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Ensign Yael - Verriars, & Hopelessly Romantic Battles to the Death

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OOC: Kaycie's only been back with us a few weeks, but her writing makes it easy to get a sense of who Ashley is.  Really enjoying getting to know her character.



((Starbase 118 Ops - Promenade - Verriar’s Establishment))

Yael stepped past a nameless Bajoran and continued until he found what he’d been looking for.  It was a rather hole-in-the-wall, seedy looking place, a bar, a gambling establishment, and the live Andorian Jazz was swinging from a small stage in the back, on the second floor… it was a little bit of everything, tucked away in a lesser-trafficked area of the Promenade.  High above the entrance, a bright sign read “Verriars.”  The clacking and jangling of a tongo wheel in the back of the establishment kept the noise level high, as did the music and the murmurs of all the conversations around them.  As he walked in, his boots crushed some unswept glass, likely from a broken mug or glass.  Two private holosuites were installed in the back of the establishment, and the drinks were ordered and delivered quickly.

He wore plain clothes, civilian.  Dark trousers, boots, a matching dark shirt, and a gunmetal grey vest with subtle gold lacing in its woven pattern.  He’d worked hard for his uniform, so of course it was often what  he preferred to wear, but anonymity was sometimes useful as well.  His comm badge was on the underside of his vest, hidden from view.  But it would be inappropriate to be without it.

He gave a glance at a tray passing near him, at the brightly colored drinks.  One was smoking with some dry ice concoction, another sparkled like tiny raspberry stars.  Nothing here would be watered down.


Not here for that.

He took a seat at the bar though, and despite what he *wanted*, he ordered something else.

Yael:  Terellian Spiced Ale.

The bartender was a Terellian woman in a delightfully bright purple get-up, so it seemed appropriate.  The drink, despite the name, was not actually alcoholic… just decadent… and the Terellian only wasted a single of her four arms to offer a data padd, where Ashley gave his thumb print and sacrificed the credits.  There was no tab at an underwater place like this.  With another of her four arms, the glamorous bartender poured the drink and added the spice with expert proportions and, somehow, with grace, without even looking at the mug as she did it.  She was a large figure, but moved with a precise knowledge of her space and her goods.

The cold glass mug was then slid to him from a few inches away, and she smiled at him.

Yael:  Is this your place?

Verriar:  Why yes, it is.  ::she smiled at him, her ridges wrinkling upwards on her nose::  And you’re new.

With one of her free arms she produced a salt suck.  A nasty habit, but still somehow enjoyable.  She brought it to her tongue and licked it lightly.  With a third arm she mixed another drink.  He leaned on his elbows and smiled at her, enjoying the company already.

Yael:  Ashley.  It’s a pleasure.

Verriar:  Of course it’s your pleasure.  That’s what Verriar’s is *for*, darling.  ::she paused, looking at him closely::  We don’t get many Denobulans in here.  Too risque, they tell me.

Yael:  I’ll take that as a compliment.

She smiled and lightly laughed, sliding another drink down the length of the bar to another customer who had run dry.

Verriar:  What are you here for?

Yael:  The company, no question.

He smiled at her, and she laughed again.

Verriar:  Honey, my ex husband is *still* killing my boyfriends.  ::she looked him up and down once more::  But some are *worth* the risk.  I know *I* am.

She laughed heartily now, licking her salt suck again.

The Denobulan took a steady drink of his not-actually alcoholic ale, and found he liked it quite a bit.  The spice stayed on his tongue, blossoming into a whole new flavour after the drink had already been swallowed.  He could see the appeal… Terellians just did *quality*.  Spices, diamonds, crude habits like salt sucks… among other bad habits... whatever the product was, you could bet it would be good.

Turning, he watched the tongo board for a while, surveying the players.  There were a few Bajorans, a Gorn eating a heavy looking meal of some sort of meat, and a small host of Klingons, along with a few other species.  Of course, the tongo master was a Ferengi looking for marks… or, as a Ferengi might say, an opportunity for profit.

Verriar:  You’re not here to drink.  Can I offer you something more enticing?

She motioned to the back of her bar, no doubt where she kept the more illegitimate merchandise.  Yael shook his head negatively.

Yael:  I’m not here for that.  But I *will* take a holosuite, if you’ve got one?

Verriar:  Oh honey, I have *two*.

Yael:  You’ll make my day if you have something Klingon… some hopelessly romantic battle to the death?

Verriar:  Or something.  ::she smiled, her hidden arm producing a box filled with holodeck program chips, and selecting one from the grouping::  Take this.  Find a friend.  And have fun.

She paused as she held it up, then reached out a cautionary finger in the air with one of her free three hands.

Verriar:  This is no basic Mok’bara, and you’re such a wisp of a thing.  Are you *sure* you can *handle* it?

Yael:  ::he grinned, closing his hand round the data chip::  Don’t you worry about me.  I’m sure there’s an exclusion of liability waiver in the data pad I just signed.

She smiled broadly again, pausing for one last moment, and then moved on to serve other customers who were filtering in.  Ashley finished his drink and took his look around the room.  There were two groups of Klingons, all who apparently knew one another.  They were drinking and boisterous, but not out of control.  He picked the smaller of the two groups which consisted of three armed men, waited, and listened.  When they were drunk enough, but not too drunk, he lifted his mug… now empty, save a few drops clinging to the glass… and chucked it at the largest Klingons chest.

It shattered on the tough leather across his chest and made him jump in surprise, black eyes locking on the small man who had dared to throw it, and became even *more* surprised.  The tall Klingon, his black hair having caught a few of the remaining drops of ale, brushed off his leather and stalked over in three fast feet to stand over the Denobulan.  The guy must have been seven feet tall, so quite literally *over*  him at that.

Klingon:  You… *YOU*... dare throw your drink at *ME*?

Ashley stood to face him at his full 5’7”.

Yael:  You’re being too LOUD!  And you’re too UGLY to be making that much NOISE!

The Klingons friends roared in laughter, and so did Verriar from the far end of the bar.  The angry Klingon went silent for a moment as he glared down, his brain ticking in dangerously slow thought… this could now go one of two ways.  Painfully… or slightly less painfully.  But over the next moment the Klingons eyes wrinkled round the edges… as he smiled, and then threw his head back in a laugh, matching his friends.

Klingon:  This one thinks he’s a Klingon!

His large hand came up to steady flat above Ashley’s head, measuring his height.

Klingon:  You weigh as much as a wet targ!

The group laughed even harder, and so did the Denobulan.  It was funny because it was true!  He lifted the data chip to the Klingons face before he could lose his humor, and smiled widely.

Yael:  Ever fought the Battle of Klach D’Kel Brakt?

The drunken Klingons eyes glazed over as he came to realize that this was an invitation, and he and his friends roared in excitement, finishing their drinks in one great gulp.

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