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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Apr 1, 2016 19:01:08 GMT -5
"I believe I can rise to the occasion." He signals the bartender, then points to her bagel. "I'll have that, though I believe I may like mine toasted a bit darker, thank you." A moment later, the small plate is before him, the golden brown rings of heavenly carbohydrates sandwiching a most peculiar combination. Without hesitation, he reaches and bites into it, preferring to strike while the iron is hot, literally and figuratively. He places the sandwich back down on the plate, pondering the taste. Sweet peanut butter and cinnamon, savory fish and, well, bread. He has a feeling this was supposed to be revolting, but it's strangely nostalgic. The dinner table at the Demor estate was always a lively affair. Being the son of a well-connected diplomat, he dined on foods hand-prepared by the finest culinary artists on Cardassia almost every night. Dessert was positively indulgent, with sweets from all over the quadrant... That's it. That's where he knows the taste! "This tastes almost exactly like a sweet taspar meringue cookie. You eat this for breakfast?"
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 31, 2016 21:54:41 GMT -5
"I'm gonna assume you are the same...what type of food do you prefer that you want to avoid the wondrous taste of replication added to it?"
"Well, I am a visitor, and like any good tourist, I intend to sample the local fine dining. Tell me, do you have any recommendations?" He tilts his head curiously as he studies the bagel. "Perhaps this strange-looking thing."
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 31, 2016 20:59:48 GMT -5
"Yeah...Okay, I am Denise Daniels..." forces herself to smile through her natural scowl, but does not bow.
He nods in acknowledgement of the gesture, offering a grin in return. "So, Ms. Daniels, what brings you to the bar?"
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 31, 2016 20:16:52 GMT -5
Denise looked up from her cherished odd little bagel and slowly swivel her head to look at him as if it was a small weapons turret. Her eyes narrow some as she snaps kist a little.
"What the heck is that supposed to mean?"
No real anger visible just yet but metaphorically a lit match seemed to hover dangerously close to an open fuse.
He maintains eye contact, an amused look on his face. In a maneuver that compliments his exceptional piloting ability, he dodges the question at warp speed. "I don't believe we introduced each other properly." He bows slightly. "Tolar Demor, a pleasure to make your acquaintance. What is your name?"
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 31, 2016 19:53:14 GMT -5
She went to look down and decided he is the happy go lucky follow up question type and decided best to head that off.
She looked back over and added. "The cook, has a wide variety of menu items he is good at hand making"
She tossed the bartender an wicked look for so rudely coming near her when he arrived to serve her or ordered food.
His brow arches again, eyes lighting up with curiosity, fascinated by the internal struggle Denise is (perhaps unintentionally) outwardly exhibiting. He smirks dryly, unable to help himself as he digs himself in further. "I appreciate the response. I can tell that it wasn't easy for you." His demanor would suggest that it wasn't malicious or mean-spirited, but a playful jibe. Even so, one can't predict how their words are interpreted.
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 31, 2016 19:25:07 GMT -5
As the bartender hands him the menu, a woman approaches in his peripheral vision, buried nose deep in some kind of schematic. His brow raises at her food order. Fish with peanut butter and cinnamon? Even with only a peripheral familiarity with Earth cuisine, his Academy experiences indicate that it is truly an unusual combination. Perhaps this person would have a recommendation that would broaden his palate. He turns to regard the woman, noting her sharp blonde haircut and irritable demeanor. Nevertheless, he soldiers on. After all, Cardassia never made any progress without being bold, for better or worse.
"Excuse me, miss? You seem to be familiar with the offerings on hand here. Is this all replicated food, or are there some specialty hand-prepared items?"
He gestures with the menu PADD in his hand, his vocal tone and body language pitch perfect in suggesting innocent fascination, a testament to his social skills. Given her visible frustration, he seems to be making a concerted effort to engage her without provoking her further.
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 31, 2016 12:49:08 GMT -5
Guest quarters.
He always disliked guest quarters, so bare and impersonal. Even worse, he had to put up with Starfleet issue bedding instead of his own Tholian silk sheets back on the Typhon. Utterly dreadful, especially since he was in the middle of his seasonal moulting. The thread count was positively grating!
Rising from the bed with a yawn, the Cardassian regarded his surroundings. Standard third tier Tyrion-class starbase accommodations, lightyears away from his ship and precious bed. Fortunately, the decidedly non-standard company was making his stay far more bearable. His reunion with Jonathan was a long time coming, and it seems that Mr. Cameron keeps some interesting people nearby, especially that handsome security officer. A shame he neglected to follow through on that oil wrestling appointment on the holodeck. He was quite looking forward to that.
After a quick scrub in the sonic shower to rid himself of the usual nightly oils and excess skin shedding, he was back to his usual dapper self. Throwing on khakis and a lavender sweater over his plain white undershirt, he secured his shoes and trekked out into the corridor. Making a sharp left into an unoccupied turbolift, he called out to the computer.
"Concourse."
Ascending, he wondered what kind of adventurous nonsense Jonathan had gotten himself into over the last year and a half. The security officer mentioned something about experiments and madness-inducing telekinetic empowerment. Certainly sounds eventful. He'll have to make a point of sitting down and chatting with him about it eventually. Between the two of them, there's plenty to catch up on.
Whoosh.
The doors opened to the arrival terminal atop the station, the dome above absolutely cavernous, offering a wide panoramic view of the system outside. A spectacular sight to behold, though he yearned for the view of the Typhon's viewscreen. Station life just didn't suit him very much. Still, it's only temporary during his leave. One must adjust to the circumstances.
Stepping up to the bar counter, he signals the server on duty with a small wave.
"Pardon me, sir. Do you have a menu available?"
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Post by Lieutenant Tolar Demor on Mar 28, 2016 23:27:59 GMT -5
Where's the picture for forgetting that Cardassian oil wrestling challenge?
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