Posted by Commander Riley O’Nell (Executive Officer/Number One) in Main sim - 1800 Hours Sal III Market - BBQ Shin Dig

Posted by Captain Alex Becket (Commanding Officer) in Main sim - 1800 Hours Sal III Market - BBQ Shin Dig

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Izak Waryn (Chief Engineer) in Main sim - 1800 Hours Sal III Market - BBQ Shin Dig
Posted by… suppressed (14) by the Post Ghost! 👻
[snip]

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

Becket came in and smiled. He was coming in and taking a seat down in a seat. As he was doing so, he would think about what the Governor said.

Captain Alex Becket U.S.S. Ark Angel

Wyatt came in carrying a wide, slightly dented tray piled high with sweet corn still on the cob, each ear wrapped in foil and glistening with melted butter that soaked through in golden patches. Balanced beside it was a platter of loose meat sandwiches, the savory filling spilling just slightly from the soft buns—simple, familiar food, the kind that stuck with you. The smell followed him in, warm and comforting, a quiet reminder of where he’d grown up and the kind of gatherings he understood best.
he adjusted his grip so nothing slid off, then made his way toward the table where others had already started laying things out. Conversations buzzed around him—laughter here, a burst of music there—but Wyatt didn’t interrupt or announce himself. He just moved steadily, weaving through people like he’d done it a hundred times before.
He was dressed like he hadn’t put much thought into it, though everything about him still stood out. Black shorts hung just above his knees, leaving his left leg exposed where the tattoo curled into view—a phoenix, inked in dark lines and deep reds, its wings spread wide as if mid-rise, wrapping around his calf in a way that made it seem almost alive when he walked. His shirt was a deep red Hawaiian print, loose and slightly unbuttoned at the top, shifting with each step. On his feet, a pair of worn sandals slapped quietly against the floor, casual and unbothered.
When he reached the table, he set the food down carefully, sliding the tray into an open space among the other dishes. For a second, he lingered, adjusting one of the foil-wrapped cobs like it mattered more than it did. He gave a small nod—more to the moment than to any one person—and then stepped away before anyone could pull him into conversation.
Wyatt scanned the room once, eyes moving without urgency, taking stock. Groups had already formed, conversations layered over each other, people leaning in, laughing, gesturing. It wasn’t that he didn’t belong—he just didn’t feel the need to jump in right away.
He found a chair tucked off to the side, in the corner where the light dimmed just a little and the noise softened enough to think. Pulling it out with a faint scrape, he sat down, leaning back as he stretched one leg forward, the phoenix tattoo catching the light for a moment before settling back into shadow.
From there, he watched.
Not in a detached or judgmental way—just observant. He noticed the way people carried themselves, who talked the loudest, who listened, who kept glancing at the door like they were waiting for someone else to arrive. Every now and then, the corner of his mouth would twitch like he almost smiled at something he caught—a joke half-heard, a gesture that reminded him of someone from home.
He rested his forearms on his thighs, hands loosely clasped, shoulders relaxed. The noise of the room washed over him, but he didn’t seem overwhelmed by it. If anything, he seemed settled there, like this was his way of easing in—taking everything in before deciding where, or if, he wanted to step into it.
For now, he was content just sitting back, people-watching, letting the world come to him instead of the other way around.

Ensign Wyatt Blackford Security Junior Officer U.S.S. Ark Angel

Soral arrived at the barbecue in his white diplomatic uniform, its appearance precise and unblemished.

He experienced no personal inclination to attend such a gathering; social functions of this nature held little intrinsic value for him. However, he understood their purpose. Informal interaction fostered cohesion, and cohesion, in turn, supported effective diplomacy and mission success.

Attendance, therefore, was logical.

Lt. Soral T’Varan CDO USS Ark Angel

Riley went around to the groups seeing if the officers were having a food time. He did bring some party games if people get bored. The past the month have been long and the pips on his collar had some weight. He wondered was he doing his job well and he did find himself walk to engineering every morning. He did do his checks on every department making sure everything was running smoothly so the captain can focus on being the captain.

Commander Riley O’Nell (XO)

Alex looked around and then looked at Riley and nodded. As he approving of Riley’s intentions of bringing games for entertainment. Possibly something that the governor wasn’t expecting.

Captain Alex Becket Commanding Officer U.S.S. Ark Angel

Alex Cross moved easily through the warm hum of the gathering, the low rhythm of conversation and distant laughter wrapping around him like a familiar melody. The scent of grilled meats, butter, and spice pulled him naturally toward the food tables, where the heart of the celebration seemed to gather in both flavor and spirit.

As he reached the table, he paused for a moment, taking it all in.

“Smells like someone back home decided to bless this place,” he said with a soft grin, his voice warm and easy as he spoke to the colonist who stood behind the table.

He picked up a plate and moved down the line, building it with thoughtful precision. A golden ear of corn on the cob, brushed in butter. A modest five-ounce cut of steak, still glistening from the grill. A baked potato, split open and steaming. He added a soft sandwich bun, then a portion of shrimp, their seasoning catching the light—and his attention.

“Go ahead and load me up on those shrimp,” he added with a quiet chuckle. “You’re speaking my language now.”

As he continued, he glanced toward the servers, offering an appreciative nod. “Whoever’s behind this spread… you’ve done something special here.”

He shifted the plate slightly in his hands, taking in the details, the care. “Takes a certain kind of patience to get food like this just right. Reminds me of home.”

He paused briefly before adding, his tone softening just a touch. “New Orleans. Born and raised. You never really leave it behind—not the food… not the people.”

Stepping aside to allow others through, he gave a final nod of thanks. “I appreciate it. Truly.”

As he moved away from the table, plate in hand, there was a quiet contentment in his expression. Not just from the food—but from the simple act of connection, even if the responses would come later.

Even out here, far from Earth… it still found a way to feel like home.

Counselor Alex Cross

The smell of the bbq was amazing… Izak couldn’t wait to dig in.

As the final preparations were being made, Lt Waryn wandered around and made small talk with a few of the locals milling about, and thanked some of the people working hard to get everything ready.

He made his way to the drink area and grabbed himself a couple bottles of the local lager. It was a little bitter for his taste, but it was still crisp and refreshing.

He finally wandered over to some of the tables that other Starfleet officers were hanging around… then spied Ensign Blackford off the the side a little bit and altered course.

“Taking a little breather I see, Wyatt.” Izak said with an easy grin as he extended a bottle of lager. “Would you like my backup beer… or do you just want to recharge a bit more?”

Lt J.G. Izak Waryn - Chief Engineer - U.S.S. Ark Angel

Ollie entered the BBQ and glanced around. He hadn’t exactly been sure what to wear, but he figured it would be poor form to risk getting a bunch of sauce on his dress whites so he had opted for something more Hawaiian formal. He wore some dark brown, nicer shorts and a Hawaiian style shirt that was black with vibrant yellow flowers, leaving a few buttons open at the top. The colors worked really well with his skin tone and made his spots pop.

Having worked up quite the appetite earlier, he made his way quickly over to the buffet tables and started taking small samples of several of the offerings. He figured there wouldn’t be any dishes made in the island style but he was equal opportunity when it came to BBQ.

Lieutenant Commander Ezeami - COS

Falz walk into the BBQ taking in a deep breath at the odors that surrounded him. It had been a long time since he’d been to a social gathering this large before. He hadn’t been sure if he should go initially but since he was still fairly new to the ship he figured he should go along. As a waiter walked past with a tray full of drinks, he neatly plucked one off the tray and took a sip. Besides, drinking was not made to be done alone.

Whatever it was that he was drinking was must have been too good, it was already gone. He was tempted to grab another drink but seeing no waiters currently near him but he decided not to go over to the drinks table. Deciding that he should probably go talk to some people and maybe grab himself some food first.

“I don’t think even the Prophets themselves could have put on a finer meal that this,” Falz said coming up behind the security chief, he had the empty glass still in his hand while the other one was grabbing a snack off the table to eat.

Lt. Hegush COO

Ollie glanced up as the other man spoke. He hadn’t yet met the new operations chief and offered him a smile.

“Well, I don’t know much about the prophets, but so far everything looks pretty good. It’s no luau, but I think it will do,” he glanced back across the spread of dishes and then returned his attention to Hegush. “How are things going Lieutenant? Are you settling in on the ship?”

“We’re off duty, just call me Falz if you like.” Hegush gave an easy grin, “Or not, whatever suits you Lieutenant Commander,” Spying a waiter collecting empty glasses he spun around and dropped the glass down on the tray, thanking the waiter as he did. “When you get as old as I am, one ship is a good as another, I’ve got access to food, drink, a bathroom and a place to rest my wary head. The only difference is the quality of the company one keeps,” An imagine of a young adult Bajoran male with soft blonde curls that surrounded his head like a halo, accompanied by a wistfull almost melancholic feeling. And behind the image more faces, that disappeared as quickly as they came.

“I haven’t met many of the crew outside of my department yet but I’m curious to see what side of the stars this Ark Angel flies.”

Lieutenant Commander Ezeami - COS

As the Ark Angel crew filed in and some NE’s on the ship joined who were off duty the marketplace swelled with people and chatter. Thankfully it was large enough to handle the increase in population and due to strategically placed sound dampeners it never got too overwhelmingly loud then it would have otherwise. Just as the sun fully set and everyone had a plate and/or drink in their hands or were at the many tables, over at a podium by the heat of the table where Becket and other senior Ark Angel officers sat, The Govenor stood getting everyone’s attention, =/\= Excuse me everyone? May I have your attentions please for but a moment?=/\= he said over the speaker comm system.

Once a comfortable silence fell he continued, =/\= First off I want to welcome our guests from the USS Ark Angel who got to enjoy this time with us, and share this food. Secondly for those still up on their ship and listening in you can rest assured all left over food will be sent up at the end of the night for your enjoyment. =/\= He said with a smile.

=/\= With that part out of the way, thirdly I wanted to congratulate everyone on our wonderful colony for your hard work this past winter and early spring harvest season. I know our past winter was a little rough when those Sakilla beetles got into our one harvester but we all pulled together and tightened our belts a bit and got through it tougher and better together then ever! =/\= he said to which a cheer of the colonists went up.

=/\= It is with all this in mind that with the Ark Angel’s delivery we can finally get those upgrades and tools we need to continue to expand and grow our wonderful colony. Enjoy the evenings festivities! =/\= he said taking a long swig of his drink, where upon another cheer went up and everyone started to really dig into their food and activities.

GM CockRoach

Izak eventually made his way to the tables and enjoyed the early part of the dinner.

He was impressed eith the food, and with the community they seemed to be building here.

Starfleet did what it could to bring different regions of space together and build a galactic community… and that shar3d purpose and vision was a powerful thing.

It was different when it was more intimate, though. The bonds forged at a remote colony world like this… or onboard a starship… were more tangible. More real.

Lt Wayrn was glad the Ark Angel would be staying in the sector to support this colony for a while. He liked the idea that they’d be helping the community grow, even in a small way.

A local came by offering some ribs fresh off the grill, and he waved them away with a smile. He shook his head to the rest of the table. “I think I ate way too much.”

Lt J.G. Izak Waryn - Chief Engineer - U.S.S. Ark Angel
Wyatt listened to the Governor speak, his attention drifting in and out as his mind circled back to his small side project. The idea had been sitting with him for years now—his and his sister’s survival powder. Situations like the one being discussed now were exactly why they had started it in the first place. If crops failed or supply lines were disrupted, people wouldn’t have to panic. They’d have something reliable to fall back on, something steady to carry them through until the next harvest came in.

He turned the thought over carefully, refining it the way he always did, considering improvements, distribution, how it might actually be implemented on a larger scale. This wasn’t just a childhood experiment anymore—not to him. Maybe it never really had been. He made a mental note to speak with the medical department as soon as they got back. If anyone would understand the nutritional value and practical use of it, it would be them.

Taking a bite of his food, Wyatt leaned back slightly in his chair and let his gaze wander across the room. The atmosphere was alive in a way he wasn’t used to. Groups of people laughed loudly, their conversations overlapping in a warm, chaotic hum. Some had started playing games off to one side, while others danced without a care, moving freely to the rhythm of the music. A small smile tugged at his lips as he watched them.

This was nothing like the parties he remembered from when he was a kid. Those had been stiff, uncomfortable affairs—rooms full of wealthy men in expensive suits, sipping overpriced alcohol and talking endlessly about their fortunes and influence. Everything had felt calculated, like even the laughter had been rehearsed.

But this… this was real.

People here weren’t pretending. They were relaxed, loud, imperfect. It made the whole room feel warmer somehow.

His smile softened as another thought crept in—one that hit a little deeper. He wished his sister could be here to see this. She would have loved it, no question. She would have been right in the middle of it all, probably dragging him along with her, laughing when he resisted and refusing to take no for an answer.

He missed her—more than he liked to admit.

They talked every week, never missing it, no matter how busy things got. But it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. Seeing her through a screen or hearing her voice over a call didn’t compare to having her there beside him. She had always been his rock growing up, especially during the hardest times. When things got bad, she had been the one constant he could rely on.

Wyatt took a slow sip of his drink, letting the coolness ground him as he continued to people-watch. He wanted to join in, wanted to step into that easy flow of laughter and conversation—but something held him back. It always did. Trust didn’t come easily to him anymore, not after everything. Not since he was a teenager.

His fingers tapped lightly against the table, unconsciously matching the beat of the music drifting through the room. It was a small thing, almost unnoticeable, but it kept him tethered—half in the moment, half observing from the outside, as he tried to decide whether tonight would be any different.
Ensign Wyatt Blackford

Security Junior Officer

U.S.S. Ark Angel

Hegush raised the glass he was now holding into the air like he’d witnessed humans do in the past as a toast to the speech and cheered as good and as hearty as the rest cheered at the end of Governor’s Speech. He had a good collection of food on the plate in front of him, including some that he didn’t know or recognise but it didn’t bother him. He was used to eating a variety of different food. Hot, cold, spicy, bland, sweet or sour. Even most disgusting foods he could stomach. As he saw it food was food, taste was just secondary.

He was enjoying the festivities, the good nature in the atmosphere reminding him of his Academy days where him and his friends would all go out and celebrate at the end of hard test, or the end of the year or almost any celebration they could find. He took a sip of his drink, those had been the days.

Lt. Hegush Falz, COO

Nala arrived late.

Not intentionally.

She slipped through the edge of the gathering almost unnoticed—head down, eyes locked on the PADD in her hands, ears angled forward in total concentration. The noise, the movement, the crowd—it all blurred into background interference compared to the problem she was chasing.

“…no, that doesn’t align—if the expression rate shifts under thermal stress, then the sequence should—”

She stopped mid-step.

Her ears flicked.

For the first time since entering the space, she actually registered where she was.

The air hit her first—smoke, spice, cooked meat. Strong. Layered. Real.

Her head lifted slightly.

Then everything else followed.

Voices. Laughter. Music. Movement. So many people.

Her ears flattened halfway before she caught herself, forcing them back toward neutral. Her tail, which had been loosely swaying in distraction, tightened closer to her leg.

Too much.

Not overwhelming—not yet—but right on the edge of it.

Her grip on the PADD tightened.

She stood there for a moment longer than she should have, caught between two instincts:

Finish the problem.
Or engage with the environment.

“…later,” she muttered under her breath, more to the data than anything else.

Reluctantly, she lowered the PADD just enough to move without walking into someone.

Her eyes flicked across the gathering—quick, sharp observations.

• Large crowd
• Multiple conversation clusters
• High sensory input
• Food stations… meat-heavy

That last one caught her attention just enough to anchor her.

Her ears shifted forward again, just slightly.

She moved toward the food almost on instinct—not social, not intentional, just… something familiar in the chaos.

As she passed by groups of officers and colonists, she didn’t stop. Didn’t insert herself. Her body language made that clear enough—focused, contained, not closed off, but not open either.

Her tail brushed once against her leg as she adjusted her path, avoiding a group without breaking stride.

When she reached the food line, she paused.

Actually paused.

Her eyes scanned it quickly—efficient, precise—then she picked up a plate.

Meat first.

Always.

She selected without hesitation now, movements quicker, more certain. This part didn’t require translation or adjustment. It was simple. Grounding.

As she stepped aside, plate in one hand and PADD still in the other, she found a place just slightly removed from the main clusters—not isolated, but not central either.

A compromise.

She sat.

Her tail curled into her lap automatically.

The PADD came back up.

“…if the mutation is adaptive, then it shouldn’t be stable across samples,” she murmured, already slipping back into the problem.

The world continued around her—laughter, music, voices rising and falling—but for now, Nala sat just at the edge of it.

Present.

But not quite in it yet.

LT.JG Nala

Becket saw her walk in and stand in a corner. “Nala? Everything okay?” He asked her as he looked at her.

Captain Alex Becket
Commanding Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel

“This barbara-Q appears to be causing her stress, Captain,” Spenn noted with a plate full of celery.

Lieutenant Spenn
Chief Medical Officer

He pondered a bit. “Okay, maybe we can monitor her stress levels. I don’t need one of my officers getting to stressed out.” He mentioned to the doctor.

Captain Alex Becket
Commanding Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel

Nala’s ears twitched the moment her name was spoken.

She looked up from the PADD—just a fraction too quickly—amber eyes locking onto the Captain, then flicking briefly to Spenn and his… celery.

Her ears flattened.

Barbara-Q…?

That thought tried to surface, but was immediately buried under something sharper.

They’re watching me.

Her tail tightened in her lap, curling inward as awareness of the situation caught up all at once—the noise, the crowd, the attention now directed at her.

Too visible.

She lowered the PADD a few inches, not fully, just enough to acknowledge them properly.

“I’m fine,” Nala said quickly.

Too quickly.

She caught it, forced herself to slow the next breath, her ears lifting slightly as she recalibrated.

“I’m… adjusting,” she corrected, more measured this time.

Her eyes shifted briefly around the space—crowd density, sound sources, movement—then back to the Captain.

“It’s just a higher sensory environment than I typically operate in,” she explained, voice still fast but controlled. “The variables are… dense.”

Her tail flicked once against her leg before settling again.

“I can function here,” she added, a little more firmly—not defensive, but determined. “I just need a moment to… filter.”

Her gaze dropped briefly to the plate in her hand, then back up.

“I didn’t mean to isolate myself,” she said, quieter now. “I just—”

She stopped, recalculated, then chose honesty again.

“I process better on the edges before I move inward.”

Her ears angled forward slightly, more open now despite the strain.

“I’ll join in,” she added. “I just need a little time first.”

Her grip on the PADD loosened just slightly.

Not gone.

But not held like a shield anymore either.

LT. JG Nala

He smiled at Nala as he looked at her. “I understand that all too well. I used to do it all the time before. I know how you feel. But we’re here to help you.” He replied back.

Captain Alex Becket
Commanding Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel

Wyatt hesitated at the edge of the group for a moment, watching the conversation flow without him. He shifted his weight, debating whether to turn back and disappear like he usually did. But his sister’s voice lingered in his mind, firm and impossible to ignore. With a quiet breath, he pushed himself forward.

“Sorry to eavesdrop,” he said as he walked over, his voice a little uncertain but genuine. “I noticed you had all veggies, and… uh… I brought some corn.” He lifted the container slightly as if to prove it, a small, nervous smile tugging at his lips. “I made a few without butter too, just in case someone didn’t want it on there. It’s good sweet corn… like we used to have back home.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers lingering there as he glanced between them, clearly unsure if he was interrupting or helping. Social situations had never been his strength—he would have much rather stayed in the background, quietly observing where things felt safe and predictable. But he could almost hear Areiana again, clear as day.

“Wyatt, you need to get out more. Talk to people. It’s good to socialize—not only for your career, but for your mental health as well. Doctor’s orders.”

He exhaled softly through his nose, a faint, self-conscious chuckle escaping him. “Sorry… I didn’t really think about bringing other veggie plates,” he added, his tone apologetic. “I just… figured corn was easy. And… well… everyone usually likes corn.”

His smile flickered, a little more real this time, even if the nerves were still there. He stayed where he was instead of retreating, clearly making an effort to follow through on that advice—even if every instinct he had told him to melt back into the shadows.
Ensign Wyatt Blackford

Security Junior Officer

U.S.S. Ark Angel

Soral watched as he saw everyone having fun eating , playing horseshoes or just having conversations , he himself hadn’t attempted to talk to anyone nor had anyone tried talking to him , so he was content observing as he often did

Lt Soral T’Varan
CDO
USS Ark Angel

Alex was standing to the side and caught Wyatt’s eye as he toasted the other officer with his corn cob. “Excellent corn.” Alex said with a flash of his white teeth in a wide grin before he took another bite of his corn. Being raised in New Orleans he was a bit of food aficionado and enjoyed food from all over Earth and many planets. Well prepared food was a boon anywhere.

Counselor Alex Cross

Riley have found a very relaxing rocking chair that he had fallen asleep in. he was in a deep deep sleep all the stress from the last few months seem to be dissolving as his muscles finally relaxed.

Commander Riley O’Nell (XO)

Izak joined in on some of the games of corn hole the XO got the local kids started on. He was trying wierd trick shots to keep the kids entertained. Behind the back, blind folded… that sort of thing.

The kids seem to enjoy it… but they got the most excited when he missed. Which happened a lot.

As the night wore on some sort of organized dance started up, and Izak was one of the starfleet officers that the local women roped into participating. He was approached by a preteen and a grandmother… and there was no way he was getting out of it.

The young Lieutenant knew he’d been outmanvered.

As the large circle dance started he did his best to follow the dance steps of the people around him. As soon as he thought he had it they sped up or added a new sequence.

As the circle rotated he drew closer to the tables containing a group of other starfleet officers. He looked around desperately for Roger, Wyatt, or Ollie and mouthed the words. HELP ME!

Lt J.G. Izak Waryn - Chief Engineer - U.S.S. Ark Angel

Ollie chuckled as he he watched Izak fight for his life in the dance choreography.

“Looking good there Lieutenant!” he called out and gave a whistle of approval.

Becket stood there smiling as he hadn’t seen anyone have some nice fun and time to actually chill for a bit. As he looked around, he would go to the porch where he is away from everyone. Just for a little bit.

Captain Alex Becket
Commanding Officer
U.S.S. Ark Angel

Riley woke up an hour ago and him self and some of the other Irish men of the Colony did a jig on stage, kinda like Lord of the step. And it got really crazy when O’Neill took a violin he used it as a Celtic fiddle.

“ A pint in my hand and a tale in my throat
The firelight dances
The stories we wrote
The chairs all creak
The shadows spin
In the heart of the pub
Where the nights begin

[Chorus]
Whiskey in the wind
Laughter in the air
Raise your glass high
Leave your troubles there
Sing it loud
Sing it proud
Let the rafters ring
Whiskey in the wind
It’s an Irish thing

[Verse 2]
The fiddler plays with a grin so sly
The bodhrán pounds like a battle cry
Feet on the floor
The crowd’s alive
The spirit of the isle
It will never die

[Prechorus]
Through the smoke
Through the song
We’ve been here all along

[Chorus]
Whiskey in the wind
Laughter in the air
Raise your glass high
Leave your troubles there
Sing it loud
Sing it proud
Let the rafters ring
Whiskey in the wind
It’s an Irish thing

[Bridge]
The clock strikes twelve
But who gives a care
Time’s a thief
But it’s welcome here
Pour another round
Let the fiddle play
We’ll dance with the dawn and the coming day”

Commander Riley O’Nell (XO)

Ollie turned his attention to the XO as he played. He was always surprised at the hidden talents that people had. A fiddle wasn’t exactly the type of instrument he got down with. Several of his friends back home played the ukulele but he had never learned himself. He sighed and took a few more bites of random food from his plate and then turned back to the Bajoran operation officer. His Betazoid senses had picked up the hint of melancholy and noticed the several drinks already consumed.

“Falz it is then. You can call me Ollie,” he gestured around to the party with a grin. “All of this reminds me of some good times back home. Makes me miss some friends… the things we would get up to.”

Lieutenant Commander Ezeami - COS