Promenade After Hours

Posted on Thu Mar 31st, 2011 @ 5:12am by Samanthia Akiashiro

Mission: Shore Leave - Archa IV
Location: Promenade
Timeline: MD02- 2100 Hours, Shoreleave

::ON::

Funkhouser walked through the promenade looking for a place to settle down. He had the next morning off and felt like throwing back a few synthoholic beverages. Quite frankly, he wished he could get the real stuff, but he polished off all of the tequila he had stowed away from his last trip home. New Mexico was a long way away, and getting a case of his favorite blue-agave spirit might have to wait until a friend from home makes his or her way to the Starbase.

Until then, synthohol awaits. Peter walked through the promenade. "The Mixx" was classy, but expensive. "Starboard" was a dive. "Risa Dreamin" was a tourist trap. "Olive Garden" was no taste of home, or even Italy. But then he checked out the last bar on that strip. "Warp 12", he contemplated. It was either a neat way to relate trans-warp (speeds in excess of warp factor ten) to transgendered individuals, but looking through the door he did not see any cross dressers. Looked different. Looked neat. Hopefully they served beer.

Peter walked through the entrance and looked around. The club, as it appeared to be, was crowded - even at the early hour. Music, of some kind, was loud. The bar was surrounded, but there was a corner seat open. Room for me. Funkhouser pulled out the stool and sat down, resting his boots on the footrest below the counter. He held out some cash, the universal sign to attract bartenders to help him very soon.

Samanthia looked over at the gentleman sitting down at the bar, moved over to him, "Greetings, Welcome to my establishment. What can I get you?" Smiling in a warm friendly manner as she came to a stop in front of him with the bar separating them. Even though there was a bartender on duty and busy and she just came from the kitchen.

The music paused for a bit and a new song started, it obvious that new group took the stage and was performing. A bit amateurish, but still good. It was live music performed by various groups that wanted to show off their talent.

"Have anything good? Like Tequila?" It was worth a shot. Even if he had to pay an extra credit to get the real thing, there was a shot that the bar might take the overhead of shipping in real alcohol. He put a few credits down on the bar top in front of him.

Samanthia scooped up the credits with practiced ease and pocketing them in her dress as she turned and grabbed a bottle off the shelf, letting Peter read the label, "Tequila", in plain Sol-3 english. It was the real stuff, not the synth garbage that came out of the replicators as there was none in this establishment. Even the food was cooked before it was served. She deftly poured a shot and set the full shot glass before him with a soft thunk on the bar counter. Then she slid a platter with a few lemon wedges and a salt shaker with salt. Leaving the bottle within reach. "Just Arrive on station?"

"No," Peter replied. "I've been here for a few months." He studied the lemons, the tequila, and grabbed the salt shaker. Real ingredients. It was not that there wasn't plenty of transports and cargo coming into the station, it was more of a surprise that seemed to have plenty of real alcohol and ingredients. Granted, it was a lemon and not a lime, but he'd take what he can get. There was plenty of overhead shipping expense covered up by the high price of the drink. Not to mention Starfleet rent on outposts frequented by their ships was expensive. It was hard to imagine that this bar made any money. Peter licked the back side of his left hand and sprinkled salt on it. He grabbed the lemon wedge and held it, also with his left hand, ready to bite. With his right, he held the shot glass full of tequila.

Funkhouser licked the salt, cleansing and preparing the palette for the tequila, quickly breathing deeply in and out before throwing back the shot. Another quick breath in and out, then a bite of the lemon. The citrus released through his mouth and filled his senses with flavor. One easy one down, and he held up his finger for a minute more.

"How long've you been on station?" He asked politely, with his New Mexico twang.

"I've been here for a few months myself." Samanthia smiled warmly at him as she served a few drinks to nearby patrons.

"More importantly," Peter paused, leaning in close over the counter, "how the hell do you stay in business with rent this damn high?"

"A far as I know, this station is ran by Three Merchant Clans and this is owned by Akiashiro Merchant Enterpirse. I am the Proprietor of the place given free reign as I please in running the establishment." Samanthia smiled warmly again, pausing near him, pouring him another shot, deftly. "As you can see this place is pretty popular amongst the Station citizens."

Samanthia ,glancing around the lounge area, seeing another group of patrons entering the place, complaining about the Demostration against the large presence of Starfleet personnel at the station and how the Riterians were making it harder for space travel.

"So you're working for the Clan," Funkhouser said, subtly mocking the bartender. His southern twang and his big eyes really helped over-exaggerate his interest when dealing with someone. But there was something deeper going on here. Peter decided to dig some more. "So you get real alcohol on a station. And you get free run of a hundred square meters of space station. Must be a powerful group you operate for. And you must be in good hands to get in their good graces."

Samanthia nodded when spoke of alcohol, smiled abit, "Not all of them, But enough to land this job." waving a hand about the place. "And few other sources. You want to try some Ritorian Jelly? It's pretty good." Quickly changing the subject. "What is it you do for the fleet?".

Funkhouser nodded to the jelly, "Sure, thanks." He was never much for food that was not readily available in 75 kilometer radius around Sante Fe, New Mexico, but was fine when it was all he could grab on the station or ship. Ritorian Jelly, or whatever it was, might be a nice addition to the tequila. When the lady came back, he nodded a thank you and answered her next question. "I am a pilot." He left it ambiguous enough to be a driver of a starship or an escape pod. Regardless, it was not divulging too much information.

Samanthia nodded as she sat the little cube of Ritorian Jelly before Funkhouser. "Pilot as in ship's helm or an actual shuttle?" Then sent a two prong fork next to the saucer. "Don't eat it to fast. It's a mild Hallucinogenic if you do. This is what the Ritorians use to get intoxicated and becareful if taken to often can get quite addictive."

She smiled at Funkhouser with a friendly soft smile, then looking towards a group of Fleeters and Civilian arguing quite passionately and loudly. Drawing attention to the group as tempers flair. She knew she was risking trouble when she kept the place open to both Fleet and Civilians.

"I do this and that," he said cryptically. He didn't know who she was, and more importantly did not care to reveal too much. What was the old poster that Grandpop had in his barn? Loose Lips Sink Ships? Funkhouser laughed. There was no war. There wasn't even an incredible threat to the Federation. With the Romulan Star Empire in shambles, the Klingons making power plays, and the Cardassians rebuilding their homeworld, who stood a chance? The Borg were gone. Janeway took care of them. There Tholians kept to their crystallized selfs. Who was the threat? Whatever. I'm not gunna tell this chick who or what I do. He put his fork down when he heard it was addictive. There was plenty of stuff down on the Mexican border that was hallucinogens that he messed around with. Hard not to take a toke of the peyote. But the random drug tests were not kind on pilots. Many a friend and subordinate have been grounded pending investigation for the results of a piss test. Funkhouser did not want to become one of them. He did not know if it was what she said it was. She could have been lying and feeding him grape jelly. But the Squadron CO was not about to risk it all.

The fight brought his attention to the other side of the room. It is easy for people to take their anger towards Starfeet and the Federation out on your average mop-carrying crewman. Disappointing, really. The poor kid probably believed the poster at the Starport or high school and decided to go and enlist. In all likelihood he'd end up figuring out that "see interesting worlds and cultures and explore the galaxy" meant risk depressurization by way of hull breach while defending a world you do not care about or have even heard of from a group of people who are pissed off you for no reason. Some enlightened race we are, he laughed. He turned to the bartender. "I'm Peter. what's your name?"

He had a nice laugh, which surprised her coming from such a stoic man. She gave him a easy smile, eyes turning the color of a warm late summer evening blue bring an uncharacteristic warmth and softness to her features, "I am Samanthia Akiashiro. Friends call me Sammy." She stated simply, looking at him as she gave a covert signal to get the Bouncers moving towards the heated argument between both the Civilians and Fleeters. "I run this place." Seeing him put the fork down, "you don't like it?" getting ready to take it away to dispose of the rest.

"Not particularly," he was honest. Sammy was lighting up, for some odd reason. Either a flirty nature or looking for a good tip. If she was the manager or owner or something, she'd probably not be working for tips. Funkhouser pushed it. "Besides this association, why come down here to Middle-of-Nowhere Galactic South?" He had his reasons - orders. Her? To run a bar that she apparently did not like the mix between Starfleet and Civilian and to open a club on a Fleet Starbase? Interesting indeed. Usually, he never read this far. It was probably the tequila leading his mind around, or the cute girls curves, but Peter tried to wrap his mind around the situation. It never occurred to him that it might have been exactly what she wanted.

Taking the plate and fork away, giving her time to think over the question presented to her by Peter, and properly disposing the dish to be cleaned. Why did I come here? She came back and leaned against the bar counter, looking at the Bouncers escorting the disruptive civilians and Fleeters out of the club. "To start afresh, yet be with Family. And the excitement of being on the Frontier," giving a soft crazy smile, eyes sparkling in the ambient light like diamonds on blue lake. "They let me have this place to run. For better or worse." She gave a noncommittal shrug, taking the quarter full bottle of Tequila and placing it on the shelf behind her. "You like it out here?" Glancing back at him, over her shoulders as she released the bottle in it's final resting place amongst the other drinks of hard liquor.

"No." He was brutally honest. There was nothing out here that really made him say, I cannot wait to get to work today. Sure, flying was fun. Sure, the frontier was a neat idea. But honestly? "Not at all. My home is back on Earth, and I cannot wait to get back there." He looked at the bottle of tequila. If it really was the brand that he had, it would have been distilled but about seven hundred miles south of his hometown in New Mexico. A nice little taste of Mexico on... well... Earth. "The only good thing about here is that I have my own room and a pretty reasonable schedule." He looked at the beers on tap. "Can I get an Andorian Ale, please," feeling a bit adventurous.

"Dontcha think you could use something a bit lighter? With trouble brewing, you don't need to make yourself a target anymore than you have to." Samanthia hesitated, looking a bit worried towards the exit. Even if it was well on the way into Gamma shift and the crowds of protesters had dwindled down, but there were a lot more people milling about than usual. Looking back at him, waiting to see what he choose to do. What a bad time to get sloshed... Even though she appreciated the business, it didn't pay when your clientele gets beat up after the first visit.

Funkhouser looked at the beer and looked at the crowd behind him. Not many other officers or folks who would recognize him in civilian clothes here off duty. And the civilians really did not appreciate Fleet personnel here, apparently. "I am not here for a fight. I'm just going to take my leave, miss," he smiled and nodded curtly. He did not want to get in too much trouble or see that new Security Chief - Von or something like that. "I'll catch you around though." He left a few credits on the bar and walked out surreptitiously past a group of rowdy civilians.

::OFF::

This post is brought to you by:

Lt. Peter Funkhouser
Commanding Officer
VMA-193, The "Exocets"

&

Samanthia Akiashiro
Owner
Warp 12