Star Trek: Starbase 777

At the civilian mess hall table, Hvirr sat across to his brother, just chatting and drinking some of the mysterious green protein drink from the replicator. It was Lama's idea to try something new and whilst Hvirr was not a very adventurous person when it came to food, he wanted to make his brother happy. "So I was saying, it's okay. I know things seem tough, but you're doing a great job, Lama," Hvirr reached out his hand to hold Lama's. Romulans were not very open to touching casually, especially in public, but Betazoids were and Hvirr knew how much Lama liked hugs or holding hands. "Well, I should be going, Imin is still at Waffle House trying to watch a fight," Hvirr said, but he didn't make any moves to leave, not yet at least.

"I understand, yeah. I think I would feel less bad if I was ever good at my job. I couldn't make it through the Free State, or Intelligence, or even being agent and that was my career for my whole adult life at that point," Lama didn't feel like he felt any better, but at the very least he was thankful his brother would hear him out. He let go of Hvirr's hand so he could leave. He didn't want him to go, but there wasn't much Hvirr could do aside from be a listening ear. Lama was determined not to be too in his own feelings about this. He felt sad, but he had to be bright and cheerful. Besides, Lama was in uniform and civilians would start worrying if one of the security officers was sulking in their mess hall. Lama sipped his ugly green drink. "I still can't believe the Undine read my thoughts like that... little tal shiar boy, I'm not even that short!" Lama looked frustrated for a moment, throwing his hands up and wiggling his arms. "Short for my species, but I'm taller than most humanoids! Tall and sexy!"

Tavaen didn't usually eat in the mess hall. He had a replicator and a table in his quarters, and if he wasn't eating in one of the many restaurants in the food court, he was usually in his own home. But today he was in the mood for social interaction, and too tired to walk far. So instead, he'd taken his cane and wandered into the mess hall. And wasn't what he found there interesting? He'd greeted the two Romulans who were in the hall with a nod and a polite "jolan tru" as one was supposed to do, before making his way to a replicator and replicating a milder plomeek soup that would be filling and easy to eat, together with some spiced bread and Vulcan tea. And as he waited, he couldn't help but overhear the conversation the two were having. Ex-Shiar on the station, really? And in Starfleet's employ? But the blonde one looked so young still, how did any young person ever make the mistake of joining up? He heard the Free State mentioned, but to his knowledge, that had been a mess from the start and wasn't any better nowadays. He balanced his tray on one arm, holding his cane in the other hand as he made his way over back to the Romulans. "Would you mind if I sat with you?" he asked in level Rihannsu, fully knowing that the dark-haired one was about to leave, but addressing him with the other nonetheless as if playing unaware. Ironically, he was shorter than Lama, who had been complaining about his height, even standing up regally as he was. His face was neutral, calm, his long hair having been pinned out of his face and giving him a more open and inviting look.

"You are the tallest Romulan I know," Hvirr lied, but it got Lama laughing. When the older man entered the mess hall Hvirr did his normal polite bow and repeated the Rihannsu greeting back to him. He didn't think much of the individual or the interaction at first. Maybe it was some unspoken rule that Romulans always greeted each other? Well, he turned back to Lama. "I'll tell you if there was a fight, Imin said they would film it," Hvirr stood up just as the older man walked over to them and asked if he could sit with them. Since Hvirr was leaving he stepped to the side so Tavaen could take his place. "I'm heading out now," He stated, gesturing for Tavaen to sit where he had been.

Lama had given the older man a wave when he entered the room, but was much more focused on talking to his brother. It wasn't until the stranger approached the table that he gave him a second look. "Uh, yeah that's fine," Lama loved meeting new people and maybe meeting a new person would distract him from his own feelings. He tugged a little on his uniform collar and straightened out his jacket to look a little more professional. This guy was a civilian he assumed, so Lama had to look 'Starfleet professional' or whatever. He waved goodbye to his brother and then looked at the stranger who had just joined him. "Jolan tru, oh you god plomeek soup? That stuff slaps," He said with a little laugh, trying to shift from his sad and serious mode to his normal happy and goofy mode.

Tavaen nodded to Hvirr as he took his seat, setting his tray down before sitting down and resting his cane against the side of his chair. "Thank you, have a good day," he told the Romulan, before turning to Lama to address him as well. "Yes, it is. I lived on Vulcan for a time, and it became somewhat of a comfort food. The bread is, I believe, human, but the tea is Vulcan too. Are you very familiar with Vulcan cuisine?" he asked, taking note of Lama's shift in demeanour. It wasn't uncommon, of course, to shift one's demeanour when dealing with strangers, and certainly this would be expected of Romulans. Still, with what he overheard, he couldn't help but be curious if it had anything to do with the young man's past.

"Oh, I get it totally," So maybe this guy was some old reunificationist type? Lama wished he could enter new interactions with fellow Romulans normally, but every conversation he felt like he had to find out everything about the person. It was a defense mechanism from his past, but he tried not to let his own theories get to him too much. This guy seemed sensible and normal. "I know Vulcan cuisine! It's been super trendy recently, especially the mini versions of the Vulcan mollusk! They're ten outta ten!" Lama spoke casually in Rihannsu, his native language, but his age wasn't hard to guess with his choice of words and rising tones at the ends of his sentences. Something that he had learned during his influencer days, often called an 'influencer accent', Lama often didn't realise he did it even when speaking normally to people. "How long did you live on Vulcan?" Lama asked before taking a big sip of his weird green drink. The taste was mid at best, but it was what he had.

Tavaen was certainly more of an old man, set in his ways. Despite Letor's best efforts to keep him up to date with changes in Vulcan popular culture, it never took long before he declined to know more, preferring to stick to what he knew. "I must confess to being more old-fashioned," he told Lama, bringing the spoon to his mouth. "It's been a long time since I was on Vulcan, and I was already too old then to keep up with the latest trends. I lived there a little over five years, about seventy years ago now? Elements, I am getting old." Tavaen took another sip of his soup. With every second that passed, he began to see the differences between the two of them more starkly, his old-fashioned stability from having grown up in a much different era juxtaposed clearly with Lama's young excitability. And yet, Tavaen had already gotten a glimpse of their shared burden.... whether or not he wanted define his own past as such.

Lama was unsurprised to hear the older Romulan was a traditional one. He didn't mind at all, his great aunt was also very traditional even if she was more open minded than most Romulans of her generation. "Wow seventy years ago, well, you certainly look good for your age!" Lama put his weird green smoothie down so he could snap his fingers and giggle. "I'm only 33, but I don't feel it at all," Lama was rather youthful for his age, he didn't know exactly how old this stranger was but he hoped he would age just as gracefully. "And my name is Lama tr'Ehweia, but some know me as the handsome, the eggcelent, the eggcitable, Liha tr'Hei," Whilst most former spies may have concealed their past aliases, Lama wore them as proud titles. The thing was, he had gained a lot of clout as Liha and why would he stop the persona just because it was part of some undercover thing? The best thing about continuing to use the Liha character was he wasn't a spy anymore so he could just be Liha. It was no different than influencers taking on online identities. "And you are? I don't think I've seen you around before!" he assumed this guy was a civilian, considering his old age he was probably not an officer.

Tavaen raised an eyebrow at Lama's compliment. While he certainly wasn't decrepit, he was absolutely more wrinkly and frail than many people his age, his face having gained a gauntness in the past few years that he'd never had before. Ev'kor, his mirror image, didn't have it either; it was purely the result of prolonged illness. "33 is very young still, I don't think there'd be much to feel," he told Lama. He was 147 himself, after all, and despite everything, he was doing fine, too. "Lama tr'Ehweia. It is a pleasure to meet you. I am Tavaen tr'Khellian, I've only become a resident of this station a few months ago, so it's not a surprise we've not run into each other before." It was a massive station, after all. Tavaen wondered whether or not Lama would recognise the name Khellian, from a Romulan upbringing or from meeting Rilek. Or, he supposed, Valak, who he had since learned had terrorised 777 once upon a time, a crime for which he was currently serving a sentence in the Republic.

Similarly to his siblings, the Romulan genes were strong in Lama so he expected his lifespan to be similar to that of a full Romulan. "That's true, I am super young," Lama hadn't even lived a quarter of his lifespan, but why did he already feel like he lived a century? He grabbed his cup of mysterious green ooze and swished it around in his hands, the smile never leaving his face. "Nice to meet you.... too," The Khellian name was vaguely familiar, but Lama wasn't exactly sure why. His memories were a bit of a mess. Not a result of any trauma, Lama just had a naturally disorganised mind. "Do you have any family on this station? Uh, I think I recognise the name," Lama could only assume that's where he had heard it before. The older man's face looked nothing like anyone he had seen before so if he was related to anyone on the station, Lama probably never met them. Little did Lama know the memory he was trying to dig up was not a past encounter with anyone on the station, but someone from back during 'those times'.

"Yes, my cousin Rilek works as a fleet liaison here, and I suppose you may have heard of her brother Valak, who has also made a... visit, of sorts, before. I wouldn't be surprised if you simply heard of it before, though. We were.... a very big House, in the Empire. Ah, but I suppose you weren't very old yet when the Empire ceased to exist." If Tavaen's maths were correct, Lama was at most seven when Romulus was destroyed. That would certainly be enough time to instill proper Romulan paranoia into a child, but House history was frequently a bit much for young children to wrap their heads around. There were quite a few, after all, and most of their shared history was convoluted and bloody, at best. "We've always been a military House, if that helps?" To say the least.

Fleet liaison? Lama didn't even know they had fleet liaisons. Well, logically it made sense, but there were so many jobs he simply never really thought about. It was when Tavaen said the name Valak that Lama recognised where the name came from. There was a brief moment where his eyes twitched and he looked mildly concerned upon hearing the name of a former colleague, but he quickly sipped his drink to try and hide it. "Ah I didn't know much about uh, politics. I grew up on Rator IV," Lama admitted with an awkward smile, looking away from Tavaen. He wasn't lying, but he looked away because his earlier assumption about Tavaen just being a reunificationist old man quickly went out the window when the man said 'military house'. Military... Yeah, 'military'. "Yeah I think I probably just saw your cousin's name on the roster. I don't look at it all the time, but I'm a transfer from the Republic so I uh, probably came across them once," Lama was typically a good liar, but he had a few other things going on in his head at the time that were causing him to trip up. "So I assume you like... Served in the Navy? Like the Navy Navy?" Lama raised an eyebrow at Tavaen, leaning against the table as he looked the man up and down again.

Tavaen prided himself on being an observant sort, even in the face of other liars. And, indeed, despite Lama having a history as a spy, his general struggles to keep a straight face were exceedingly obvious to his hundred years of experience. Of course, Tavaen knew better than to confront Lama head on. The man would probably shut down, not explain anything, and disappear, and Tavaen simply wanted to know what had possessed Lama to even join the Tal Shiar in the first place. So, he simply hummed, raising an eyebrow ever so slightly as he took in the things Lama was telling him verbally and non-verbally. "Sure. I went to the Imperial War College when I was 18. I was a tactical analyst for a long time, I even became Chief Tactical Officer by the time the Dominion War rolled around. I retired though, a few years after the Great Loss. I am blessed with intelligent sons, and they beseeched me to leave the chaos of the Free State behind." It was half the story, of course. Half the time he spent in the Navy he was actually a Tal Shiar plant, there for separate purposes. Only about two decades of his eight spent with the Tal Shiar were spent on a Navy ship. Not that Lama had to know any of that; unlike his conversation partner, Tavaen knew how to keep a straight face through everything.

"Ohhh..." Lama looked at Tavaen as he spoke, nodding slowly as the man explained his history with the Navy. Lama was not an Academically minded person, he struggled to focus in school and didn't do well with exams or any sort of performance evaluation. Looking at the aged face before him, he had a feeling people like Tavaen would probably be disappointed to hear about Lama's Navy 'career'. "I guess that's the story for a lot of older Romulans. That's cool you went into tactical and you have good sons who left the Free State, those guys were whack af," Lama said before realising he was using quite a bit of slang. Hopefully Tavaen had hip sons so he wouldn't be confused by the term 'whack af'. "How was the Imperial War College? I assume it was on like... Straight up Romulus?" Another slang term that Lama didn't realise he was using. "Like not Rator III or anything, just the OG Ch'Rihan? Yeah, I'm too young to know much about Romulus, I grew up on Rator IV though, with my two siblings!" Since Tavaen had mentioned Free State he probably knew that Rator III and IV were both Free State planets. Lama wasn't saying anything that wasn't already public knowledge so he wasn't nervous, not at all! He took another sip of his drink.

Tavaen did not happen to have hip sons, the youngest only barely shy of six decades, but he was well-versed enough in general communication to get the gist of what Lama was talking about. It seemed the man knew the Free State was questionable at best, so one had to wonder why he did end up performing Intelligence duties for them. "Yes, it was on ch'Rihan. Rator III wasn't even part of the Empire yet when I was born. It was... fine. Not much different from my education before that, except perhaps less focussed on manners and propriety and more focussed on the most effective ways to kill." Tavaen did know the Rator system belonged to the Free State, which at least formed some sort of plausible story, even if Tavaen knew more than anyone that it your circumstances weren't ever an excuse. "They certainly seemed to spend a lot more time on how to speak quietly in public, so that your private matters remain your own, than they do nowadays." There, a first hint to what Tavaen wanted to know. He took another bite of his soup, before tearing off some bread and tearing that in two again, dipping one piece in the plomeek soup and offering the other to Lama.

Before Rator III was even in the Empire? That was... well over a century ago. Lama was not academically smart at all, but he did survive the Romulan education system which drilled in the most important dates and signifcant events of the Star Empire. It was terrible, honestly. He grimaced when Tavaen said 'ways to kill'. Killing was something Lama was thankful he never had to do, at least not face to face. He had certainly caused the deaths of others and he did blow up that Tal Shiar base, but he had little remorse for killing those guys, fuck them. "Oh umm... Yeah," Lama hunched his back a little like a little pill bug. He may have been a little dumb, but just like Tavaen, he also went through Tal Shiar training and his mind quickly made the connection. He wasn't going to fall for it though, if this man wanted to play Romulan 3d chess, oh he'd give him a game. "Uh-huh, I dropped out of the war college like day one, not for me. I was just an influencer on Rator III, no killing involved," Lama extended his hand to take the bread and nibble it like he was some sort of hamster. He liked to believe he was free from the 'Romulan paranoia' that was so ingrained in their society, but it was times like these that Lama really felt the trauma of his early education hit him. It was a good thing Tavaen wasn't Betazoid because oh was the paranoia just eminating from Lama's smooth lump in his skull he called a brain. "I'm used to my entire life being on display, I don't have anything to hide, but.. sounds like you have some skeletons in your metaphorical closet, slash j, like joke, please don't have real skeletons in your closet," He took the top off of his drink and dipped the bread in it, fully expecting the combination to be terrible.

Tavaen was disappointed that he didn't get the answer he was looking for, but at least he got the feeling that they were getting somewhere. "Son, let me tell you a story, then you decide on the state of my closet." He turned up his nose slightly at the dipping of bread in the questionable smoothie, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he simply put his spoon down, and took the tea in his hands. Then, he leaned forwards conspiratorially, and lowered his voice, the direct opposite of what Lama had done when he'd mentioned his past occupation. "75 years ago, I was assigned to the case of Ke'vem. I don't remember if Ke'vem had a House; it was a long time ago now, and I just knew him as Ke'vem. Ke'vem was a visionary, and a creative mind, but radical. When he was with the Empire he was a valued colleague; the hardest worker of us all. But when he changed his mind, he was a dangerous foe; sharing state secrets with the Federation." There were two reasons Tavaen told this particular story. First, he wanted Lama to know the dangers of telling people he didn't know about his past. You simply never knew how far people would go to find you, if they cared enough. You never knew who'd care enough. And secondly, he wanted Lama to know the things he'd done for love, for loyalty, once upon a time. x_divider

19:25

"Four years I hunted him. If fellow operatives could ever be considered friends, Ke'vem was one of mine, and yet I took to the task of cleaning up after him, and then cleaning him up, with the same dedication I showed my children later. I went far for the sake of the Empire, rarely questioning why. Only when the Free State made a mess of the home I had once loved like a mother or a child did I leave. I have to live with the things I did in name of a home I loved; I have seen many who have done worse for less noble reasons. And yet, after all that, I can't tell what you did it for." Tavaen had always known the Empire wasn't perfect. But the Free State was so much worse, that he'd been forced to open his eyes and leave. So why hadn't this young man? What could possess someone who was now a Starfleet officer, long-time paragons of morality, to join the Tal Shiar? There wasn't anything he could come up with that would be satisfactory.

Lama's black Betazoid eyes widened when the man leaned closer to him and as if he were some scared squirrel, he quickly nibbled the bread and let out a little squeak' out of shock. He did not expect this guy to just call him son, but when the man continued speaking he realised why. He noticed how Tavaen looked at his smoothie/bread combo but his mind was not doing the thinking at that moment! His mind was so much in chaos that when Tavaen introduced his story about his closet he thought this man was about to drop fashion tips. Lama wished it was fashion tips, but what Tavaen told him was far worse. Lama could feel a tingling sensation on his skin and the little twitch of his pointed ears. His eyes shifted as Tavaen spoke, never holding eye contact for more than a few seconds. He wasn't sure what Tavaen was getting at until he uttered the last sentence-- what you did it for. Lama's expression went dark and the silly and quirky attitude seemed to have completely left his body. He looked pensive for a few seconds before finally making eye contact with Tavaen. "I.. I was always told I was useless, always the forgotten one of my family. I had no skills and when shit got real, I was the only one unable to help," Lama began to explain, speaking at the same soft volume as Tavaen. He cupped his hands around the cool smoothie and sighed. x_divider

02:34

"But... I survived all of that, somehow. I continued to survive. And the people who helped me, they were nice to me. For once, someone said they needed me. I guess... It was easy to become blind to reality when I felt like I had nothing else to offer the universe, ummm..." Lama wasn't sure if any of his words were making sense. He was simplifying his whole recruitment but he hoped his answer would be sufficient for Tavaen as it was obvious the older man was unconvinced by his initial lie. Now knowing Tavaen had lived a similar life, he thought it would be silly to run from it. "I never actually... hurt anyone.... well," Lama's mind suddenly flashed to the words of the Undine. "I did. I did bad things. I don't know how I'm supposed to live with it... Clearly you have.. so.. I guess what I'm asking is.... How?"

Tavaen heard Lama out. For all his inability to understand, he was made of patience, having it drilled into him from a young age that for the right answers, one has to wait. And so Lama spoke, and he took in the information. In the end, he could have guessed. After the Great Loss, the former leaders of the Empire got desperate, and it became easier and easier to take anyone and everyone who could be used: the broken and the desperate and the beaten down were all given a chance to make something of themselves. Perhaps Lama wasn't foolish, or morally corrupt; perhaps Lama had simply been an easy target. That wouldn't negate the choices made, of course, or the harm caused. But as easy as it was to fall for lies when they were all you knew, it was too to fall for the lies you want to hear. "You don't get a choice," Tavaen told Lama, taking a sip of his tea. "Either you die by your own hands, or you live with it. Those are the only options." Even when he taught at the Imperial War College, he wasn't as harsh with the brash and hopeful young men. They knew what they signed up for, and even Tavaen hadn't yet, at the time, had to reckon with the harm he'd caused. He was a different man standing in front of Lama today than he had been, then. "Some of us get what we are due. The balance tips and we pay for what we did; I got sick, and will never be truly healthy again. Retribution of a kind, I'm sure." Not a secret, to Tavaen. On his good days he walked around almost effortlessly, and on the bad he coughed until he wasn't sure he still had lungs. That's what he came to the Federation for, and that, he genuinely believed, was what he had coming. x_divider

17:13

"Some of us work to do good, to counteract the bad. I think perhaps that is too late for me, and there is nothing left in this old body to give except advice." It was a suggestion for Lama though, who was young still, younger than Tavaen had been when he'd first returned to ch'Rihan to start his intelligence training. "Some others simply retreat into themselves, vowing to never do harm again. I can only promise that I'll try. Whatever we choose, though, we must make sure we don't cling to the only thing we know despite its comforts; keep holding on to the envenomed dagger, and without fail you will, someday, cut your hand on it." Let go not only of the comforts of the Tal Shiar and their poisoned words and terrible deeds, but also the easy guilt one was always inclined to languish in, far simpler to sit in compared to the action necessary to actually create meaningful change within oneself.

Lama sensed a distinct shift in Tavaen's emotions when he spoke and that's when he was sure that his point had gotten across. He nodded slowly as the older man spoke, listening to his words intently. This was the first time he had ever spoken to someone who was in his position. Well, there was that one ex-agent he spoke to once, who did not speak softly and who seemed to wear her past proudly. Which was.. a choice. Tavaen may not have been close in age with Lama, but their eyes had seen similar things and their hearts in the same place. When Tavaen mentioned his illness, Lama's eyes briefly glanced to his cane resting against the side his chair. A brief wash of fear came over him when he realised that that could easily be him at 150, or however old Tavaen was. Not necessarily ill like Tavaen, but old and still with mental scars. It was less about the cane and more about the symbolism, to be old and tired. Dark Betazoid eyes looked at Tavaen again, trying to process everything. He didn't want to be like Tavaen, to have lived over a century but still have to carry these scars from his past, but he would have to. Just as Tavaen said, he could never truly run away. He couldn't just delete his account and open a new one. x_divider

00:50

"Thanks I... I think I needed to hear that," Lama wasn't normally one to be good with metaphors, but he understood what Tavaen was getting at. Just like one could get lost in the illusions of the Tal Shiar, it was also easy to get lost in one's own grief and regrets about joining them. Lama had a decade of poor decisions, but Tavaen probably had more. He wondered just how much more. "It's hard to shake the feeling that I know I was a bad person. And I was the only one in my family... I didn't tell anyone, not until I had to, anyway. My own brother is the one who caught me, and honestly, Tavaen," Lama looked the older man in the eyes again. "When he did, I... I was prepared to hurt him," kill him, actually, but Lama wasn't going to say that aloud. "I have never told him that, I have never told anyone that. I hate my brain sometimes or well, I feel like I would be better off without a brain. If I wasn't Betazoid, maybe they wouldn't see any use in me... I was only 18. I did fail out of the War College, day one. I was going to turn my back and not join the Free State, school isn't for me... I should have though."

Tavaen couldn't say he'd ever felt the urge to hurt the people who were looking out for him. By the time Letor started urging him to get out, he was in a place to receive the message; timing had been on their side entirely. His sisters had been gone for decades, but they'd allbeen in far deeper than him; and none of them had survived the Great Loss, choosing to go down with ch'Rihan when the time came just like their mother. By the time he left, only Eviess and her children, as well as his own wife and sons, were left of the family he'd once known. "It's not a kindness, young man, it's a fact." Either you live or you die, wasn't that simply the world stripped back to the barest of its bones? And if you lived, well, you'd have to live with what you did. No matter what it was. Pushing it to the back of your mind to forget it would only lead to the pus leaving the wound some other way; you need to expose a wound to air for it to heal. "The past is in the past, and you can't change it; it's what you do from now on is that is important. Perhaps you find some different way to learn a new trade. You don't have to go to school to learn, after all. Perhaps you apologise to your siblings, explain without making excuses." Tavaen had a passing thought about being stationed on the correct side of the quadrant to fight Tal Shiar when appropriate, but neglected to share it. He couldn't find a way to share that without coming across as a little overly cynical. "I do want to give you one piece of advice, though. If you want to stay alive, you keep. Your mouth. Shut. Do you understand me? Share what you need with those who need to know, behind closed doors. You're lucky you encountered a retiree today; I have no use for blackmail anymore. Except, can you trust that? Are you sure?" A bit mean, perhaps, to scare Lama again like this. Tavaen's sharp, analytical gaze, his orange eyes staring at Lama's, became at once unreadable. It wasn't his job to be nice, though.

Maybe this was Lama's Tal Shiar conditioning kicking in, but he thought Tavaen was being nice and doing him a good service. Despite Lama's very friendly nature, he did appreciate and need tough love most of the time. It was one of the reasons he was so close to Imin who rarely held back when calling Lama out for things. Taev also was a bit harsh, but Taev was harsh for everything so his words were all gravy to Lama. "I appreciate it though, yeah... I have apologised to them and I feel bad for making them worry, They've lived good lives here in Federation space," Now Lama wished he hadn't been so obsessed with getting likes or subscribers, had he not been clout chasing, maybe he'd be like Taev and proudly serving the Republic. "I don't know if I can tell my older brother those things I thought when I saw him though... He's done so much for me, and my-- my whole brand is about me being non-violent and silly, I don't want people to see me as anything else. I'm not like that anymore, not even in the slightest," It was a storytime he hadn't even mentioned in his various live chats with his subscribers, Lama did not want to come clean about those violent thoughts, not yet anyway. "O-Ohh," Lama hadn't even noticed he had put his head down until Tavaen said very sternly to keep his mouth shut. He looked up at the older man and grimaced slightly. "Y-Yeah, I... I mean, Starfleet knows.... uhh... who I used to serve," Lama began to think about what he had on his public profile. He had recently spoken to Hvirr about updating his Republic citizen's record to include his Tal Shiar missions, but besides that, the fact that he served Free State Intelligence was no secret. "I wasn't saything anything like... bad," Lama took a long nervous sip from his drink and averted his gaze.

Tavaen wasn't the boss of Lama, and it wasn't his business what he did and didn't tell other people. Tavaen was just here to do his good deed of the year before retreating into snarky obscurity again. "I'm not saying it has to be a secret. I'm just telling you that for your own safety, it's best to keep that kind of thing on a need-to-know basis. Even if you weren't putting yourself in danger, it makes other people nervous. And-" Tavaen drank the rest of his tea, setting his empty cup on his tray gently before once more staring at Lama. "For that precise reason, this conversation will have to stay between us. I've been presumed dead long enough that my records are... difficult to access, for all sides involved. Let's keep it that way, shall we?" He stood up, taking his tray on his one arm, and, after a second of deliberation, put his leftover bread in front of Lama, before calmly putting the rest of his tray back in the replicator to be reclaimed. "You should eat more, young man, you are far too skinny for your age," was the last thing he said before walking off out of the mess hall and into the corridor, ready to go take a nap in his quarters. He'd earned it. (edited)

Lama nodded his head slowly as he finished up the rest of his questionable green smoothie. What was in it? No one knew. So this guy faked his death to defect? Sounded exciting, Lama would need to ask him about that, probably in private another time. He watched as the older man put the rest of his bread in front of Lama, bid his goodbye, and then headed off. Wait-- did he just call Lama too skinny for his age? Lama was a lot of things, but he did not think he was scrawny! If that guy was still here, Lama would probably shoot back with some smart ass comment like he didn't look much like a tsunkatse fighter himself! Well, it was free bread so Lama picked it up and nibbled it like a lil hamster chowing down on some sunflower seeds. He sat at the table in silence, thinking seriously about the older man's words. It wasn't until Hvirr finally appeared with Imin and Taev in toe that he realised how much time had actually passed.

"There was no fight at Waffle House, but I think I know where the fight was. Lama, you look terrible！ I mean like, worse than usual," Taev said as he approached the table to see his brother looking very solemn and pensive. He didn't know what went on, but his empathy immediately picked up on his brother's uneasy vibes.

"Taev," Hvirr nudged Taev hard in the side, causing Imin to giggle. The three Ehweia siblings all gathered around Lama like they were some secret club of two blonde haired people and two black haired people. "Let's go back to our guest quarters, we can listen to Imin's new album or something," Hvirr was the only non-empath of the bunch, but even he knew when Lama needed comfort. He took Lama's empty smoothie cup to dispose of in the replicator whilst Imin put both hands on their brother's shoulders to give him a lil massage. Taev just watched with his arms crossed. Once Hvirr returned, the Ehweia siblings headed out to go listen to some Romulan minimalist jams.

Triple 1 methodically arranged the fresh ingredients on the kitchen counter: eggs, flour, olive oil, some fresh meat and a variety of colorful vegetables. Some of it had been replicated but they knew that cooking was in the freshness of the ingredients. They watched Triple 0 bustling about, a slight smile playing on their lips. Their eyes darted between the ingredients and Triple 0's enthusiastic but somewhat haphazard preparations."You know," Triple 1 began, their tone a mix of amusement and mild exasperation, "the optimal angle for kneading dough is 45 degrees, not whatever interpretive dance you're doing with it." They watched as Triple 0 cheerfully ignored their advice, continuing to knead with unbridled enthusiasm."And might I suggest measuring the flour instead of eyeballing it? Last time you 'eyeballed' it, we ended up with pasta the consistency of hull plating."They didn't want their first meal with Kallek to end up with the same level of inconsistency. (edited)

Triple 0 eagerly rummaged through the cabinets, pulling out mixing bowls, the pasta maker, and an assortment of utensils, their excitement palpable in the kitchen air. They hummed softly, barely registering Triple 1's critiques as they poured what looked like "enough" flour into the bowl. "Oh, come on! Cooking is an art, not a science," Triple 0 retorted playfully through their link, even as they adjusted their kneading angle ever so slightly.As they set up the pasta maker, their mind wandered to the evening ahead. Triple 0 was glad that Kallek could join them for dinner, away from the loud raucous party noises or the buzz of the preparty. It was the first time they'd have a chance for a quieter, more intimate gathering with their new friend! * *"You know," Triple 0 said, glancing at Triple 1 with a mischievous grin, "maybe we should let Kallek try their hand at pasta making. It couldn't be any worse than my 'hull plating' attempt, right?" Which prompted an eyeroll from Triple 1. *They reached for the eggs, prompting Triple 1 to interject again. "Remember, we're making pasta, not participating in a zero-g egg toss simulation."Despite the gentle ribbing, both Bynars soon found themselves working in a comfortable rhythm, Triple 0's creativity balanced by Triple 1's precision. *

Kallek arrived in time to witness this creative pasta making, and scaled ridges lifted in surprise for a moment before he wove between the tables and chairs to take up a position at the counter with the Bynars. "Hey you two," he greeted amiably. "You've got some good looking produce, did you get it from the gardens?" "Let me know if there's anything I can help with." His gaze fell upon the dough, and the other engineer briefly turned away to wash his hands. His hair was pulled back as always, so he only had to roll up his sleeves to make himself cooking-ready. He seemed more at ease than at the events prior, but Kallek's introversion was hardly secret. This was more his speed than a party if nothing else.

Triple 0's face lit up with excitement as Kallek entered. "Kallek! Great to see you!" they exclaimed, starting the conversation, their hands covered in flour as they waved enthusiastically. After Triple 1 was done speaking, they said,"Want to try your hand at pasta making? I promise it's more fun than recalibrating plasma injectors!" They grinned, proudly gesturing to the slightly misshapen dough they'd been working on. divider

Catching Triple 1's focused expression, Triple 0 added with a playful tone, *"Don't mind Triple 1's precision obsession. Cooking is an art, not a science, right Kallek?" *They stepped aside, making room at the counter for Kallek to join in on the pasta-making process.

Triple 1 had just begun slicing vegetables with precise, measured movements when Kallek arrived. They looked up from the cutting board, acknowledging their friend with a small smile and nod. They seamlessly picked up from Triple 0's introduction, "Yes, we sourced most of this from the gardens. Freshness is key for a good meal!" They noted , grinning as their smaller hands deftly worked the knife over the vegetables Hearing Triple 0's comment about precision, Triple 1 paused their cutting and raised an eyebrow, retorting with dry humor, "Art without science is just chaos, Triple 0. Remember the 'hull plating' incident? That pasta was inedible."

Kallek hummed in noncommittal acknowledgment, comfortable with the banter between the twins. After a moment's consideration, he stationed himself with Triple 0. "Do you have a machine, or are we cutting it by hand?" He pressed two fingers into the dough, judging its consistency. His lips twitched, and Kallek cast the nearer Bynar a bemused glance before they spread into a smile. He gave Triple 0 a light nudge. "It can certainly be an art, but it serves to know your tools well." Mercifully the Bynars had already gotten out what he needed - olive oil, close enough to what they had at home - and he splashed a bit atop the dough before taking over kneading it. He'd helped his family cook plenty, and he pressed and turned the dough with clear experience. The addition softened the pasta, turning it supple and once again workable, what as an egg-based mixture had been left wanting and at risk of hull plating. "Triple 1, what are you making with the pasta?" he asked as he worked.