Kentucky Bourbon and Bullshit

Posted on Wednesday October 16th, 2019 @ 17:45 hours by Taben Natal & Clinton Westbrooke Jr

Mission: Hot Couture
Location: Deck 6, Cargo Bay 4, SS. Fawkes
Timeline: MD 02 - 0240
1700 words - 3.4 OF Standard Post Measure

[ON]

Taben had been sitting in a lotus pose in the cargo bay for nearly 3 hours wearing nothing but his gym shorts. It was hot as hell in here, but damn it was good for the soul. He took a deep breath in as he savoured the gentle hum of the EPS conduit behind the port bulkhead. It made the most beautiful, comforting noise he had heard in some time. Such moments of bliss were rare and something he treasured. In this moment he could feel everything--and nothing. Perfection. After a slight variance in the sound of the EPS conduit, the moment was lost.

Taben frowned as he broke his pose, leaning down and picking up a cigar. He sighed for a moment as he placed it in his mouth and removed its cap with his teeth, spitting it out on the ground as he pulled out his lighter. As the foot of the cigar met with the flickering flame of his lighter, the bleak blackness of the tobacco gave way to beautiful ethereal embers of light. He gently inhaled as he then quickly expelled a sequence of puffs of smoke before the embers became consistent and his reward complete. He let out another sigh, but this time he could feel the stress leaving his body along with the smoke as he felt the nicotine rush through him. This...was bliss. Reaching down to his right, he picked up a glass of Scotch and took a moderate swig of it before returning to the cigar.

Clint walked around the nearest stack of crates and stared at the man before him, eyes closed, Scotch in hand, Cigar in mouth, and looked around as if trying to find the hidden camera. "I don't uh... I don't know if the CO is cool with people smoking on the ship," He said, flatly.

"Whatever," Taben replied dismissively as he opened his eyes, taking in another puff of his cigar before letting out a large cloud of smoke, "I'm not smoking around anything too flammable, so who really gives a fuck?" Taben's gaze sharpened as he not so subtly eyed Clint from head to toe. On this ship full of chicks, it was a welcome change to come across another man, particularly one so hot he though to himself.

Taben slapped the metal cargo container he had perched on, sending the echos of a dull thud throughout the cargo bay. "Wanna join me?" He waved the half-empty bottle of Scotch as he smirked, "I don't have a spare glass but you can take some swigs from the bottle and I've got a cigar in my pockets somewhere."

"I don't uh... I don't smoke," Clint replied, scratching at his chin. "Sorry, who the fuck are you?" He asked, all of his Clint charm coming through in spades.

Taben took a large gulp of Scotch straight from the bottle, "Oh fuck, where are my manners? I'm Taben--the new first mate," Taben held the Cigar in his mouth opening up a free hand as he grabbed Clint's and shook it vigorously.

"Yeah, I'm clint I'm the..." Clint stuttered and stammered for a second, then blurted out, "God dammit! How many first mates are we going to go through?" He grumbled, frustrated. He was just starting to like the last one.

Taben slapped the metal cargo container again, a bit harder this time, as a louder thud echoed throughout the cargo bay. "Sit your ass down and have some booze, it'll calm ya down" Taben commanded in a semi-playful tone, "I'm not going anywhere until I've got money for another ship of my own so, I'm probably gonna be here awhile."

Clint rubbed his mouth with his hand and sighed, then shrugged and took up a spot next to the man on the cargo container, "Why you got it so uh... so fuckin' hot in here, huh?" He asked, looking around, a sheen already appearing on his forehead as he poured himself a drink.

Taben shrugged casually as he took a deep puff of his cigar, "It's good for the mind and the soul I guess," he responded half-heatedly, "Sweat out all the badness and all that. Plus you've got the great hum of that EPS conduit over there--which is generating most of the heat." He turned as he removed his cigar from his mouth as his expression exchanged to a salacious grin as he shamelessly checked out the guy now sitting next to him, "Maybe you should take your shirt off, feels a lot better." The Trill knew he was being about as subtle as a dark hole in the middle of the galaxy at this point, but fuck he was too drunk to care as he swung back another large gulp of whiskey.

Clint let out an amused laugh, "What is it with this ship?" He asked, grinning. "You're uh... you're not my type, but I appreciate the notion anyway," He said, taking another swig of his own whiskey. "Is the uh... is the EPS conduit... should it BE making that hum?" He asked, looking over at the device with a note of concern.

Taben shrugged, "Eh, ships like this attract odd souls," he grinned a bit, "But that's for the best. Don't end up with a ship of cookie cutter sanctimonious prats like a Starfleet ship or some shit." He closed his eyes, tuning back into the hum of the EPS conduit. "SHOULD it be making that noise? Probably not, but isn't that shit soothing?" He slapped Clint playfully on the back as he giggled, as if suddenly connecting the dots to a complex puzzle, delayed from getting from a to b only because of his inebriation, "Hey--aren't you supposed to be like, the engineer? But shhhh---don't repair it. It's too beautiful. I mean, unless it's gonna blow us up or something." Taben let out a hiccup, sending the smell of whiskey vapors into the air.

Clint laughed a bit, "Nah, that'd be Mercy. I'm the guy in charge of making sure we're stocked on shit and our computer systems," He explained. "You're not too keen on Starfleet either, huh?" He asked, taking another swig.

Taben frowned as he took a rather large swig of alcohol, "I'm not a fan of sanctimonious twats who think they're better than everyone else--particularly when they aren't." He patted his back, touching his large visible tattoo of a Galaxy class Starship. "Don't get me wrong, there's a lot of good people in Starfleet. I served in the Marines for years. Great folks, mostly. Just can't stand the organization and the higher ups. No sense of reality. Bunch of bullshitters."

Clint laughed, "Vice Admiral Clinton Westbrooke... is my father," He explained. "He's a sanctimonious twat with no sense of reality, that's for damn sure," Clint said, laughing. "And he's furious I'm working for the civilian sector on... let's say 'off the book' assignments. Won't even speak to me anymore," He explained.

Taben nodded in a way that indicated his understanding, but also his reservation about the sentiments expressed. "That's tough man," he replied somberly as his eyes turn away from Clint and stared at the wall. A few seconds of silence filled the air before the Trill continued, "He might surprise you someday. At least he's around, alive. That's something. Something not even Starfleet can take away." He took another swig of alcohol before he frowned, "It's none of my goddamn business really--but I'm drunk as fuck and don't give a shit--don't give up on him. If I were you, I'd reach out to him. Don't wait around for him. You never know what's gonna happen in the future. The worst thing..." He let out a sigh as he resisted allowing his mind to flash back to his teenage years, "...the worst thing that can happen is not parting well--before the end. Y'know?" Taben looked up in the air again. He wasn't sure if he was masking sense, but something within him told him he had to say something. This was always how he got in trouble.

Clint looked down at his hands for a while, "Yeah... you know, I don't think I care anymore," He said, honestly. "The last time we talked... He uh... Well, it was a while ago now, but uh... I tried to contact him after my mom died. Stroke, sudden. Real bad, you know? He told me that I was the reason. He told me my mom died of worry about me, and that he hated me and hoped I burned in hell, and to never contact him again..." He said, quietly. "Sometimes... sometimes you can hope for something better, but uh... other times, you gotta got your losses, yeah?" He asked, hopping down off the box rather abruptly, and heading toward the door.

"Preciate the talk though," He said, earnestly enough, "I'm going to let Mercy know about the EPS conduit down here... You might want to get a shirt on before she gets down here. Seems the unappreciative time, to me," He said, pausing at the door, "Hey... uh... That's, for that... what uh... all of that," He said, waving a hand absently. "I'm a hard case, man. Real hard. But uh... it was nice to meet you, for real. Lookin' forward to workin' with you," He said, giving the man a nod and heading out the door before another word could be said.

Taben let the man's words sink in as he took a few more puffs of his cigar before letting out a final puff of smoke, savouring the feeling of it leaving his mouth before smothering the embers in an ashtray. He let out a sigh, he didn't get a lay tonight--but perhaps he had made a friend? Fuck, who knew? He picked up his ashtray, hiding it in the usual place, before grabbing the bottle at leaving. He had much to reflect on.

[OFF]

Taben Natal
First Officer

&

Clinton Westbrooke Jr.
Quartermaster

S.S. Fawkes

"Coffee, God, and Cigarettes is all that you need, It's all that you need just to be as free as me." -Mischief Brew