The Officer’s Mess appeared clean and quiet. Bezre Myrh stepped inside, pleased by how clean the room was. Not that they expected a dirty room but they were particular about cleanliness and could always tell when a room was in need of a good dusting. Their skin would itch and (depending upon the severity of dust) turn red. They approached the replicator, not really in the mood to explain their dietary restrictions to the chef. Oh, they should have Serras write an explanation and prepare a list of approved dishes for the chefs to put on file. Yes, that would be perfect. But for now. . . replicated soup to sip upon at a table by a viewport.

Bezre pulled back their protective veil from their face and began to take careful sips of what appeared to be a cloudy broth-based soup that smelled bitter and sour. It wasn’t really a soup to anyone’s tastes but it was the perfect home remedy for uneasy stomachs. Bezre has yet to adjust to the motion of the Manhattan. That was their life though. Always having to adjust to every new environment but it was a noble kind of suffering for the good work they do.

Bezre Myrh - Diplomatic Attaché