Three Sheets

Posted on Wed Jan 3rd, 2024 @ 8:29pm by Ensign Archer Logan VI & Armin Lathrop

2,048 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: The Icarus Files
Location: Diplomatic Reception Hall | Deck 2 Forward

Archer wanted to be alone. It's not so much that he felt humiliated; it was that he felt humiliation was inevitable. He had managed to bumbled his way through his first rotation on the ship. Chief Teral had even let him run the duty roster that day. If one merely considered the lack of industrial accidents or workplace injuries, then the day was a resounding success.

But it was the rapport that bothered Archer. He had none. Oh, people recognized his engineering skills soon enough, once he managed to get over himself and stop being such a klutz. Even so, nobody had warmed up to him. Despite popular opinion, Archer was no fool. Competence would get you a commendation, but popularity got you promoted.

On this potential death cruise, there was a strong chance none of them would be coming back alive. That was reason enough to give a greenhorn like Archer the assistant chief engineer role. But, if against all odds, the Daedalus accomplished the rescue mission, maybe even assist the Icarus in its original exploratory mission, well, that was the sort of feat that made careers. It sucked to depend on a desperate gamble in order to have a hope in hell of a future in Starfleet.

With a sigh, Archer meandered across the open floor and glanced at the tables and chairs lining the wall. Starfleet hoped for first contact in any scenario, even rescue missions into inhospitable sectors. He kept plodding toward the empty bar, even though it appeared it was unstocked. There was simply no other fixture in the big, empty space to draw his gait.

At first, Armin didn't hear someone come in. He was in the back sorting his things. He didn't even notice when he came back out of the small storage room that someone was there, not until he got close enough to the counter to see movement in his peripheral vision. Realizing he wasn't alone anymore, he did what any sane person would do and nearly jump out of his own skin. "Fuckin' hell," he grumbled, willing his adrenaline-charged heart to slow back down to something normal. "Tryin' to make me die early, kid?"

"No, sorry! I would never kill anybody!" Archer jumped back and exclaimed his apology with his hands raised in surrender. Even when he saw Armin wasn't pointing a weapon at him, he still kept up the yielded posture. "I mean if I had to. Or if I was ordered to. Or if someone tried to kill me first. Or if I was mentally or emotionally compromised. Or if I took a big risk that backfired on everybody. But this isn't any of those times!"

In all his years on various starships, he could always pick out the ones who were fairly fresh out of the Academy. They were always so skittish, afraid to step on toes. Now why in the hell Starfleet decided to put someone so fresh out here, that was anyone's guess. "Why ya lookin' like I'm bouta pull a fuckin' bat'leth outta my ass? Chill, kid, and sit." He pointed to one of the chairs near the counter, the gesture more of a command than an offer. "Ya drink?"

Bat'leth? Ass? Archer involuntarily cringed at that mental picture. "Oh, yeah, I drink things." He dry swallowed his heart back into his throat. At least this guy wasn't mad at him for sneaking up. "What, uh, whaddya got?"

Armin rolled his eyes. Asking a barkeep what they had to drink was like asking an engineer what they fix all day. The short answer: damn near everything. "Ah got the real alcohol, that fake alcohol, non-alcohol, 'bout anything you can think of. Though since yer so damn skiddish, ah'm thinkin' somethin' to ease that tension yer holdin'."

"So long as we're still talking drinks, I'll try whatever you got." Archer cast a suspicious glance to the left and right to ensure they were still alone and not on the verge of a prank.

Leaving the choice to the creative muse. Armin didn't turn down a chance to be fully creative and make a drink he thought the man needed and got to work. As he got some water warming on the stove in the kitchen, he asked, "so what's got yuh all tensed up, boy?"

"I'm not tense," Archer tensely objected. "It's... it's been a long week is all." He sighed. "A long life is more like it." Realizing he was very nearly pouting, he tried to buck up. "But I'll be fine. I come from tough stock. Work hard, get noticed, and die proud." That sounded morbid even to Archer's ears. "Or... something."

A huff of air came from Armin, a sign of his closed-mouth chuckle. He watched the man stumble over his words and crossed his arms, "no need t' act like yah can take on the world. Long lives make wise men." Not that this bumbling fool was anywhere near that stage to call himself wise. "Though yer in the right t'call this a long week. Ah imagine it's sumthin' extra when yer new to bein' out here, hm?" It wasn't any of Armin's business, of course, but the person in front of him looked like he needed to get stuff off his shoulders, and the leat he could do wa create a space for him to share if he felt like sharing.

"You wouldn't get it..." Archer mused aloud in a near pout. "No matter what I do, it always goes wrong. I get my words tangled. I fall over myself. I touched my first tit by accident and I'm lucky I didn't get court-martialed. For all I know, I still might..." The memory of Sara's semi-flirtatious swagger in Engineering was enough to make him blush. He blocked out more scandalous memories. Those were... not safe.

Armin decided he was going to add an extra shot to the kid's drink after listening to the nonstop whining. Maybe after a few sips he would relax enough to realize he sounded ridiculous. It was almost enough to make him start drinking as well. "The hell is Stahfleet gunna do to ya out here? Everyone's accidentally touched a tit, kid, it happens. S'long as the lady knows it ain't on purpose and ya don't do it again, yuh'll be fine."

The water was ready, and Armin got to work making the drink. He grabbed a mug and poured in honey, cinnamon, and a sprinkle of cloves. Briefly browsing his shelves, he grabbed a lemon and cut it in half before squeezing some of the juice into the cup. He then grabbed some whiskey, glanced at the kid, then swapped the whiskey for another brand before returning to his concoction. Not one to turn down an artistic flair, he made a show of pouring some whiskey into a jigger, gradually moving the spout of the bottle further away from the tiny hourglass-shaped cup before cutting off the flow of alcohol and dumping the contents into the mug. He was generous with the amount of whiskey, and after he returned the bottle to the shelf Armin picked up the kettle with hot water and slowly poured water into the mug. He stopped the flow long enough to give the drink a stir before adding a little more, repeating until the mug was full. After returning the kettle to the stove, Armin picked up the cup and set it down in front of his customer. "There yuh go, somethin' to relax that brain of yers."

"She accused me of reenacting a porno," Archer protested. "Don't know how I'm supposed to look her in the eye again." He almost took a sip of the drink but paused when he realized how that might sound. "Not that I'm looking elsewhere! I wouldn't do that. Not because she is bad to look at. Or good to look at. I didn't notice. Not that there's nothing to notice. It's... just... oh shale!" Archer slammed the glass down hard enough to slosh a bit of it onto his hand onto the bar. "Sorry..."

Armin couldn't keep his eyes from rolling as he grabbed a towel to clean up the mess. "Trust me, y'aint the worst customer ah've ever had, a little spill is nuthin." After he disposed of the towel, he grabbed himself a bottle of brandy and a shot glass and put them on the counter. If the kid was going to stumble over his words, he might as well make a drinking game out of it. "Are yuh kiddin' me? She's probably forgotten about it already," Armin said, pouring himself a shot. "At the very least, ah bet she knows to not let it affect her work. Can ya say the same?" After his question, he brought the shot glass to his lips and threw it back, letting the smoky flavor saturate his senses before swallowing.

"Obviously not," Archer said. "If it was so easy, I'd have already done it. We can't help who we are though." He took a sip and smiled. "That's weak. Got any real hooch?"

Did this manchild just call his drink weak? "Considerin' ya dumped half the damn drink on the countah..." Grabbing the whiskey from the shelf again, Armin returned and inverted the bottle over the Ensign's cup for a few seconds, enough to put more than two extra shots of whiskey into the cup. By the time he righted the bottle, the liquid in the cup was dangerously close to the lip. "How's that?" Armin asked sarcastically. Instead of putting the bottle back, he kept it on the counter in case his customer wanted to switch gears.

"Smooth," Archer said. It was something he would never be. "The moonshine from Hogswallop burned so much it was hard to taste it. What's this one called?"

"It goes by many names, but tonight ah'm callin' it the Little Bitch Toddy," Armin grumbled, pouring himself another shot. "Look, yer young an' dumb, so take some advice from an old fart. If ya keep lettin' the fear of accidentally touchin' a tit control ya like this, nobody will take ya seriously. Stop overthinkin' about the past, kid, ya can't change it." Giving the young man's cup a gentle tap with his shot glass, the gruff man downed the new shot of alcohol.

"Easy for you to say," Archer said as he sipped the shot. "You probably touched a boob on purpose before."

"Yeah, cause Ah know how to charm a lady," Armin countered. "Even if ah hadn't, ya can't change the past, so stop tryin'. Now, ah want to sleep at some point, so if ya could whine less and drink more, that would be appreciated."

"Yes, sir," Archer said. He gulped the last of the drink and started hacking. "Okay. I'm tapping out." It took several deep gasps to clear his throat. "So how do you charm a lady?"

Rolling his eyes, Armin mumbled something about lightweights as he poured himself another. "First, stop bein' so nervous. If ya can't be confident in yerself, yer gonna be alone for a long while. Now, that don't mean act like a pretentious ass." He held up his hand to make sure he would get to finish his thoughts as he turned to put the bottle away. "Second, don't make yerself somethin' yer not. The girls ah got in mah day appreciated someone who was honest with themselves. And third..." He paused to down his last shot of the night, a grunt following the attack to his throat. He then winked at the kid, "get advice from guys yer age, not just from some fat bastard givin' ya drinks." He took his towel and gave it a little twirl, enough to shape it into a twisted cord, and aimed it at the counter in front of Archer. With a flick of his wrist, he snapped the towel on the counter, close enough to the kid's hand to be uncertain if Armin was actually aiming for it. "Ya had yer drink and got yer advice, so go get some sleep, kid. Git."

"Yes, sir!" Archer snapped to attention, offered a quasi-salute, and scampered away before the grumpy old man told him twice.

 

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