Glass Half Full of Mystery Liquor

Posted on Wed Aug 6th, 2025 @ 5:47pm by Lieutenant JG Elen Rell & Lieutenant JG Constance 'Connie' Montoya
Edited on on Wed Aug 6th, 2025 @ 5:48pm

2,070 words; about a 10 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: The Green Kiss, USS Guinevere
Timeline: Early 2389

The Green Kiss wasn’t quite as loud as usual, but it still hummed with life. Light spilled in shifting colours across polished floors, catching on the shimmer of sequins and the swing of easy laughter. Somewhere near the corner, a pair danced in close, moving as if the room belonged to them alone. Others leaned together over tall drinks, the air rich with the scent of fruit, spice, and something faintly floral.

Elen smiled as she stepped inside, the thrum of music finding its way into her bones. She wore her uniform trousers and the sensible boots Starfleet insisted upon, her jacket left behind and commbadge fastened neatly to the vest beneath. Over that, she had pulled on a soft, oversized cardigan, crochet and comfortable, like she’d been hugged before she even got here. It wasn't a partying outfit...but it was comfortable.

She hadn’t come to meet anyone in particular. Truth be told, her quarters had felt a bit too quiet, the silence pressing in until it nudged her out the door. She wanted movement, music, a drink in her hand, and the ripple of other people’s joy brushing against her own. Her vibes reached out instinctively, catching warm sparks of contentment and playful glances exchanged across the room.

Waving to a few familiar faces, she threaded her way to the bar, already feeling lighter for the company she hadn’t yet spoken to.

Connie Montoya was already there, seated at the bar with a dirty Martini in hand. The olive stem rested neatly against the glass, her fingers turning it slowly as she studied the room. Off-shift, she had traded uniform for a pencil skirt paired with something softer above, the cut deliberate yet easy to move in. The fabric was a muted green, threaded with faint gold that caught the low light when she shifted. Matching heels rested on the footrail, one heel lifting and lowering in a quiet rhythm. Her posture was relaxed, yet held the kind of balance that could straighten in a heartbeat. Her hair was loose, soft waves brushing against her cheeks when she turned her head.
She watched the ebb and flow of the room in the bar mirror, tracking faces and gestures without intruding, noting the rise and fall of laughter and the moments of stillness between songs. The stem of the glass turned again between her fingers. When Elen stepped inside, Connie saw her reflection first. Even from across the room she noticed the set of her shoulders, the lift in her step, and the quiet undertone beneath it. A small smile touched Connie’s lips as she shifted on her stool, straightening slightly and resting one forearm against the bar, already making space beside her.

Elen’s face lit up when she spotted the counsellor. It took her half a second to register that yes, that was Connie Montoya at the bar, and no, she wasn’t dreaming it. She had done her last two annual psych check-ups with her, but outside of the office? This was new. She had never seen her in the Green Kiss before.

Threading her way through the crowd with a grin already forming, Elen slid onto the stool beside her, cardigan settling like a soft blanket around her shoulders. “Montoya,” she said, voice warm with genuine surprise. “Look at you, out in the wild. You look...very civilian. It suits you.” She tilted her head as she said it, eyes catching the gold thread in Connie’s top like it might hold some hidden meaning. “Didn’t think the Green Kiss was your kind of place. You hiding all your good taste in your off-duty hours?”

Connie’s brow lifted, not sharply, but with that quiet amusement she never quite gave away for free. She met Elen’s eyes in the mirror first, holding it just long enough to acknowledge the comment before turning slightly to face her. The stem of her glass turned between her fingers, slow and precise. “Thank you,” she said at last, her tone measured but not cold. “I never quite adjusted to wearing the uniform off-duty. Functional, yes. Practical, certainly. But not always...breathable.” She let the pause linger, her lips curving in the faintest hint of a smile as she took a sip of her drink, then set it back down with deliberate care. “And the Green Kiss, for the record, is my kind of place. I just prefer to observe before making an entrance.”

Elen’s laugh was soft, more breath than sound, the kind that came from being genuinely pleased. “You know, I almost didn’t recognise you at first,” she said, shifting to face Connie more fully. “You look...timeless. Like you could belong here, or in some candlelit restaurant on Vulcan, or floating in one of those ridiculous spa pools on Risa. Just...exactly where you mean to be.” Her eyes sparkled as she said it, not flirtatious exactly, but open. Honest. She leaned her elbow on the bar, fingers idly toying with the edge of a coaster. “I didn’t realise this was your kind of haunt, but I’m glad it is. The Kiss has good bones. Lets people breathe a little. Be who they are, or who they’re not sure they are yet.”

Connie took a slow sip of her martini, her eyes never quite leaving Elen’s face. She set the glass down with quiet precision. There was a pause, not awkward, just measured. As if she were giving the words time to land. “Timeless,” she said at last, her mouth curving into the faintest smile. “I think I’ll take that. It beats ‘intimidating,’ which is what someone once called me in a staff meeting.” She shifted slightly on her stool, turning to face Elen more directly now that the mirror was no longer part of the conversation. “The Green Kiss suits me. I like spaces where people are not trying so hard to be watched. Or if they are, it is for their own reasons.”

Her eyes held Elen’s steady for a moment. Not prying. Just present. “I spend most of my days listening to what people do not say. It is refreshing to be somewhere that invites honesty without demanding it.” She touched her glass again, fingers turning the stem in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. “And you? Are you here to breathe, or to be someone else for a little while?”

Elen smiled at the question, a small, almost sheepish curve of her lips. “Recharge, I think,” she said softly. “Lose myself to the crowd a little. Let the music do the thinking instead of me.” Her fingers traced the rim of the coaster on the bar, not fidgeting, just grounding herself. “The truth is…my quarters felt too quiet tonight. The kind of quiet that echoes. I didn’t feel like being alone.” She glanced at Connie then, eyes warm and unguarded for a heartbeat. “It’s easier here. You can just soak up the life around you without needing to explain anything.”

Connie nodded once, slow and thoughtful. She didn’t speak straight away. Just let the moment settle between them like a glass set carefully on a table. “I understand that kind of quiet,” she said at last. “The kind that feels louder the longer you sit in it.” She looked back to her drink, then lifted it slightly as if to punctuate her next words. “This is my second,” she added, almost lightly. “Which is about one and a half more than I usually allow myself. So clearly, I was avoiding something too.” Her eyes returned to Elen, calm and steady. “Sometimes it helps, being around people without needing to speak. Other times, just one good conversation does more than a roomful of laughter.” She paused, then offered, gently, “I’m glad you came out.”

Elen watched her for a moment, the music fading a little at the edges of her awareness. Not because it stopped, but because something quieter had taken her focus. Connie felt...still. Not blank, not closed, just held. Like a glass of water filled to the brim, steady in the hand but one sharp movement from spilling. Not tense. Just deliberate. Contained.

Elen tilted her head, a small curl slipping loose against her cheek. Her voice was soft when she spoke, her words easy but the feeling behind them carefully placed. “That kind of quiet isn’t always bad,” she said. “Sometimes it’s just space waiting to be filled. Other times it hums a little. Like it’s trying to remind you of something you’d rather not hear.” She offered a small smile, half playful, half gentle. “So...what were you avoiding, Montoya? Or is that considered sensitive information?” The question was light enough to leave room. But underneath it, Elen was reaching in the only way she knew how. Not to push. Just to say she had noticed.

Connie’s eyes lingered on her drink for a moment, the soft clink of the glass against the bar marking the only sound between them. She didn’t bristle, didn’t retreat. If anything, there was a small shift in her posture, like someone easing a coat from their shoulders without quite taking it off. “That is a very good question,” she said, almost lightly. Her fingers turned the stem of the glass again, slow and measured. “And no, it is not classified.” She glanced sideways at Elen, and this time the smile reached her eyes. Not bright, but real. “I think I was avoiding silence. The kind that waits for you when the shift ends. The kind that sits across the room and reminds you there is no one else there.”

Her tone didn’t change, but something underneath it softened. “Truthfully, I think I just wanted a room that didn’t ask anything of me. And I thought I’d find it here. In the background, with a drink, watching other people live.” She paused, then added quietly, “But it turns out I don’t mind the company.”

Elen’s eyes softened, and she gave the kind of smile that wasn’t flashy, just quietly certain. The sort of smile that said, all right then. I’ve got you. “Well,” she said, sitting up a little straighter and folding one leg beneath her on the stool, “lucky for you, I’m excellent company when it comes to doing absolutely nothing.” She reached for the drinks menu, flipping it open with theatrical seriousness. “In fact, I propose a mission. We find the most ridiculous-sounding cocktail on this list and order it without asking what’s in it. Could be luminous. Could taste like a shuttle coolant leak. That’s the gamble.” She peered over the edge of the menu at Connie, mischief sparking just beneath the surface. “You strike me as someone who could drink something called a 'Stellar Fog' with complete composure.” A beat, then she added, casually, “And then I’ll tell you the story of the time I accidentally short-circuited a diplomatic reception with a faulty serving tray and three dozen miniature soufflés.”

Connie arched an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Stellar Fog,” she repeated, tone dry as sea salt. “That sounds like something you order when your evening has gone terribly wrong or far too right.” She reached for the menu, fingers deliberate as always, but her movements had softened. Less precise. More willing. “If it arrives bubbling or on fire, I reserve the right to blame you entirely.” She glanced up at Elen again. Saw the spark in her eyes, the easy tilt of her smile, the way she shifted the air without forcing it. And Connie recognised it for what it was. That quiet, intuitive intelligence. The kind that didn’t need to analyse, only sense. That rare gift she saw in so few…and almost never turned toward her. But tonight, she would not name it. Not out loud.

Tonight, she would simply let herself be part of it.

She placed the menu down and raised her glass in a half-toast. “To reckless orders and charming saboteurs. Lead on, Rell.”

---

Lt. jg Elen Rell
Acting Assistant Chief Engineer
USS Guinevere

&

Lt. Connie Montoya
Counsellor
USS Guinevere

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