OOC: Open to all. Feel free to bring in the children aboard the ship, or NEs.

IC:

It was a curious thing, truly, how the two halves of the ship were split right down its middle. During the day, the prison and Starfleet were never to mix. As if oil and water, their touch was worthy of contamination of the other’s person. Yet, when the night came, and duty shifted towards the calm hours, where the ship begged the careless façade of safety and peace, those perameters no longer existed. They instead became comrades, companions even.. But still there remained that faint divide, the uncertainty of crossing those boundaries between friend and foe.

With a ship sporting such a small staff as the Swift, Bov’ar found it was always quite simple to grasp the attention of one shift at a time. Tonight, she had her sights on a communal dinner, which she had invited the entirety of Alpha shift to, after their duties were completed and they had been dismissed of them. Luckily, the size of Alpha shift was relatively small, hardly scratching the surface of one hundred people, but she knew only two thirds of them would show, at best.

The dinner, itself, was intended to be an event allowing for communication across both sides of the ship. It was meant to encourage comradery, especially in trying times such as these, where both sides could not seem any further apart. She needed them to he able to work together, to coexist – not as friends, but at least on the basis of mutual respect. With this in mind, she stood before the tables, four each capable of seating twenty. At the front, there was a small table, one seat for every department head, and official of the prison. It seemed simple, in these early hours, but Bov’ar trusted it would not remain as mundane for much longer.

Adjusting the waist of her black trousers, she flipped down the collar of her shirt and headed towards the back, checking a chronometer in the process. The dinner would begin, shortly. In silence and contemplation, she watched as a few JOs began to trickle into the cargobay, which had been rearranged to suit the needs of the evening. Tables dressed in the white of silky cloth, accompanied by replicated dishes, seemingly porcelain in nature, were surrounded by standard, Starfleet issue seating. Neutral music played in the background, deliberately conjured to reflect across several cultures, rather than a single one. With silverware dressed by pale napkins, and glasses each filled with water, she was pleased with the work put into this.

She just hoped it turned out all right.

Bov’ar Akarel
CO