sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] Harvest Feast 🍂

[MINGLE] Harvest Feast 🍂

WHERE: 6I Inn
WHEN: 10 November, all day
OPEN TO: ALL - MINGLE POST
NOTE: Details can be found here.

In the wee hours of November 10th, before even the earliest risers have roused themselves for another day, items begin to appear in the front room of the Inn. Decorations first — Boughs of autumn leaves in their reds and golds, wreaths of dried flowers and silken ribbon, flickering candles among the goards and berries and acorns. The food arrives next, the decadent aroma slipping up the Inn stairs to tempt those lingering in bed — Every imaginable harvest time delicacy, from roast turkey and ham to smoked salmon and oysters; fresh, soft bread warm from the oven to plum pudding and ice cream. And did we mention pie?

Once again, it's time for a feast. The bar is stocked, the coffee is brewed and the tables are groaning with food. Indulge, there's more than enough for everyone — That is, if you don't lose your appetite worrying about what it will all cost.

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By now, Nerys is mildly tipsy, and more than a little distracted, and it's dark, so combined it's enough to keep her from noticing who might be standing just behind her. That is, until he says something.

There's something about the way that Jean-Luc Picard asks a question, even a simple neighborly statement, that makes it pretty much impossible not to snap to and respond. There's a certain resonance to his tone even outside the badge and uniform of office that make it so.

"It has, actually. Several times," she says without fully thinking, then stumbles a bit over the rest of her statement. "I've seen a few of them, now. Uh, and the food tends to be safe." After a horrified second, where she realises that yes, technically she should stand on ceremony, she adds, with a nod of her head, "Um. Sir."

For all that he does make note of Nerys' reaction - and the way she belatedly adds a 'sir' to the end of her comment - it still takes him a moment to place her properly. Beverly has, of course, mentioned that they aren't the only ones for their time period present, but even then they've really only spoken the once. And, of course, there's the fact that he's not entirely accustomed to the idea of her appearing human besides.

He is, of course, not going to be so uncouth as to directly say anything about it. But it still takes a moment or three before recognition dawns, and it's very much visible when it does, his expression shifting from mild confusion to a diplomat's politeness with ease.

"Major Kira, wasn't it?"

He's pretty certain the answer is yes, unless there's someone else with a very similar voice wandering around the village. But there's no harm in asking, just in case.

"And I'm glad to hear that the food is nothing more than it seems to be."

It's probably all for the best that Nerys has had a bit of liquid courage. No matter how much Beverly might say 'oh, it's just Jean-Luc', no matter how distant they might be from the Federation, and no matter how unimpressed by ceremony she usually is, it's hard to shake the gut reaction that Picard is a generally benevolent but remarkably powerful person. As a result, she does not want to fuck this up.

"Major Kira Nerys, yes." She inclines her head a little, then adds, "But no one's called me Major for a pretty long time, just Nerys." Her smile's a little tight, but genuine, if wry, as she gestures back towards the tables still heaving with food. "And it probably won't hurt you, but that's not to say that there might not be seemingly unrelated but remarkably coincidental problems and tragedies after this, I'm afraid. It's sort of like the, uh...what's the human saying? Root vegetable before the stick."

To be perfectly honest, it's a little hard to hold quite the same amount of respect when there's hardly anyone who's even so much as aware of Starfleet present, and when he doesn't have the Enterprise herself on hand. But there's little denying that he still carries a sense of that gravitas with him, regardless of the difficulties of the situation he happens to have found himself in. Still, he seems to be as open as he ever gets and that's a start.

(Whether or not it's enough of a start is another question and not one he can answer.)

"Something like that, yes." There's a brief smile to go with his words, and while it's not entirely correct, it's close enough. Plus he has a feeling that offering the correct version straight off the bat might be a little undiplomatic - not precisely the most ideal given the overall mood of the conversation thus far.

"And I've been led to believe that 'unrelated but remarkably coincidental' describes a fair number of the occurrences here."

Often frustratingly so, but it is good to have confirmation that the food is unlikely to be anything more than it seems to be. Even if there might be some sort of coincidentally related problem later.

And Nerys can live with formality. She's been around the Federation rank system long enough now for it to become familiar enough to manage, even if it makes her mentally roll her eyes. Besides, she has respect for Picard, both by reputation and by what she's heard about him from the Chief. Sure, O'Brien is a friendly guy, but his judgment about people is pretty good.

"Unrelated but remarkably coincidental, to the point where correlation starts to make causation plausible," she replies, with a faintly fatalistic smile. "But only just plausible--I'm not a scientist, Captain, so forgive me, but nothing's consistent enough around here to make for a wider theory. In that case, with something like this, my advice would be to stock up on calories and save as much useful material and non-perishable food as one can. It might come in handy."

Pausing, she can feel herself blush. "Uh, that is, not to offer unsolicited advice." Sure, Picard's never lived under an occupation, but he surely knows plenty about survival sklls.

Truth be told, Picard isn't entirely certain that any stories Nerys will have heard won't have grown a little in the telling. But he's hardly about to ask, and it is true that O'Brien is a pretty good judge of someone's character. And an excellent technician besides; while there are still times he misses him a little on the Enterprise neither can he blame the man for taking the transfer either, when it had come up - from what he knows of the situation, the station had been left in a significant state of disrepair.

"No, by all means, feel free to offer. I suspect your experience is the more relevant, in cases like these."

Which isn't to say that he hasn't spent some time at the mercy of various individuals with nebulously defined goals. But Nerys has the more experience with it being more than simply a brief chapter in one's life, to say nothing of the fact that she's far more familiar with this particular village besides.

"And I'll admit that I'm no scientist myself, but it does seem that this place specializes in throwing the unusual and the unexpected at us. Even if it stands to reason that there must be some sort of wider theory to explain all of this."

Significant is probably an understatement, though at the time, Nerys had been surprised the Cardassians hadn't done more to break the station before their departure. The subtleties are Dukat's style, though, and he'd certainly made them jump to his tune for fun before the kinks were all smoothed out. She still suspects they'll run into something else virulent one of these days.

Smiling softly in acknowledgement of Picard's words, even if she's blushing a bit, she clears her throat, and nods. "There's likely something, sir, I would agree--there are too many data points for just correlation--but every attempt seems to miss something. Like your Einstein and his unified field theory, I suppose. I'm not saying it's not worth trying to figure out--" she's getting a little more animated, "but it gets hard to find the time and resources. I've wished for a tricorder every day since I got here."

Given the way things to tend to go in his experience, it's certainly not unlikely that the station has at least one more curveball to throw the people there. Admittedly, his experience is more with starships than formerly-Cardassian-owned space stations, but there has certainly been no shortage of strange and unusual things that they've had to deal with on the Enterprise over the years. Plus it would certainly be in keeping with the sort of thing he's come to expect from the Cardassians.

"It is beginning to seem that way," he answers with a nod of his own. "Perhaps if we managed to get all the people who have made theories into one place for a little brainstorming we might be able to get somewhere, but that would involve people being willing to admit to their own theories in the first place." And this isn't like the Enterprise, where he can't simply call a general meeting of the senior staff and go from there.

"And you aren't the only one," he adds a moment later. "It does make a certain amount of sense that the Observers wouldn't want to let us have tricorders, but that doesn't mean that they wouldn't be incredibly useful."

"Admit to their own theories as well as lay them out verbally, Captain." Nerys' lips twist, a little sardonic. "Sometimes there aren't words for things, or connections aren't easy to demonstrate verbally or in written form. Not to mention that we've got people here from what seems to be a pretty wide array of universes, so there's also the need to find mutually intelligible context."

It's certainly happened more than once both back home and here, but here, the Village, has made her think about it more closely. It's not like she can explain something as 'like being caught in a stuck turbolift', or 'sweeter than a baby with a jumja stick' to most of her fellow residents.

She's feeling a little less stiff around him, at least, and adds with a wry laugh, "Actually, that's part of why I wish I had a tricorder. My knowledge of Earth plants and animals was always pretty minimal, though it's grown exponentially living here. For a long time, I was never entirely sure if I'd picked something edible."

"A valid point," he agrees with a nod. He might certainly like to hope that a mutual intelligible context could be worked out, or that people would be willing enough to explain when confusion did happen to come up, regardless. But even with that he's well aware that it's hardly any guarantee. Especially not when there's a very reasonable possibility that people might not want to directly speak about their own theories.

Which does also make it difficult to puzzle out even a working theory as to the nature of the place, much less a definitive theory. But he's worked under worse situations before, and the lack of a unified theory as to nature of the settlement itself isn't going to stop him from doing his absolute best to figure matters out all the same.

But rather than actually say as much, he simply offers an understanding nod at Nerys' comment. "I can see how that might make a tricorder sound all the more appealing. It might be easy enough to assume that the Observers wouldn't have put anything here that would be seriously harmful if ingested, but that doesn't mean that's actually the case."

And given that he hasn't exactly made a thorough study of the plant life present, he can't say for certain whether or not the plant life is mostly harmless. He wouldn't be entirely surprised if Beverly has something of an idea, but that would also need to involve asking her; something he has yet to do.

Edited 2018-01-11 23:58 (UTC)

Admittedly, Nerys hasn't given up, not exactly. She's just found it difficult to make time to do thorough analysis--they didn't even have paper here for months, which didn't help, nor did the fact that everything seemed to have exceptions that did anything but prove the rule. It's slipping, she can tell, back into survival mode. That's what's done it to her.

She worries a lot about whether people like Picard and Beverly and others judge her for it. She certainly judges herself.

"It seems, from what Mark--Watney, the botanist--and others have said, that the flora are all from a particular Earth biome. I'd wager that includes things that are inedible, if it's a straight-up copy, but without antitoxins, it's not worth testing the theory." With a grimace, she takes a sip of her drink. "Even if it doesn't kill you, making you sick isn't exactly a pleasant prospect around here." She remembers trying to doctor Beverly with a tisane and kind words. That was frustrating enough, it must be hellish for a medical professional.

That is one of the problems, yes. Not that he's at all aware that there hadn't been any paper at all until just recently, but short of anyone to brainstorm with and in the absence of any easy-to-acquire recording methods, things do become significantly more difficult. Not impossible, no. But even he would likely be forced to admit - eventually - that simply trying to remember one's theories isn't always the easiest. Especially when he's seen first hand some of the things that the Observers are willing to do.

Still, for all that he's not currently aware that Nerys is slipping back into survival mode, he wouldn't blame her for it in the least. The Observers might seem to not want them actively dying just at the moment, but for all he knows the Observers could be more like the Cardassians than either of them would care for. And if that is the case, better to have at least someone keeping an eye out for the signs that things might be taking a distinctly less-than-pleasant turn.

"That would be the most reasonable, yes. Depending on the biome in question, it might be possible to test for how faithfully they've copied the inedible plant life native to that area by testing them on some of the livestock present, but it's not something I would encourage. Nor something I expect most people would be willing to try, for that matter. Even if the plants chosen to test the theory were non-fatal it would still be inflicting a needless amount of suffering on one of the few animals that the Observers have been kind enough to let us have."

Which could all too easily backfire depending on how the Observers might read the attempt, and the last thing they need is for the Observers to decide to take a more hostile approach to how they're being kept.

"That's likely to be the case, and I agree that it's the inhumane thing to do. And some animals--at least, if Earth's like Bajor?--some are able to consume compounds that are toxic for human consumption, right? Unless we know that the animal in question has a similar response to the human one for what we think something might be, the negatives just keep compounding, even if the ethics were ever ignored."

There's a faint twinge of discomfort that goes across Nerys' face as she generalizes them all as human, because she's not, but for the sake of science she is. The notion doesn't sit well in her stomach, and maybe she's glad to not have a tricorder if it means she doesn't have to see the proof in her very DNA. Not to mention that that change would raise even more questions about the Observers' capabilities.

Nerys offers Picard a faint smile, though, because this is a conversation she can sink her teeth into, and that's a good thing. She can see why he and Beverly get along so well (how well exactly, and for how long before all this, she can't quite pin down). "Can I get you a drink, Captain? There looks like some Earth wine, but I don't know much about that kind of thing." Or what he wants.

Edited 2018-01-17 23:57 (UTC)

"Some are, yes. And there are some that work the other way around as well - something that's toxic to them would be perfectly harmless to humans. Which only raises more problems - without having someone who happens to be familiar with what to expect, reaction-wise there still wouldn't be any guarantee that any resultant data would be useful. And even then, it's still ignoring the ethical concerns."

The very legitimate ethical concerns, which are foremost among his reasons for not wanting to actually try it. It does, of course, rather leave them to make the most of the situation without anything like a tricorder, but to be fair, it does seem that there haven't been any fatalities thus far. Even if that's mostly been through luck and the fact that there are at least a few people present who can recognize toxic plants on sight.

And for all that it is odd to include Nerys in a general catch-all of 'human', he's no stranger to the fact that she does appear to be more human than would usually be the case. He's hardly about to address it, mind, but neither can he deny that it is still a factor.

(What it means, and why the Observers have decided to make that particular alteration is another matter entirely, to say nothing of the hows of same.)

"If you're offering. And wine will be more than alright."

And while he'd be more than glad to explain the finer details of wine and winemaking, if she'd like, he's just as willing to continue on with the topic they've already been discussing.

Nerys nods, the brief kind of nod she used to give Sisko when pleased, though she doesn't notice it immediately until she's over by the wine. She shakes her head slightly to herself, chuckling, and clears her throat as she pours a glass from something that looks acceptable, a rich and spicy-scented red wine, and another for herself.

"Here you are, sir," she says, returning to Picard, offering him the glass and a smile. "It's apparently a Cabernet Sauvignon, though I'm probably mangling that term." She kind of is (caber-nett sow-vigg-naan), but it's definitely not her first language. "It's funny, on Bajor, we don't have anything like grapes at all. Mark says maybe we'll come across some wild ones, here, but probably not enough to make wine."

"Possibly not. Although it depends a little on the size of the vine in question, and how many grapes there are - it takes fewer grapes than one might expect to make a bottle of wine. Of course, even then there's no guarantee that they'd be the right sort of grapes for a proper Cabernet Sauvignon," he gives it the proper pronunciation as if it's second nature (which, to be fair, it is), "but it's certainly not impossible that we could make limited amounts of wine, given the presence of wild grapes."

And given the right sort of equipment besides, but that's something he doesn't mean to look into until they do manage to find grapes. And more specifically, grapes that people don't happen to want for anything else, which is certainly a possibility, especially given that it's far easier to make something like raisins out of them instead.

Still, he accepts the glass of wine with a nod when she offers it, even if he doesn't actually try it until after he's finished speaking.

Nerys can’t help but raise an eyebrow in surprise at Picard’s knowledge of wine—she’s not familiar with his background to that extent. It’s not like she goes looking up Starfleet officer bios in her free time, after all. But he’s authoritative in a positive way, so she nods as she sips her own wine.

“I’m afraid I’ve never been particularly good at wine appreciation,” she admits, “it not being useful to my, uh, previous lifestyle? But this seems all right. Pretty sure we couldn’t do any better here, with those wild grapes.”

"Not with wild grapes, no. One could certainly make a passable wine, at the very least. But you need a very specific variety of grape if you want to make a Cabernet Sauvignon like this one. And it's relatively unlikely that any wild grapes would be that specific variety."

Certainly not impossible, no. But he highly doubts that the Observers would be terribly inclined to offer something that specific, when they could simply grab any old variety of grape and call it a day instead. Especially if it had been meant simply to offer further variety to the fruits on hand, rather than being meant as something to make spirits out of.

Chateau Picard and its terroir isn't exactly mentioned at length in the captain's Starfleet file, or at least not at the level of access that Nerys has ever had to UFP material. Nor is she particularly aware of the implications that being French has in human culture. Her interest is merely piqued by the demonstrated knowledge.

"Are you able to identify various varieties--that is, outside of a bottle, in passing?" she asks, with a certain curiosity that surprises even herself. Botany, other than the very practical aspects of What Can You Safely Eat, never has interested Nerys much until her tenure in this place. Perhaps it's being surrounded by the uncannily unfamiliar.

"I might be a little out of practice. I haven't been home in... quite some time."

One of the perils of being a starship captain, especially one like the Enterprise. Not that he'd give it up, mind. But it does mean that they're only rarely near enough to Earth for shore leave to be practical. And even then he has something of a tendency to not be terribly inclined to take shore leave, for all that the fact isn't something he'd be terribly inclined to admit to, even if the topic of conversation happened to turn that way.

"But I should still be able to, yes."

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[MINGLE] Harvest Feast 🍂

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apologies for the delay, here

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