A Meeting at the Mess

Posted on Sunday July 5th, 2020 @ 8:42am by Captain Franklin Johnson

3,560 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: S1-A1-Ep. 1: Spectrophobia
Location: USS Poseidon; Officer's Lounge, Deck 3

::ON::

At Twenty-three hundred hours, the senior mess was slightly busier than she expected, but certainly not what could be casually called 'full' or even close to it. The remains of a (very) late dinner sat abandoned on the table in front of her, a bowl of mostly-eaten soup slowly growing colder alongside the plate in question. Her eyes flicked down into the bowl as Amelia slowly brought herself back to reality: she'd already checked in, met her direct superior, and had left the meeting rather nonplussed. She'd come to the mess not so much because she strictly needed too (at worst, there was always the option of figuring out whether or not her quarters had a replicator installed), but because she was getting in the way at Fighter Control, and making the cadets nervous when she strolled through the starfighter bays, peering over shoulders and inspecting various flavors of components.

There wasn't anything inherently wrong with the assignment, or even the people she'd had the advantage of meeting so far: wet behind the ears in most places, and (herself included, she mused dryly) occasionally, long in the tooth. She'd fetched her cane from her quarters at some point (she couldn't tell for the life of her -when- that'd been, since her knee always gave her trouble at late hours, she imagined it hadn't to have been more than an hour or so), and slid her palm around the head after gathering up the wreckage of her meal. Tucking the remains neatly under her arm, she moved over to the replicator: only to find her way blocked by an unidentified taller man (though, standing at 5' 4'' meant that almost everyone could be called 'tall' in comparison).

Sighing, she kept (-barely- kept) the bored irritation from soaking her voice, but more than a little of it bled into her tone regardless.

"Pardon me, but are y'gonna stand there all night, stranger?"

Commander Franklin Johnson was caught off guard, running into the unidentified crewmember that he couldn't recognize or put a name too off-hand. He figured that she had to be from the recent shuttle arrival from Starbase 99, probably filling another vital crew slot on the ship. Eyeing her uniform and color of the stripes, he identified her as a member of the Starfighter Wing on his ship. Furthermore, with the rank of Lieutenant, it was highly likely she filled the vacant Wing Commander role - one which had remained vacant since the death of the beloved Lieutenant Pavan.

The Commander was silent at first, in full uniform as per usual and having just ended his shift on the bridge. His rank insignia was quite visible, but seeing as this individual was new, he further figured she didn't know anyone on board; unless having beforehand researching them and not caring. He stood to the side, nodding slightly.

"My apologies, Lieutenant," he replied calmly. "I haven't seen you before, may I ask your name?"

Amelia'd walked up behind the man: she hadn't paid any mind to what (or who, she realized) he might've been distracted by, but her eyes flicked down to his collar as she listened out of automatic habit. She didn't quite blanch, but her eyebrows went a hair further up her face, and the annoyance she'd let color her face dropped as quickly as the realization hit. She had a stomach-dropping quasi-moment as just -what- she said connected with -who- she said it to, but the man hadn't given her blisters already out of irritation, so she hadn't (probably) signed a hazing warrant.

More to the point, now that she was paying full attention and had the advantage of looking at him frontally, it clicked. She hadn't almost told some bucktooth Ensign to get the Hell out of her way, she'd been mildly rude to the -single most senior officer aboard-. Oops.

"Ah...yes, sir, of course," and cleared her throat, stiffening up to parade-ground attention out of sheer habit. "Lieutenant Forsyth-Coyle, sir. My apologies, Commander; I wouldn't have used such an informal address had I realized the situation, sir." She would've even -saluted-, but her left hand was full of dishware, and her right acted as vital support.

Franklin was half expecting the Lieutenant, now identified, to drop their held dishware due to the response. He knew it was because of seeing his rank, he already knew that was coming, the fun was seeing the reaction. He had surmised that at one point he should put on some civvies and simply walk the boat; they had civilians on board doing various activities already, since the Poseidon was an Academy training vessel at its heart. The reaction this Lieutenant Forsyth-Coyle gave him was just another justification - to see what people really did when authority wasn't around.

The Commander nodded back, sagely reaching out to help with the dishware as he calmly helped dispose of them in the receptacle. A moment passed where he replicated himself some sweet tea, grabbing the glass and gesturing for the Lieutenant to follow as he headed for and sat at a two-seater table nearby.

Amelia had expected a lot of things: some of them realistic, a few worthy of court-martial, and a few hilarious on reflection. What she -hadn't- expected was the for the senior officer (well, senior in rank, anyway) to take her dishes, and slide them into the replicator for disposal. The woman didn't put up a fight when he took them, of course, giving way out of surprise more than anything else.

For her part, Amelia murmured a request for synthetic, non-alcoholic kanar, and picked up the little glass of thick-looking liquid, complete with the appropriately cloying scent. It certainly wasn't 'real', considering both the source and lack of intoxicants, but she wrapped both of her hands around the comfortable beverage after following the Commander to the table he'd taken: and she took his gestures as an 'invitation', but an invitation akin to 'at your earliest convenience': a fancy way of saying, 'right now'. Her cane was left leaning against her chair out of habit, and she fixed the younger man with a bright, mostly-honest smile.

"...well. I suppose that's -one- way to make the acquaintance of the penultimate officer aboard ship, Commander. Truly, please, forgive my impertinence..."

The Commander watched her approach and sit. He hadn't noticed the cane before until that moment, but considering she hadn't presented her posture in any other way than sure, it was probably forgivable. He sipped his tea quietly as she got situated, eyeing her above the rim of the glass in a not-so-mean way; eying her in the way of a Commander eying a subordinate. The reflection was gone once he gulped his tea, setting the glass down with a gentle clack of the replicated glass on table. He cleared his throat, gently waving away her statement of apology. He let that sink in before adjusting in his seat to get comfortable, gently adjusting his uniform of creases.

"Very nice to meet you, Ms. Forsyth-Coyle," the Commander stated overlooking her attempt at reflection on her error. "Fancy name though, do you have a first?"

His smile was genuine, but his stare was slightly more intense than he intended; full of authority and memory of the spite. Even as he had already forgiven it, he was giving off the aura of his presence. He had already used that authority to signal her over. While it pained him to exempt her temporarily from what she was intending to do - probably rest! - he wanted this moment to sink in. Franklin hoped it would turn out mutually beneficial for them both.

"I'm Franklin Shane Johnson, Commanding Officer of the USS Poseidon," he continued. "I had just got off shift on the bridge. I take it you arrived on the shuttle?"

Then he sat back, waiting on her reply. Gently sipping the tea. Eying her above the rim. Observing. In times past he probably would have never acted like this, but frankly he was riding off the adrenaline high instituted by the somewhat unusual display beforehand. Honestly it had been as much a surprise to him as to her, probably more for him. He figured it was better this way - talk it out, let things simmer down, introductions, happy times.

The tension in Amelia's shoulder was seemingly unsure whether it wanted to ratchet up or slowly release: she hadn't had her head taken off, she hadn't been upbraided, but the man -had- corralled her into sitting with him, even if it wasn't with more than a polite smile and a waved hand. She probably could have weaseled out of it (wasn't like she could do much more damage to her career, anyway), but that've been both massively unwise, and more than a bit rude.

More to the point, it clicked that she'd been asked a question: and she wasn't some rank Cadet, jumping three feet in the air when someone with more than an ounce of overhead rank said 'frog'; she'd merely been caught by surprise after being mildly rude. It was why there was still a fair few hints of color in her cheeks, the slightest indication of a blush.

"Aye, sir. Amelia," and nodded her head at him by means of introduction: but the fact that he'd called her 'Ms' in lieu of 'Lieutenant' had registered, so she continued the line far more carefully than her first, cavalier inquiry.

"I was assigned to lead Poseidon's starfighter wing, under Lieutenant Shannon?" The inherent phrase, 'I'm the new girl filling in the dead guys' shoes' was left entirely unspoken, but there was the slightest hint of bitterness in the edge of her tongue, try as she did to hide it. "It's my second posting on a Miranda, believe it or not," she said lightly, almost breathy. "...though, 'escort cruiser' is a fair bit different than 'escort carrier'," and realizing she was rambling, quieted herself and looked back at him as she sipped at her kanar. Was he looking at her because of her faux-pas, or for something else? She stopped long enough to let the man talk, if nothing else.

Franklin held the gaze long enough to nod slowly, allowing a smile to crease his lips. He liked what he saw and was impressed by her formality. With the dangers they would experience, likely experience, he needed all the level-headed folks he could get. Then again, his definition of "level-headed" meant, "someone with common sense". He saw in this in Amelia.

At the end of his train of thought, his eyes flicked downward. He gently lifted his tea up to his lips, sipped, and set the cup down. There, he twirled his finger around the glass, playing with it as he decided his next words. The silence lingered for a bit.

"Lieutenant Jonas Pavan was his name," Franklin said, concerning the very matter the two had avoided openly previously. He eyes leveled with hers as he continued, "He was level-headed, had common sense, and turned out to be a victim of sabotage. I'm sure you've read up on the reports? Faulty coolant and the like resulted in his fighter exploding?"

Amelia had elected to let the conversation peter out when the other officer hadn't replied right away: she was no expert at small-talk, to say the least, and it seemed the man had other things on his mind. Of course, seeing as he'd just come off the Bridge, she figured it was merely the litany of items that kept -any- commander awake at night, and on a ship the age of the Poseidon, she imagined there were plenty of little fixes to keep Engineering well entertained.

Her eyes eventually drifted when he wasn't looking straight at her, over to one of the little windows (the ship truly -was- old fashioned, after all) against the wall. It was a surprisingly comfortable silence, at that: they'd hardly met, but he'd done enough to assuage her concerns that it wasn't an outright awkward period. Her eyes shunted back to him when he spoke again, though, and her lips pursed into a thin line, and she nodded.

"Aye, sir. I've read up on what has been made available to me...and I imagine there's going to be a lot to do about it." She sighed, but it was a quiet gesture. "Never thought we'd come home from the fight to this sort of thing," and realizing how that might've been making light of the death of an officer, she shook her head and continued quickly. "That...didn't come out, right; I wasn't intending on being patronizing, sir. Just...sick of it all," glancing at him. "But, you didn't come here to listen to an old woman complain, Commander," -again- realizing she was talking to much, and having a go at more kanar to soothe her expression.

That prompted a chuckled from the Commander. He eyed her more appraisingly then. With that awkward bit out of the way, Franklin sipped his tea casually as he glanced over to viewport. There were a few of those ports here, the main of which was one above the lower level of the Officer's Mess, as small a space as it was. It was a roof viewport, showing the expanse of space in as beautiful a fashion as any roof constructed view pane could. The Commander took a casual look out it, then back to Amelia.

"You fought in the Dominion War?" the Commander inquired, gently motioning toward her cane also. "We have a Commodore on board who did. Commodore Gregory Paladin. He's the very reason this ship is sailing the stars, orchestrated the entire thing under the supervision of Starfleet Academy. Other than the few hiccups along the way, seems to be working swimmingly. Which is exactly what I wanted to segue our conversation into concerning you. Concerning your position and role."

His laughter made Amelia smile: though it was more of a 'grin' than anything else, and it seemed to cement the idea that any ruffled feathers had been thoroughly smoothed. Moreover, it gave her the opportunity to drink, which was as ever a useful conversational tool as any other. She glanced at the cane in question, her face clouding for just a moment before she deliberately pushed the expression, and feeling, to the side.

"Aye, sir. I was a fresh-minted buck-pilot, served onboard Endeavor until she nearly went down at Betazed. The Excelsiors were never designed to be carriers, and how badly they had to gut her to get the bays and service facilities spoke volumes about...well. That's a story for another time," wincing as she drew one leg up over the other and leaning back in her chair, neatly folding her hands together atop her upturned knee.

"Though, if you'll forgive my consistent rambling, Commander, there was something about my position?" There wasn't -quite- an edge in her voice, but she sounded definitely on-guard: not guarding against -him-, but about whatever news he may be about to torpedo her already-sinking mood with, half-concerned he was going to tell her to watch out for a proverbial knife in HER back.

Franklin nodded. The Poseidon had been there too, briefly, but she likely would have known that anyway. He cleared his throat and swallowed another sip, moving his glass in his hand after he had set it back down. He was eyeing the contents aloofly, not particularly in the moment. A second later after he regained his wits, he looked back up to the Lieutenant, regaining composure as he spoke.

"A lot of your fighter pilots are going to be Cadets currently in the Academy or fresh out of it. That said, our ship, while a training ship, is also tasked with patrolling space lanes and keeping pirates at bay. That incident that opened that chair for you? We believe it caused by someone associated with pirates, but so far we're still working that angle."

He let his words sink in.

"Ms. Shannon is going to need a level headed person by her side," he continued. "Pavan died right in front of her eyes as their fighters went out on routine exercise, and we're hauling important medical cargo towards a starbase halfway across the quadrant. We've had a lot happen within the short week or so we were at Starbase 99, so I want you to understand that what you're walking into? We're going to need all of you in it; the teacher, the warrior, the scholar. All of it. Think you're still up for that?"

Leaning back in her chair, Amelia took in everything the officer had to say with a quiet sigh. Her lips twitched, then quirked into a frown as she nodded slowly, unconsciously rubbing the fingers of one hand across a scar on the back of the other, a scar that twisted around her arm and disappeared up her sleeve. Nodding, she glanced first at her drink, then back up at the man.

"I was briefed on Poseidon's situation, to a small extent, and what the responsibilities of the job would entail, for sure. They made sure I knew full well I was going to be walking into a teaching situation," and her smile was tight and more than a bit wry when she delivered it. "Half of my service record consists of teaching cadets and rank beginners about how not to fly into one another, or to get swatted out of the black. Space superiority fighters have changed dramatically since my Academy days, but..." She shook her head, sighing quietly.

"Teaching them, guiding them, isn't something I'm unfamiliar with. Yorktown, Lexington, and Monongahela, I was responsible for teaching ensigns who were dumped through the Accelerated Combat Program, and then delivered to the front so fresh you could still smell the paint drying on their boots," and she shrugged. "I'll be perfectly honest with you, sir; a training vessel wasn't exactly my first choice of posting." She held up a hand, softening the blow of her words. "She's a mighty fine ship, certainly, and being back aboard a Miranda brings many memories to mind," her smile was tight, "And I suspect the needs of the Federation were exactly why I'm here." Another shrug. "It'll be...interesting, sir, teaching under Lieutenant Shannon." She grimaced, before quickly squelching the expression and replacing it with something more neutral.

Franklin stared at her expressionless as she spoke, not betraying any internal thought whether or not her gentle poke was registered. He processed her words, then gave a wry smirk as he nodded. A sigh to release tension as he quickly drank the rest of his tea, gazing out the observation window up above.

He slowly turned back to face Ameila a moment later. "I think you'll do fine here. Just remember it's still Starfleet, though. If what I saw earlier was any indication, I want to nip that mode off before it sets in. You're gonna have a lot of questions, I know I do. If you get overwhelmed I have an open door policy on ship, so don't be afraid to come see me."

The Commander gave a smile.

"I will endeavor to positively identify any officer I see before being carelessly informal with them, sir," but the fact that she ended the sentence with 'sir' and the chagrined smile she gave him spoke about how she took his genuine meaning to heart: and took another moment to look over the mans' shoulder, out the window into the black, before returning her mind to the subject.

"I definitely think I would have plenty of questions in the future, really...and I absolutely appreciating hearing that from you, personally, sir, even if it was just a meeting by chance," and she gave her first honest, not-for-a-reason smile of the entire evening. It nearly caught her by surprise, at that. "I have a bad habit of letting formalities with pilots relax, slightly...especially the young'ins. They seem to get younger every year," she murmured at last, seeming genuinely troubled at the thought before realizing her company and wiping that, too, away: she was definitely putting on a brave face for her superior, though whether or not he picked up on that was entirely beyond her.

"War does that to a generation," remarked Franklin idly. He hadn't personally experienced the war, merely the aftereffects. He stood, nodding her way as he headed towards the exit. Not wanting to dig further into the subject, the Commander decided it was a good point to part ways.

"Have a nice evening, Ms. Amelia," he remarked on the way out. "It was a pleasure meeting you."

"Of course, sir. Don't let me keep you from the rest of your evening," and Amelia returned his smile: hers slightly tight, but genuine nonetheless. She watched him go and sighed quietly, staring down at the tabletop once she was once again alone.

"...just what, praytell, have you gotten yourself into, Amelia?" The woman laughed quietly at herself, shaking her head and drumming her fingers on the tabletop.

"Ain't life a pain?"


::OFF::

============


Commander Franklin Johnson
Commanding Officer
USS Poseidon

&

Lieutenant Amelia Forscyth-Coyle
Wing Commander
U.S.S Poseidon

RSS Feed