Post by Amata Zan on Dec 21, 2014 21:52:18 GMT
Transit
USS Toronto, Lounge
Four days before Departure from DS9
Authors: Lt. (JR) Amata Zan
If there was one thing you had to learn for Starfleet, it was how to be social. While Amata sometimes wondered if he completely had the skills, the ease of introduction and stamina for small talk, he knew for sure that the Lieutenant (JR) casting a shadow over his table didn’t, “Say again?”
“Why did you decide to pursue a career in Starfleet?”
It was then that the Bajoran realized he was dealing with Vulcan small talk, though Amata would be lying if he claimed it was something solid like the lack of tact or the point of the ears that tipped him off. No, synthol had blurred his mind enough that it took him a few seconds longer than it should have to process who had spoken, long enough that it was possible to think that he was considering a response to the female’s question rather than its context. Then, after what might have been ten seconds of staring at a stranger’s bowl-cut, but had probably been twenty, everything clicked for the USS Portland’s soon to be Assistant Chief Security Officer, “Huh?” He looked to her shadow for help.
The pink skinned, big eyed and possibly female reptilian, trimmed in the same science teal as the Vulcan, made a gesture that Amata was unfamiliar with, “I’m Ensssign Krysss Krosss and ssshe’s Dr. T’Sssen, and ssshe meant to politely ask if we may join you ssssince we transssferred aboard at the sssame time...”
“… And it was logical to assume that you were in transit to Deep Space Nine as well. You are also sitting alone in a location typically designated for socialization…” at this point, the Ensign actually covered her superior’s mouth.
“And we thought it would be niccce to sssocccializzze,” added her friend.
“Logical was how I phrased it to Ensign Kros,” finished the Vulcan, removing the hand from her mouth.
Amata looked at his fake drink for a moment, remembering the advice he’d once heard about starship life before looking back up and answering flatly, “Amata. Take a seat.” Besides, most Vulcans were at least interesting enough to be a novel conversation, and he could learn something about whatever species Kros was.
“So why did you join Starfleet?” the Vulcan asked the Bajoron once she had seated herself on the opposite side of the table from her governing companion and put her tea down and a standard PADD down.
Not exactly surprised by T’Sen’s repeated question, though not fully understanding it, Amata placed his beer on the table and addressed his main issue with the Vulcan, “A little direct.” Kros didn’t look surprised at all, though to be honest, the male had no idea how to read her expressions.
“Apologies if I have offended you, Lt. Amata, but I be been conducting a comparative study on Federation Languages in causal registers and only have three other samples for Cardassian influenced Bajoran dialects. Though admittedly, I would have preferred that you were a born and preforming female, I already have several cis-gendered male samples, but one cannot control their variation.”
Once again, Amata looked vainly to Kros for help, a little overwhelmed by the Vulcan’s unnecessary academic explanation. In response, the reptilian made a vocal note that might have been similar to a Terran cough, that or she approved of her brandy.
Catching the signal, or methodically coming to a logical realization, T’Sen exercised some tact “Oh, I should have politely asked for consent and then explained that the question is a control feature, asked to all participants to ensure...”
“Consistency, I understand and consent,” wanting to get the conversation over.
“Appreciated, please fill out this form.”
Accepting T’Sen’s PADD, Amata began to split his attention between filling in the form and answering the Vulcan’s question, mostly because Starfleet had taught him to support scientific research.
“I enlisted after the New Bajor massacre,” letting his words hang, Amata quickly finished the form before offering it back to T’Sen. Kros seemed uncomfortable, pulling her arms in closer to herself. T’Sen, unpracticed in such things, needed to be sure and simply asked.
“Are you offended by the topic, Lt. Amata?”
“Consciously laconic,” Amata took another sip of his drink, not realizing he made a horrible conversationalist.
T’Sen made a note on her PADD, “I see, perhaps Ensign Kros should lead the conversation in an attempt to dispel any social tension.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Both looked to Kros, who seem briefly tongue tied, ten counts passing before a topic finally came to the Ensign’s mind, “Ssso, we’ve been asss-sssigned to Bajor in anticccipation for sssuccc-cccessful talksss with Gamia III. It isss an amazzzing chanccce to ssstudy language change in related culturesss, you?”
“The Portland.”
USS Toronto, Lounge
Four days before Departure from DS9
Authors: Lt. (JR) Amata Zan
If there was one thing you had to learn for Starfleet, it was how to be social. While Amata sometimes wondered if he completely had the skills, the ease of introduction and stamina for small talk, he knew for sure that the Lieutenant (JR) casting a shadow over his table didn’t, “Say again?”
“Why did you decide to pursue a career in Starfleet?”
It was then that the Bajoran realized he was dealing with Vulcan small talk, though Amata would be lying if he claimed it was something solid like the lack of tact or the point of the ears that tipped him off. No, synthol had blurred his mind enough that it took him a few seconds longer than it should have to process who had spoken, long enough that it was possible to think that he was considering a response to the female’s question rather than its context. Then, after what might have been ten seconds of staring at a stranger’s bowl-cut, but had probably been twenty, everything clicked for the USS Portland’s soon to be Assistant Chief Security Officer, “Huh?” He looked to her shadow for help.
The pink skinned, big eyed and possibly female reptilian, trimmed in the same science teal as the Vulcan, made a gesture that Amata was unfamiliar with, “I’m Ensssign Krysss Krosss and ssshe’s Dr. T’Sssen, and ssshe meant to politely ask if we may join you ssssince we transssferred aboard at the sssame time...”
“… And it was logical to assume that you were in transit to Deep Space Nine as well. You are also sitting alone in a location typically designated for socialization…” at this point, the Ensign actually covered her superior’s mouth.
“And we thought it would be niccce to sssocccializzze,” added her friend.
“Logical was how I phrased it to Ensign Kros,” finished the Vulcan, removing the hand from her mouth.
Amata looked at his fake drink for a moment, remembering the advice he’d once heard about starship life before looking back up and answering flatly, “Amata. Take a seat.” Besides, most Vulcans were at least interesting enough to be a novel conversation, and he could learn something about whatever species Kros was.
“So why did you join Starfleet?” the Vulcan asked the Bajoron once she had seated herself on the opposite side of the table from her governing companion and put her tea down and a standard PADD down.
Not exactly surprised by T’Sen’s repeated question, though not fully understanding it, Amata placed his beer on the table and addressed his main issue with the Vulcan, “A little direct.” Kros didn’t look surprised at all, though to be honest, the male had no idea how to read her expressions.
“Apologies if I have offended you, Lt. Amata, but I be been conducting a comparative study on Federation Languages in causal registers and only have three other samples for Cardassian influenced Bajoran dialects. Though admittedly, I would have preferred that you were a born and preforming female, I already have several cis-gendered male samples, but one cannot control their variation.”
Once again, Amata looked vainly to Kros for help, a little overwhelmed by the Vulcan’s unnecessary academic explanation. In response, the reptilian made a vocal note that might have been similar to a Terran cough, that or she approved of her brandy.
Catching the signal, or methodically coming to a logical realization, T’Sen exercised some tact “Oh, I should have politely asked for consent and then explained that the question is a control feature, asked to all participants to ensure...”
“Consistency, I understand and consent,” wanting to get the conversation over.
“Appreciated, please fill out this form.”
Accepting T’Sen’s PADD, Amata began to split his attention between filling in the form and answering the Vulcan’s question, mostly because Starfleet had taught him to support scientific research.
“I enlisted after the New Bajor massacre,” letting his words hang, Amata quickly finished the form before offering it back to T’Sen. Kros seemed uncomfortable, pulling her arms in closer to herself. T’Sen, unpracticed in such things, needed to be sure and simply asked.
“Are you offended by the topic, Lt. Amata?”
“Consciously laconic,” Amata took another sip of his drink, not realizing he made a horrible conversationalist.
T’Sen made a note on her PADD, “I see, perhaps Ensign Kros should lead the conversation in an attempt to dispel any social tension.”
“Couldn’t hurt.”
Both looked to Kros, who seem briefly tongue tied, ten counts passing before a topic finally came to the Ensign’s mind, “Ssso, we’ve been asss-sssigned to Bajor in anticccipation for sssuccc-cccessful talksss with Gamia III. It isss an amazzzing chanccce to ssstudy language change in related culturesss, you?”
“The Portland.”
