Mess Hall -- Day 46 (afternoon) -- [private]
The mess hall was unusually crowded this shift. Saval sat down at a table with a cup of strong black coffee to ponder why that was. Maybe there was some work being done in other departments that required more exertion and burned more calories than average, making more people hungry right now. Or perhaps there had been some slight shift in the social atmosphere of the ship, leading people to accompany their friends to the cafeteria even if they didn't really want anything to eat.
Either way, mess hall overpopulation aside, Saval was getting heartily sick of Andorian food. The bland cabbagey stuff was decent up to a point, but he longed for a good spicy plate of pok tar. He wasn't even sure if the replicators could make it, but it was worth a shot. By this point, he'd even settle for plomeek soup, and he hated plomeek soup.
He stood up, leaving his half-full coffee mug on the table, and got in line for the replicator behind an Orion crewmate he'd never spoken to. He knew vaguely who she was; he'd read her file, and he was good with names. He'd been a bit put out by the sparseness of the medical history she'd volunteered, but he couldn't say he didn't understand. He wouldn't have included nearly as much information in his own if he'd been able to get away with it.
He craned his head to read the Vulcan food options over her shoulder, keeping a polite distance from her. The choices were rather few and far between, but then again, so were the Vulcan crew members. He supposed it was logical. Plomeek it was, then.
He took the bowl and the packet of crackers that had come with it, and resumed his seat at the table with his coffee and his PADD.
Either way, mess hall overpopulation aside, Saval was getting heartily sick of Andorian food. The bland cabbagey stuff was decent up to a point, but he longed for a good spicy plate of pok tar. He wasn't even sure if the replicators could make it, but it was worth a shot. By this point, he'd even settle for plomeek soup, and he hated plomeek soup.
He stood up, leaving his half-full coffee mug on the table, and got in line for the replicator behind an Orion crewmate he'd never spoken to. He knew vaguely who she was; he'd read her file, and he was good with names. He'd been a bit put out by the sparseness of the medical history she'd volunteered, but he couldn't say he didn't understand. He wouldn't have included nearly as much information in his own if he'd been able to get away with it.
He craned his head to read the Vulcan food options over her shoulder, keeping a polite distance from her. The choices were rather few and far between, but then again, so were the Vulcan crew members. He supposed it was logical. Plomeek it was, then.
He took the bowl and the packet of crackers that had come with it, and resumed his seat at the table with his coffee and his PADD.