Out on the Town: Part I

Posted on Tue Jun 23rd, 2026 @ 12:45am by Lieutenant JG Talariana sh'Joven & Lieutenant Commander Mattys Plaatjes & Major T'Ria & Ensign Kynian Th'kyrheth

1,559 words; about a 8 minute read

Mission: New Years on Denobula
Location: Denobula: The Three Moons Lounge

Talariana entered the local establishment called The Three Moons Lounge that according to the hotel staff was one of the more popular places in the city. It was a bar and restaurant which had pretty good ratings from the locals. Since arriving down on the planet earlier in the day, she spent a big of the day settling in. Now she was here waiting to meet with several other members of the crew who had agreed to check out the nightlife. The Andorian shen was quickly greeted by the hostess and shown to a table. The table was not too far from the stage which had a live band. Denobulan music was an acquired taste, but it wasn't so bad.

Wincing as he inched his way through the crowd, Plaatjes reflected how much he didn't enjoy Denobulan music - though he'd clearly come to the wrong planet if he was going to make it a problem. The cosmopolitan crowd parted around him easily, and he caught the eye of a few of the patrons and smiled gratefully as he made way. Spotting Talariana, he set his beer down on the table with a thump and threw here a thumbs up.

'Got here eventually, hey.'

Looking up, she smiled at the Commander who clearly seemed to be happy and bothered at the same time. "Not really your type of scene?"

'Just the music, eh, not really my thing. But I can make do,' he chuckled as he took his seat. Taking a big swig of his bottle, he smacked his lips. 'This beer definitely is my thing though.'

The Lieutenant laughed. "I can clearly see that. This planet is definitely overpopulated."

>>TAG?


Meanwhile, Major T’Ria paused just inside the entrance of the lounge, and for a moment, she didn’t move. Her eyes moved instead—taking everything in at once, but not with the practiced ease of someone accustomed to such environments. There was calculation there, yes, but also hesitation. The lighting. The proximity of strangers. The unpredictability of sound. The scent—too many overlapping signatures. She took silent note of her hands clasped just a little too tightly behind her back. Realizing it, after a second, she brought them forward instead. Her fingers interlaced more tightly than necessary, and her knuckles whitened from the pressure she was currently applying.

Curiosity pressed forward, however, and 'learned' control followed closely behind it. Settling her shoulders, T'Ria stepped into the lounge, now on a mission to find a familiar face. Unfortunately the space was filled with patrons, leaving no clear path through. Then the glances, people parting as she moved forward, not due to any unspoken command, but because there was something about her that made people instinctively give space. The straight-backed posture. The focus. Different.

But even so, navigating through moving bodies required small, constant adjustments. She misjudged one step—barely—shoulder brushing someone. A quiet, immediate: “…apologies.”

T'Ria didn’t slow. But her jaw tightened, just slightly. By the time she reached the table, there was the faintest hint of over-stimulation behind her eyes which was quickly suppressed, filed away - but the observant would have noticed it.

She stopped at the table, dipping her chin slightly in greetings, “Commander Plaatjes. Lieutenant sh'Joven.”

Talariana antannae raised at the sight of the Vulcan. When she suggested the place, she honestly didn't the Chief Medical Officer would show up. Not due to wanting to avoid her but Vulcans had a way of not wishing to be a part of social gatherings. "Major T'Ria, I honestly didn't think you would join us in a place like this. I am pleasantly surprised. Have a seat."

For a fraction of a second, Major T’Ria did not move. It wasn't due to uncertainty—at least, not outwardly—but because there were too many variables still resolving in her already overstimulated mind. The table. The seating arrangement. The expectations implied in Lieutenant sh’Joven’s invitation. The informality of it.

Her gaze shifted briefly between them, then to the chair, as though confirming its function was indeed as obvious as it appeared.

“…thank you.” She sat. Not stiffly—but not naturally, either. There was a deliberate quality to it, as if she had selected this posture from observation rather than instinct. Her back remained just a degree too straight for the setting, hands resting lightly on the table before she reconsidered and folded them together instead out of sight in her lap. It was obvious the Vulcan woman was out of her depth with this 'current assignment.'

The armory officer looked over at Plaatjes trading a look, then back to the Major. "I believe it's alright to relax a bit, Major. We are on shore leave after all." Thinking for a second, she had a puzzled look. "Do Vulcans relax?"

For a moment, T’Ria did not answer. Not because she had no response—but because she was selecting one. Oh, not the 'official' allowable answer, "Vulcans do not engage in relaxation," but a truth...perhaps her truth?

Her gaze shifted, just slightly, toward the stage where the Denobulan musicians were in the midst of a complex, layered arrangement—rhythms folding over one another in a way that was…subjectively unpleasant.

Irrelevant. Her fingers tightened together briefly in her lap, then eased. Finally, she looked back to Lieutenant sh’Joven.

“Vulcans,” she began, her tone measured but not cold, “do not prioritize relaxation in the same manner as other species.” A small pause. Her eyes flicked—just briefly—to Commander Plaatjes, noting the drink, the posture, the subtle signs of someone attempting to tolerate rather than enjoy the environment.

“However,” she continued, “the concept itself is not… unknown.” There was the faintest shift in her expression then—not quite a smile, but something adjacent. A softening.

“On Vulcan, periods of restorative stillness are achieved through meditation. The objective is the reduction of internal noise and the restoration of cognitive equilibrium.”

Her gaze drifted, just for a second, to the crowd moving around them. The overlapping voices. The closeness. The unpredictability.
“…this environment,” she added, with quiet honesty, “presents a different methodology?” If there was any humor in the statement, it was dry—nearly invisible—but present.

"Basically, the exact opposite of the current environment," sh'Joven replied as she burst out in laughter. "I can see relaxation in meditation. Have tried meditation a few times myself. Guess my question should have been more like enjoyment? This question is for the both of you."

'Enjoyment in meditation?' Plaatjes responded, mulling it over. 'I can't say I've tried it. But it seems quite close to the state I get into when fixing things around the ship. Or running across a sportsfield, dodging around the opposition to score a try. Things narrow down, get quiet. Enjoyable in its own way.' He looked around, wincing slightly at the music. He made a circle with his hand, 'but this is what I enjoy, new experiences in new places with new ... friends,' he shot a glance in T'Ria's direction as he said this.

For a moment, T'Ria said nothing. Her eyes followed Commander Plaatjes' glance, noting the significance of the word he had chosen. Friends. It was an imprecise designation. Not inaccurate, perhaps, but imprecise. She folded her hands together atop the table to give her additional time to formulate her thoughts.

"I cannot answer this question in a manner that would be considered...satisfactory. I do not assess activities according to whether I enjoy them."

The antannae on Talariana's head stood up straight. "All that logic and cannot come up with a satisfactory answer. The armory was clearly making a joke. She just hoped it didn't go over the head of the medical officer.

"Ah. A 'joke.'" T'Ria considered for a moment before answering. "Following Surak's teaches does not make one omniscient, Lieutenant." It would be a joke. A deliberately constructed, codified narrative designed to elicit an involuntary emotional release. Now that was an incomprehensible communication tool in her opinion. It was not something she was foolish enough to verbalize, however.

Kynian looked the outside of the lounge up and down. Not the type of place he would have chosen for himself, but it looked interesting enough. He ran a hand through his hair, stepped inside, and tried to pick out any familiar faces in the crowd.

By the time he found the group, he’d been bumped into a dozen times. Still, he put on his best smile and gave the group a wave. “Sorry I’m late! Got caught up in data analysis and lost track of time. Some days I think the software knows when I’ve got somewhere fun to be right afterwards.”

'This is why we don't let anyone talk about future plans near the warp manifolds. Unfailingly they break,' Plaatjes grinned as he pulled up a chair for the man. 'Take a load off.'

“Haha, you guys too, huh? I may have to start following that rule myself next time.” Kynian plopped down in the chair.

=================
Lt. Commander Mattys Plaatjes
Chief Engineer
USS Meridian

Major T'Ria
Chief Medical Officer
USS Meridian

Ltjg. Talariana sh'Joven
Armory Officer
USS Meridian

Ensign Kynian Th'Kyrheth
Science Officer
USS Meridian

 

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