OOC: This is meant to be a laid-back thread. Although not based on holidays (due to cultural diversity), feel free to branch out or start your own thread. :)
IC:

“Yellow…” Sega’a yanked a ball of streamers from a box aptly marked ‘party supplies’ and held them to another, “…or blue.”

“I’m unclear on why it matters.” T’Aria furrowed her eyebrows, fingers knotted in a strand of poorly stowed lights. “Both are acceptable.”

“‘Acceptable’?” Sega’a clenched his jaw and shot her an accusatory look. “We’re celebrating, not hosting a gaggle of fossilised diplomats. You cannot honestly think ‘acceptable’ would be okay?”

A hint of doubt touched her eyes.

“Great gods, you do!” Sega’a raised his eyebrows and blinked. “We’re not in the game of ‘acceptable’, Commander. If we’re to throw a party, it must be incredible. We need streamers and lights and music and, of course, glorious eats by yours truly.”

“Very well,” T’Aria dislodged her thumb from its entanglement between two lights. “Where do propose we start, Mr. Sega’a?”

Sega’a grinned, “yellow or blue?”

Three hours transformed the gymnasium into a starlit venue worthy of merriment.

Tables adorned in dark cloth and candles replaced gym equipment. Lights remade the ceiling into a galaxy of pinprick, white-tinged stars with streaks of gold and blue afforded by their streamers. What space remained was turned into a dancefloor accented only by stray artefacts Sega’a acquired in of Chernov’s diverse crew. It was quaint—thrown together by a chef, a Vulcan and a handful of volunteers—but it was less about the venue and more about the people.

“Sega’a,” T’Aria wove through a sea of tables with fresh redbat and cabbage stew in hand. “Your stew. Where do you want it?” She knew the Chef had a system when arranging his goods. And she knew better than to cross it.

Sega’a peered around the NE Engineer he enlisted to remedy their music-less problem. Clapping his shoulder with a quick farewell, he meandered over. “Thanks,” he grinned and snatched the pot from her hands. “Have you sent out the invitations?”

“Shortly before we set up,” T’Aria assured. “The party is set for 1900.”

“Perfect!” He consulted the chronometer draped around his wrist. “That leaves us about 15 minutes before the early birds show. You think we got everything?”

“According to your spiel,” T’Aria armed a slight smirk, “we have streamers, lights, music and your ‘glorious eats’. So, yes, I believe it qualifies as a party.”

Sega’a shot an annoyed look that descended to laughter. “All right,” he mused, “I guess all we’ve left to do is to wait.”

“On that,” T’Aria stifled a sigh, “we agree.”

— T’Aria and Sega’a