.

This was… normal.

Or as close as life in Starfleet ever got.

He rolled his shoulders once, letting the last remnants of shipboard tension slip away, and stepped fully into the gathering—no rank, no title leading him. Just Alex.

Just a man from New Orleans, walking into a BBQ, feeling—for the first time in a while—like he could simply exist in the moment.

Counselor Alex Cross

Riley brought shrimp for the colonists to try after making sure from the middle for records that they are able to handle it. He helped the cooks, prepared the shrimp using lemon lime juice to marinate it. As one of the cooks tried it he was hooked.

Commander Riley O’Nell