Post 543: The Inmates Are. . .

Stardate: 71103.2145
Title: The Inmates Are Running The Asylum
Author: Trick London
Scene: Seven, Halloween Party
Time: In and around "Can't Get Enough" and "Commander Who?"
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"I do not care if his girlfriend just left him. I do not care if also his dog died and his mother never loved him. If he wanted this much fresh bread for the party, he should have made it himself."

I am standing in the kitchen between my head chef, Angus MacDougal, and my pastry chef, Fleur Le Marc. I'm really hoping that she is going to put the rolling pin down soon, or I may have to beckon for the tall Dark Lord with the smoker's wheeze to come in here and help me subdue her.

"Now, Fleur, you know that Angus has had a rough time since Lily left the ship on the Persephone,"

"Do NOT mention that woman's name in my presence!" Angus raised his voice, and he pointed at Fleur. "If you hadn't asked me to help you with the cake that they wanted for the party, I'd have had all day to work on my dinner rolls."

"I did not realize that this Hollywood Tower Hotel of Terror cake that Monsieur Biggs had requested, complete with falling external elevator on wires, was going to be such an undertaking! Of all the cakes I have ever made, this one has been the biggest pain in the-"

"That is not my problem." Angus countered. "You said you could make the cake. You should have made the cake on your own."

"Okay, you two, enough. Fleur, are those ready to go into the oven?" I pointed to the last batch of doughy balls that she had cut from a main lump of the substance and then thrown, in quite a hostile fashion, at the baking tray.

"Oui."

"And the other ones are ready to come out of the oven?"

"Oui."

"Yes, and so are my. . .spinach puffs!" Angus cried, nearly having forgotten. He ran to the other large oven opposite where were standing, and pulled the tray out, sighing with relief when he saw he had not burned them.

I kind of wish they had burned. Truth be told, I've never liked Angus' spinach puffs. Never.

"Now my costume has flour all over it. Pffffft." Fleur complained as she took off the kitchen smock and hair net she'd put over her attire for the evening.

"I thought this party was for senior staff and certain members of the crew only," I ask as my curiosity gets the better of me finally,"how did you wangle an invite?"

"I did not do any of this, whatever it is, 'wangle'," Fleur scoffed. "Monsieur Le Vedek invited me."

She threw the smock at me and turned to go. "As I am a guest at this affair, I would ask that you be reminded Monsieur London, that I am not on your clock any longer. From this moment on, if you have catastrophe and whole kitchen explodes, is not my problem."

This is a woman who apparently hates working overtime.

"Okay, go on." I sighed. I watched as Angus focused all his energy on plating his spinach puffs- so he wouldn't focus it on the fact that one formerly prominent member of the Independence's senior staff was not on the other side of the kitchen door tonight, mingling with her crew mates any longer.

"I've got to get back to the bar, Angus. You have the bread situation under control?" He nodded. "All right. If you need anything, just holler."

I moved from the kitchen, back behind the bar. Fleur was also behind it, helping herself to a shot of one kind or another.

She looked out into the restaurant, not knowing I was observing her. I am, after all, half Betazoid and it was apparent to me that she was preoccupied with someone in the room. It didn't take long to figure out who.

As Vedek Jariel, dressed in mime costume, entertained a small crowd by pretending to try to chase a hat across the floor- which seemed to magically move every time he got within grasping reach of it, she did something I have never recalled seeing Fleur do before. And I've known her a long time.

She smiled.

Only for a quick second, but she did it.

As she moved to exit the bar, I finally had to ask the other question I'd been wondering all night. "Who are you supposed to be, anyway?"

"You do not recognize the Maid of Orleans?"

"You're Joan of Arc?"

"Oui."

"Aren't the religious overtones there a little. . .obvious?" I asked. I had no doubt that she had hoped her choice of costume might allow her the chance for a dialog with the Vedek tonight. She had not yet seen that the Captain was already here, and therefore the Vedek would have little desire to chat with anyone else.

"I would thank you to mind your own business, Mr. London." She said, turning away.

"It's up to you, I suppose, if you want to ignore the way things really are. If you want to get your heart broken." I couldn't help but warn her. She had told me that she had 'friends' among the people listed on the current crew roster when I invited her to come here to operate Seven AM; I just didn't realize she carried a torch for one of them. A rather large and angry torch that I hope she never uses to inspire a mob and burn our little village to the ground.

Speaking of carrying torches. . .what the hell is that?

Oh my god. Dabin Reece is singing Barry White on stage and directing it toward our little February.

The Bru Fairy looks as if she can't decide whether she's loving the attention or if she wants to crawl under a table and hide from the public display he's putting on. I'd have to go with the former, if I were guessing. It makes me happy to see her smiling, because I know Angus isn't the only one thinking that there's a hole tonight where there should be a familiar name on the guest list.

I take my moment to tease the young Trill a little now, making my way through the crowd to get to her. "Remember what I told you, one lonely night a while ago? In the bar after everyone had gone?" I ask. She smiles at me and nods. "So, have you found your happiness, February?"

"My happiness is, right now, killing his vocal chords to sing Barry White to me in front of everyone we know." She giggled, and then she hugged me tight.

I knew that there was much more to this relationship than Reece's theatrics, though. They'd given up a lot to be together, and it made me happy to so clearly sense that they were each as invested in the relationship as the other was.

"Thanks for all that good advice, Trick. You were right, about all of it."

"Just as I always am, love. Just as I always am."

I moved back to the bar as the serenade ended, and a small group of the Indy's finest gathered nearby to debate the purpose and virtues of, of all things, the spork. Next thing I know, Salvek and Biggs are fencing each other, and I can hear Biggs calling out fencing terms as he tries to fend off the Vulcan.

"Ho, ha ha! Guard, turn, parry, dodge, spin, ha, thrust!"

I've heard that before somewhere, I'm certain of it. I just can't remember where.

I'm watching the Vedek now- he's finished his routine and Joan of Arc is approaching. . .she's talking to him. . .the exchange is brief. He has a strange look on his face. . . uh oh. What did she say to him? He's turning away, and she's grabbing his arm to try to stop him from leaving.

He's upset; she's said something that he misunderstood- she didn't mean to hurt his feelings. He excuses himself, and is walking away. . .Fleur is storming back toward the kitchen. . .Jariel looks like someone just kicked his puppy and now, oh no.

Here comes Zanh Liis.

She notices the look on his face right away, and she is concerned. But he's waving her off. He's dismissing her worry.

Awkward!

Okay, so now they're moving back toward a group of their friends. . . bloody hell would you look at that woman?

She's carrying off the red boots and the cape; now that's leadership ability. I look around me and I wonder, how did these gorgeous women end up in Starfleet? Then I remember. They value their brains over their looks. And I remember that I am a dog.

For a moment I didn't see the Navigator, the Engineer, or the Operations Officer, let alone the Captain. I saw the blue fairy, the vintage ensign, and the flapper. And god help me, I see the superhero. And they all look hot.

I also see that I'd better get to the gym. Looking at the way that Blane is pulling off that toga- and being glad that I chose a tux instead- is really depressing the living hell out of me.

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Trick London
Proprietor/Manager of Seven
Fine Dining Aboard the Federation Flagship
USS Independence NCC-90791