Posted by Lieutenant Hegush Falz (Chief Operations Officer) in Reporting in: Counselor’s office
Lieutenant Hegush stepped out of Sickbay, one check down, one more to go before he could find his room and clean himself up before he checked himself in to the Captain. As he walked he wondered what Captain Becket would be like. He had been told only good things, that the Captain was decisive, disciplined and loyal to Starfleet, that he had earned his title by being able to step up when others could not and act beyond what was expected of him. The description reminded him of someone else he had known.

But of course they were always going to talk the Captain up. Had to justify the position and all that, sell the ship to Hegush just as much as they would have sold Hegush to the Captain. He had to wonder what they possibly had to say about him. Not that it mattered, he knew not to mark what other’s say. He would see for himself what the Captains character was like but for now he had other duties to complete before he got to meet him. He gripped the strap on the his bag resting on his shoulder and made his way to level 11.

With Sickbay only being one floor down it didn’t take him long to get there. It helped that the Connie had been Mythology class too and aside from maybe some minor changes once he’d seen one he’d seen them all. It also helped that he had been a frequent visitor to sickbay.

Hegush slung his bag down onto the floor next to the seat, the checked himself in and sat to wait until somebody was ready to see him.

Lt. Hegush, COO

OOC: Since you have titled this post Counselor’s Office , I am going to assume that is what you meant despite you mentioning sickbay in the post.

The soft chime at the counselor’s office door pulled Cross’ attention from the PADD in his hand. He let the sound settle for a brief moment—long enough to mark the shift from corridor to something more intentional.

“Come in.”

The doors parted with a smooth whisper.

Lieutenant Hegush Falz stepped inside—and the difference was immediate.

Cross’ office stood apart from the rest of the Ark Angel in a way that wasn’t loud, but unmistakable. The standard metallic tones of the ship gave way to warmer, earth-toned bulkheads accented by dark wood inlays. Shelving lined the walls behind the desk, holding a curated mix of real books—worn, handled—and a handful of personal pieces: a brass jazz cornet mounted in shadowbox glass, a carved wooden mask from Earth’s Gulf Coast, and a few off-world artifacts placed with quiet intention rather than display.

There was a subtle New Orleans influence woven through the space. Not decorative—lived. The lighting was low and amber, indirect strips casting a soft glow that felt more like evening light than shipboard illumination. A faint trace of chicory coffee and warm spice lingered in the air.

To the left side of the office, the space opened into a recessed conversation area—two steps down, intentionally set apart from the more formal desk space. A curved sectional anchored the area, deep and inviting, paired with two armchairs angled inward to form a natural circle. A low wooden table sat at the center, its surface matte and softly worn. A folded throw rested along the sectional’s edge, casual, unforced.

It was a space designed to lower walls without asking permission.

Cross rose from behind his desk as Hegush entered.

Tall, composed, he carried himself with quiet control. His eyes took in the lieutenant in a single, measured pass—bag over shoulder, posture steady, gaze alert. No hesitation. No performative ease either.

He’s assessing everything, Cross noted internally. Not just the room… the ship.

Good.

“Lieutenant Hegush,” he said, voice low and even. “Welcome aboard.”

He didn’t gesture to the chair in front of his desk.

Instead, he stepped away from it, angling naturally toward the left side of the office—the recessed seating area.

“Bring your bag,” he added with a small motion of his hand. “No need to keep it staged for a quick exit.”

It was a simple line, but intentional.

Cross stepped down into the conversation area first, setting the tone without forcing it, and moved toward the sectional. He didn’t take a central or dominant position, instead leaving the space open—allowing Hegush to choose where he sat, whether the sectional or one of the armchairs.

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing lightly. “Wherever works for you.”

As the lieutenant settled, Cross crossed to the small replicator console set into the wall just above the steps.

“Can I get you something?” he asked, glancing back. “Coffee, tea… something stronger that insists it’s neither.”

A trace of dry humor—subtle, deliberate.

At the response, Cross keyed it in, retrieved the drink, and returned, offering it before taking his own seat along the sectional. One arm rested along the back, posture open, relaxed without losing presence.

For a moment, he simply observed.

Not clinically. Not detached.

Grounded. Self-contained. Not here to be impressed.
He’ll decide what this ship is on his own terms.
Good. That kind of officer keeps a crew honest.

Cross felt a quiet approval settle beneath the surface—unspoken, but there.

“This isn’t a formal evaluation,” he said after a beat, voice calm. “You’ve already cleared those hurdles.”

His gaze remained steady, present without pressing.

“This is just a welcome… and a chance to make sure what you walked into matches what you were told.”

A brief pause—space left intentionally open.

Cross leaned back slightly, at ease but attentive.

“So,” he continued, tone even, conversational, “first impressions.”

His eyes met Hegush’s.

“Ship. Crew. Atmosphere.”

A faint shift at the corner of his expression—something thoughtful, quietly perceptive.

“Where does it land for you so far, Lieutenant?”

Counselor Alex Cross