Away Mission Pre-Game

It had been a few days since T'Pren had managed to make it to the bar, or had even wanted to be there. It was crawling with ensigns these days, many of whom used to frequent bars with her when they were all varying levels of cadets. In fact, the last time she'd been there was when she was having one last public inebriation night with Rai before the ship full of young Starfleet officers arrived and they had to really be professional.

She was clearly only recently off duty as she was still in her uniform, and as she entered the Eel and headed directly for a seat at the end of the bar away from green ensigns and rowdy residents, she was taking out a French braid that exposed her ears. As she plopped heavily onto a stool, she shook out her hair. The pointy ears vanished behind auburn waves.

Emotionally, she was more centered than she had been only a week before, but she was tired and there was a certain amount of distant pain, and, further behind that, a terror and anxiety that went all the way down to her delicate Vulcan bones. But what she presented was just weariness and a lightly nervous anticipation of the impending mission.

Falten was leaning on the wall behind the bar, a hooded knit sweater pulled up over her head and shading her eyes. Her thin antennae poked out between the loops of knit fibers, and they drooped, unusually still. Her pale blue skin was even paler than usual. This was the first time she'd been out of her room in almost a week - and though she knew she'd have to see the crew, she was hoping that the bar would be unusually quiet. The last thing she needed was one of those herds of ensigns gawking at her and tying up HJ's service queue.

Days of motionless cocooning in her quarters, sealing the door and hoping no one came looking for her; one of the great hazards of space travel for an Andorian was the immense risk of disease that came with it. All of the incredible species and people and places to see and touch could destroy her fragile immune system with startling ease. It had been a very long time since she had contracted a disease of any kind, and this one was brutal.

She'd managed to keep herself vertical for long enough today that she was convinced she would be fine behind the bar. The place had been flooded while she was gone, and her anxiety was growing about the upkeep.

She pulled a thin scarf up over her mouth, breathing slowly and deliberately. The little Inabnet had parked herself near Falten's end of the bar, but she wasn't sure if the officer had seen her yet. One antennae twitched. It was muddy, inside her head, but Inabnet's patterns were familiar to her.

"You look horrific," T'Pren told the bar, and then lifted her green eyes to Falten so that the bartender knew who she meant. She didn't bother to smile, but it was there in her voice: "Andorian immune system problems?"

Falten closed her eyes for a moment, hiding a wan smile behind the scarf.

"Nice to see you too," Falten said quietly, and her eyes gave away her smile. "Me? Immune system problems? Ye gods, what a radical notion." Another slow breath, then she gave a hand signal to HJ, who flickered brighter.

"Miss T'Pren Inabnet, welcome to The Ceti Eel, how might I be of service to you?" He asked, and Falten rolled her eyes, still smiling.

T'Pren finally offered Falten a small, wry grin in actuality rather than just with her voice. "When Doctor Ozan comes back through, you should talk to her about it. She's really good with interspecies medicine."

HJ made the half-Vulcan's smile slip and her brows lift with a definite lack of amusement. "You can start by never ever calling me that again, HJ."

Tal'Ara heard that Falten was once again among the living, and decided to drop by for a visit.

Unfortunately, the away mission was coming up, so she was in her unflattering uniform (Tal Shiar shawl included, of course).

She approached the bar, and focused her eyes on the blue skinned vixen.

"Well well well..." she said, snarkily.

Falten stepped forward, tapping HJ's screen swiftly.

"Sorry... he still tries to say my full name too." She lifted her eyes, a wounded, apologetic look in them at Inabnet's justified anger. "Fucking formality programming..."

She opened her mouth to offer Inabnet a drink, but she went nearly grey when she saw the Romulan walk up. What must she think? A million horrific options swirled in her already muddled brain, and she suddenly felt even sicker than before. This beautiful, stunningly whip-smart and dangerously fascinating woman had desired her, and now... Oh gods, what must she think!?

Falten froze, then tugged the scarf up over her mouth again, lowering her eyes and shrinking into the folds of the sweater. She'd had many a fever dream about the tattooed face and those lips in her sickness, and at least one staggered attempt to leave her quarters to try and find her, to let her know she wasn't rejecting her, not in a million years. To find her before the Hippolyta left and she was lost to the wilds of space.

"Tal'Ara," She managed, her voice very small and a slight waver in it.

T'Pren heard Tal'Ara's distinctive footsteps before the other woman came up beside her and spoke to Falten, and for a moment she closed her eyes and regulated her breathing, settling a brief spike in whatever deep anxiety and fear she was avoiding.

Well, she had wanted a distraction.

And though she was a touch-telepath, it was obvious Falten was mortified just by looking at her, so the half-Vulcan decided to run interference. "Commander," she greeted respectfully. "Our dear Falten was just informing me that she was taken very, very ill, as Andorians are wont to do."

Tal'Ara perked up a cheeky eyebrow.

"Oh? I hope she has a doctor's note," she grinned at Falten. Whether this came off as teasing or not was questionable.

HJ began to procure Inabnet's namesake (Falten avoided touching too much glassware, if she could help it - didn't need to spread whatever it was she had), and Falten remained a shrouded, shrunken version of herself. The anxiety from Tal'Ara's presence was enough to send her into another shivering, sweating fit, but she remained quiet and tried to retain some semblance of her pride.

She inhaled (a distressingly shallow breath) and lifted her face to Tal's, braving her dark, sharp gaze. It wasn't clear how she interpreted Tal's comment, but the struggle in her eyes was clear.

"I don't bother with non-Andorian doc types." She said quietly. "Standardized remedies don't do shit on me, so it's better to self-quarantine and hope I don't asphyxiate in my sleep." Her grey eyes were a bit sunken (had she been eating?), and her breathing was labored and almost audible.

"As I said," T'Pren suggested again gently, attempting to mediate the tension away before she had to give up at distracting herself and find another way to relieve her anxiety, "you should talk to Doctor Ozan when she returns. It's her specialty."

And as soon as HJ gave her the tea, she knocked it back. Completely. In one gulp. And then put it back down on the bar. "I think I'm going to need something stronger."

Falten let the scarf slide away from her mouth as she stared at Inabnet. Her lips were ashen and dry, but the confused, concerned twist of her mouth was the same as ever.

"Well... try not to burn yourself." She pulled the scarf up again, then gave another hand signal to HJ, who brought up a glass of bloodwine. "This suit your mood?"

"I'm half Vulcan," T'Pren assured Falten, already reaching for the bloodwine. That, at least, she didn't knock back just yet. "I'm built for high temperatures."

Tal'Ara frowned at the downtrodden Andorian.

"Well, I'm glad to see you are back on your feet... albiet barely," she said.

She was relieved, in a way. Tal'Ara had thought Falten simply didn't like her. But she didn't want to chance asking her out again. Not with T'Pren here. And there was a part of her that still feared that she had perhaps scared her off.

Falten frowned at Inabnet and her slightly off mannerisms, then looked at Tal again. What could she say? Anything? What was Tal thinking?

Her eyes lowered to the bar. "Of all the times to run into me unprepared, it had to be when I'm a snivelling petri dish..." She tried to joke, but the shame crept into the edge of her voice, already thin. "Sorry..."

Pathetic. Pathetic apologies, excuses, nothing the Commander would ever want to hear. Commander. Tal was a Commander, and what was she but a homeless, infected Andorian, hoping to find some kind of connection among the stars. It was melodramatic, but she hadn't quite kicked the fever, and her mind was racing out of control.

"You're ill," T'Pren replied frankly, taking a drag from her cup of bloodwine. "There's no reason to apologize for something that is beyond your control. And there's no reason to be embarrassed. There's a virus out there for each and every species in the galaxy that's practically custom made to knock us on our asses." The fear spiked again and the half-Vulcan chased it with a bigger drink.

Tal'Ara was touched by Falten's apology. She was being sincere. She really felt bad about it.

She sat down at the bar and lowered her head so she could look up at Falten's sinking face.

Tal'Ara smiled.

"I understand. I'm just glad you are okay... I was worried," she blurted out.

She caught herself and sat back up.

Falten's antennae gave a small, slow twitch, sweeping from Pren to Tal'Ara.

To avoid a sudden, very unbecoming burst of emotion, she avoiding looking directly at Tal, braving only a small, grateful glance at the tattooed Romulan.

"I'm not out of the woods yet," She smiled with her eyes, unable to hide her relief and affection. "If I'm not at least at 50 percent by tomorrow I'll have to get a portable respirator -" She tensed, suppressing another cough. "Can I get you anything, Tal?" Why the hell was she showing so much weakness? She had to buck up, and fast, or Tal might not be interested anymore. A Tal Shiar wouldn't waste her time with a compromised Andorian.

She looked towards the half breed, coughing again and frowning.

"You're awful... prickly today, Inabnet. What's on your mind?"

"Am I?" T'Pren wondered, though she didn't seem particularly surprised or dismayed by the information. She took another generous drink of her bloodwine and gave a sharp shrug. "It's just been a long day."

While that was technically true, it certainly wasn't the whole truth.

Falten didn't have the energy to push too hard, but this was not quite Inabnet's normal state of disquiet. A great deal had happened since she'd fallen sick, but she didn't think that much had occurred.

"Legally, lying by omission is still lying." She stifled another cough, her eyes smiling through it. "There's a bloodwine on the house in it for you if you relax a little bit."

Her antennae drooped a little. She'd been feverish and cold for days, and being on her feet was draining her energy much faster than she anticipated. There was a buildup of fluid in her lungs, and she'd had no appetite for anything whatsoever. Her normally light blue skin had taken on a greyness and a dryness, and her tattoos stood out starkly on the faded hue. She hid it beneath her clothing as best she could.

"I was unaware the bar also doubled as a court of law," replied T'Pren wryly, although there was a very light undertone of discomfort at being called out. She punctuated this, too, with a drink of her bloodwine. "If you give me a bloodwine on the house, I'll have no choice but to relax a little."

She hesitated and then frowned at Falten. "And then you should go back to bed. Or go see the new doctor. Or both."

Falten's eyes narrowed slightly, not aggressively, but in a passively analytical way. She gave another hand signal to HJ, and a bottle of bloodwine appeared on the bartop.

"My court," She said playfully. "I'm judge and jury, here." She ignored Inabnet's attention to her health entirely. She was fully capable of gauging her own health and how far she could push herself.

Tal'Ara was soon to be on duty, and she generally did not like to be intoxicated on missions. However, Falten's offer was tempting, if only for her to have a reason to stay in her company.

"I probably shouldn't... I go on duty soon," she said, sneaking a sharp glance at T'Pren.

T'Pren returned Tal'Ara's look with pointed impassivity. She took another drink of her bloodwine and gave another sharp shrug. "We have over twelve hours. At my current rate of consumption, as long as I stop imbibing before 0100, I won't be impaired." Said the girl who'll be at the helm of the warship. "And I plan to be done long before then and sleeping."

Falten's eyes darted from Inabnet to Tal'Ara. The ship was leaving so soon?

"I won't let her get messy, Commander," She offered a small smile with her eyes, but it didn't mask the sudden loneliness that had crept into them. "And I think you deserve a parting glass as well, a toast to smooth sailing and good fortune and all that superstitious noise." Her hand was lifted, ready to signal HJ if Tal gave even a hint of agreement.

"How about it, Inabnet? A toast?" She didn't want them to leave. She didn't know exactly what they were doing, but they were leaving. This was why she never bothered to make friends, or even attempt closeness - someone was always leaving. It was still dangerous on the fringes of space, and from the grave stoniness in Inabnet's face and soul, they weren't going anywhere pleasant.