The Dark Wolf

Posted on Mon Sep 22nd, 2025 @ 1:52pm by Rook & Sergeant Jace Morven

3,645 words; about a 18 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: The Green Kiss
Timeline: 2388

Jace stepped into the bar, feeling the slight sluggishness of the of the door opening for him as if it knew he did not belong here. The space was half-lit, shadows lingering in the corners, the sort that left faces half-hidden and edges soft. The loud music that he associated with spaces like this was absent...only a gentle thrum of music hung in the air, nothing sharp or insistent. No strobe lights, no raised voices. Just the background hum of conversations, the occasional scrape of a chair across the floor, and the steady, measured rhythm of a song designed for slow dancing. He took in the room, head tilting slightly. A handful of people drifted on the dance floor, moving with that deliberate care of those who wanted closeness more than spectacle. At the bar itself, the stools were sparsely occupied.

It would do.

He did hesitate though, scanning for threats, for exits, for any faces he recognised and wanted to avoid. There were none. His squad would have been too loud tonight, all elbows and voices, chasing bravado and pulling pranks with the joy of the young. Here, though, the quiet was almost companionable. No one seemed to notice him...it was reassuring in a way. He chose a seat at the far end of the bar, putting his back to the wall and his view of the room unobstructed. He touched the smooth bar, stroking his palm over it, letting himself exhale for what felt like the first time all day. Neutral ground. No obligations. Just a place to sit and breathe.

But he had been noticed. In the same way Jace had been surveying the room, the bartender had been observing him. His intense blue eyes watched him steadily as he methodically polished a glass, his body otherwise still. His black hair was long enough to drape over his shoulders, but didn't hide the point of his ears, one of which had a nick taken out of it that had scarred. The high cheekbones and slightly gaunt cheeks created a sculptured, statuesque look that held no emotion as he watched on. But his mind was moving a million miles an hour behind the blue eyes.

Finally setting the glass down, the vulcanoid man glided towards him, his hands settling on the edge of the bar to lean delicately against it. "You look as if you are expecting trouble."

Jace's eyes went to the man, taking him in. He clocked the heritage before anything else...then the intelligence in the eyes. And blank. Nothing betrayed. It made him tense for a moment, on instinct, before his eyes unfocused a little. That helped, made him relax a little. "It's a Starfleet bar...only trouble here will be the cadets."

"That you know of," the bartender replied so dryly that it was impossible to tell whether he meant it or not. "What can I get you? The bar is fully stocked, and I can replicate any synthahol that might be missing."

Jace looked at him, a twinge of surprise at the words. The dry tone...a joke, maybe. Or a promise. Or possibility. He shifted a little where he sat. His eyes went to the bottles at the back, taking in their shapes. He didn't really drink. Didn't like losing control. Water or mint tea was...what he stuck with. Usually. "Surprise me," he found himself saying. Something...he knew people said. And it meant he didn't have to try and pick up a menu and read it.

"Hm," a pointed eyebrow lifted as the tender looked him over, from bottom to top, taking his time. "Brave," he finally declared before starting to set bottles on the bar. He dropped a single large, jagged rock of ice into a heavy tumbler. He poured with swift confidence...Saurian brandy, dark rum, vermouth, Vulcan bitters and three drops of water. He used a metal rod to gently stir it around the ice, but his eyes were on the man he'd never seen before. "Intense, precise, complex, powerful, but surprisingly subtle..." he said lightly as he deftly peeled a strip of skin from an orange. He flicked a lighter, a flame bursting to life to singe the edge before he threaded it on the metal stirrer and set it carefully in the glass. He slid the drink to Jace, meeting his eyes with a ghost of a smile.

Jace had watched how he moved...the way he did it. Firmly, but there was an ease and elegance that he found he appreciated. His eyes had been focused on how he had peeled the skin from the orange. He gave a nod, lips parting before he looked at the drink. "Thanks," he said and picked up the glass, just holding it for a moment, as if weighing up a decision. He then took a sip, the burn brief before the flavours came through. He didn't hate it. He had expected to, so he looked at the bartender with surprise.

The bartender took a slight step back, spreading his arms wide before bowing lightly in a motion of 'at your service'. "The Dark Wolf...it never goes down easily."

Jace looked at the drink with surprise before there was a tightening between his eyebrows. His eyes went back to the man before he gave a nod. "Why did you make me this?" he asked, not curious...well. A little curious.

"Did I read you wrong?" he answered the question with a question, motioning to the dark drink that had been an interpretation of the man sitting at the bar.

Jace let out a breath at the question, a muscle in his jaw twitching. And then just... "No," he admitted before he shook his head. "Just not used to people just saying it."

The bartender gave him a twitch of an eyebrow, reaching lithely to set a glass bowl of nuts in front of him. "Actions can speak louder than words."

Jace watched him, the words...ringing true for him. Words had never been his way. He never knew what to say anyway. "I'm Jace," he finally said. Naming himself for the other man. No rank, no surname. Just that.

"I was wondering what I would have to do to get your name out of you. I was considering guessing, starting at the letter A," he replied with a small, tight smile. "Rook."

Jace made a sound that almost sounded like an aborted chuckle. "You could have asked the computer," he said before he gave a nod. He raised the glass to take another sip, the warmth spreading more than any burning his mouth might feel. "Rook. And you're..." his eyes went to the man, mapping his face. Not tactically, but searching for markers. "Vulcan Romulan?"

"A bit of this, a bit of that," he neither confirmed or denied as he started to set the bottles carefully away. "And you are human...although, Earth is far from your eyes."

Jace gave a nod, not seeing a need to hide that. "Turkana IV," he said, his voice quiet but devoid of any real emotion, almost as if he was naming a structure in the distance. It was in his file, some people on the ship already knew. It wasn't a secret. Or an explanation.

"Turkana IV..." Rook fell into a thoughtful silence as he leant forward on the bar, hands clasped as he rested his forearms on the sparkling clean surface. "The most remarkable berries grow in the wildlands. Nilians. More herbaceous than juniper, but the same sting in the tail. Creates the most complex gin."

Jace looked at him with mild confusion. But it tugged at a memory, vague. "The green ones will kill you," he suddenly said. He didn't remember how he knew, but he just...knew. "Have to wait until they turn purple."

"Is that so," Rook said with a light lilt to his voice, giving no hint as to whether he already knew that particular piece of information. "Strange, isn't it. How the most versatile and resilient life can flourish in such places."

Jace looked down into the glass before taking another mouthful. His shoulders relaxed a fraction and he put the glass down, letting out a breath. "Something always survives, whether it's meant to or not."

"Oh, if something manages to survive, there is no question as to whether it is meant to. There are so many ways to perish in this universe, it is no mistake if something manages to claw its way to survival," Rook replied with a strangely soft tone.

Jace met his eyes, holding them for a long moment. Not staring, not exactly, but watching Rook. The softness of the tone with the words...he wasn't sure why it shifted something inside of him. He dismissed the feeling, shifting a little in his seat. "You know that sometimes survival is the only choice."

Rook's head tilted as he watched him with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes, at Jace not seeing it in himself. "Only to survivors."

"Like you?" Jace's voice was blunt, but quiet. Asking what sort of creature Rook was, a survivor with a different set of tools.

"If you call making drinks in a Starship bar surviving," he replied with just a twang of humour underlining the words.

Jace let out a huff of breath, the hint of a smile ghosting over his lips. "I saw you peel that orange. You are more than a bartender."

"Oh, with this?" Rook caught hold of the knife that he had used, flipping it deftly around his fingers for a couple of moments before stabbing it down into the wooden board, where it vibrated on its end. "I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

Jace's eyes were on every movement and when the knife drove into the board his eyes went to Rook. "You do. Don't got to say it, but you do," he said before he reached out across the bar, to close his hand around the handle of the knife. He yanked it free, checking the balance of the knife in his hand.

"Hand forged and tempered," Rook offered as he shifted back to the relaxed lean against the bar. "The key is to keep it perfectly sharp, if you want to prevent puckering of the skin..."

Jace inspected the knife, moving it in his hand. It was a fine blade, sharp...slicer, not stabber. And it had been well taken care of, he could smell the faint aroma of whatever he used for the hilt. He balanced it on two fingers, watching it before he carefully offered it back, hilt first, holding on lightly. "Could slice through a Ketracel-white tube like it was air."

"Then these poor oranges don't stand a chance," Rook quirked an eyebrow before setting the blade down delicately on the board. "Have you just arrived? I haven't seen you before," the last was said with confidence. He always remembered a face.

"Been here for a few months. Not been to the bar before," Jace admitted as he eased back in the chair, shifting, hands on the counter. Not relaxed, not tense. But his eyes followed Rook's movements. "It's not my usual environment." It wasn't a confession but a fact. He didn't do bars because they were loud, crowded and he never knew what to do, or what was expected.

Rook watched him intently as he leant against the bar, his gaze very clearly measuring him up from head to toe. "Then you picked the best seat," he nodded to how it was turned to the wall at the end of the bar, leaving no chance of anyone being behind him.

Jace gave a nod, meeting his eyes and lifting his chin a little to the scrutiny. But it wasn't with hostility...just to let him watch and assess. "I know. Mapped the room when I came in, found the tactically best spot."

Rook nodded slowly, accepting the words easily as he looked out across the bar, as if to see it how Jace saw it. "This is my realm," he suddenly declared. "Everything here bends to my will."

Jace looked at him, taking a deeper breath. He gave a small nod of acceptance of the territory, almost settling with it. It gave him some context...understanding even. It helped. "You have a full overview from where you stand. Mirrors help you see the usual blind spots," he commented before he reached for the drink. He took a small sip, the warmth...soothing in a way he tensed at. Unfamiliar. He let out a breath and put the glass down.

Rook saw the unusual reaction easily enough. A man so wound tight that the sensation of relaxing made him tense back up with alarm. "And people have a way of stopping their nonsense when I ask...nicely."

"Nicely," Jace echoed, his voice quiet as he looked around the bar. He suspected Rook's idea of nicely was...he stopped his thoughts and looked at the man, studying his eyes, the way his hair fell over his shoulders, framed his face. The nick in his ear caught his eyes again and his lips parted. Had he done it himself, or had it done to him? Had it been a fight, or something else.

Rook knew what he was looking at...and chose to ignore it. "Yes, nicely. But I can ask...not nicely if I need to."

Jace's eyes went back to his face and he gave a small nod. "And I am willing to put gold-pressed latinum on that you've worked in less...civilised places than a starship's bar."

"And I'd be willing to bet double that you have too," he replied with an actual chuckle that time, idly refilling the snack bowl.

"I'm Ground Forces," Jace said, and there was a wryness to the words now. He took the glass and finished what was in it, closing his eyes at the last of the burn. He studied the glass in his hands, turning it slightly. "Uncivilised is what I do."

"Curious word to use," Rook noted, nodding to his glass with a ghost of a smile. "Can I get you another?"

Jace looked at it, considering the offer. He felt fine, even if he wasn't used to drinking. He put the glass down, moved his fingers...recalibrating, assessing. He could say no. Could get up and leave but...something about Rook made him stay. Made him want to stay. "Yes." The word slipped out, almost against his will and for a moment he looked surprised at himself. And then a flicker of a smile tugging at his lips.

"Now I have warmed you up..." Rook turned to the bottles, studying them intensely for a moment before finally plucking one from the shelf. "You have a pantheon of flavour profiles to catch up on." He dropped another shard of ice into a tumbler before pouring over equal parts gin, vermouth rosso and campari without the need to measure, swirling them briskly together. A simple orange slice was dropped in before he slid it over to Jace with a firm hand. "Negroni. A classic from earth, lives in the same bitter world as The Dark Wolf, but a few shades...lighter."

Jace watched his face as he took it, his fingers closing around the glass. The coldness spread across the skin and he looked down at the glass. "Flavour profiles?" he asked, his brain latching onto it. A concept he wasn't familiar with. He lifted the glass and sipped it, the burn coming first and then the bitterness. But it wasn't a bad bitterness, not like water gone bad or the sap from a poisoned tree. He swallowed and put the glass down, his eyes flickering back to Rook.

"Not much different from a personality profile," Rook offered with a small smile, satisfied at his enjoyment of the drink. "The different facets that makes the whole...whole."

A slight pull between Jace's eyebrows showed both the confusion at the concept and the attempt to understand it. "No person is just one thing and...neither are the flavours?" he asked, voice hushed. His eyes stayed on Rook, on the small smile. A mirror of it tugged briefly at his own lips and he looked down into the drink, studying the orange slice.

"Exactly...but together, those parts become a unique whole," Rook shrugged lightly as if it were elementary.

Jace nodded, turning it over in his head for a moment. Yes. People had different sides. A gentle person could have steel, someone perceived as weak could have hidden strengths. A small smile touched his lips as he looked into the drink. "It makes sense," he finally said. Because now he did understand.

Rook gave a simple, satisfied nod at the words, his hands shifting to tidy. "And those...flavours can take on new qualities too...stirred...chilled...shaken...suddenly the profile can be quite different."

"I don't...really taste things like that," Jace said as he looked at him, his fingers against the glass, feeling it. The cool smoothness of the glass, the condensation against his fingertips. "Food, drink...it's just fuel, really. Calories and liquids to keep alive."

"That is because you are wound as tight as a bow," he replied pointedly, arching an eyebrow at him with reproach. "A man cannot enjoy anything in that state."

Jace's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking to Rook's eyes, meeting them. He didn't like being read so cleanly and it wasn't something he experienced often...but he couldn't deny it either. A breath escaped him, almost a laugh, or certainly as close to it as he got. "You're not wrong," he admitted quietly, the words flat but honest. His lips tugged faintly as he looked back at Rook. "Not sure how to turn that off. Always...been like that."

Rook watched him steadily, an undeniable smile pulling at the corner of his lips. He leant closer to him across the bar, his voice low. "I wouldn't embarrass you by saying the solution out loud..."

Jace blinked, a moment of confusion showing on his face. "I...don't know what you're trying to say," he said, his voice lowered to match Rook's volume.

Rook's amusement only grew at the words, his midnight blue eyes dancing with it as his eyebrow simply lifted higher.

Jace watched him, face still, but the slight look of confusion remained, shaped by the slight frown and the parted lips. His eyes went to the eyebrow and he shook his head, eyes narrowing slightly. "You're going to have to spell it out. I don't know what you mean," it was said bluntly, but quietly. As if a small part of him knew he should be embarrassed by not knowing, yet he didn't feel it.

"S...E...X..." Rook decided to adopt the same literal manner that Jace appeared to be inhabiting.

Jace blinked at the word, the corner of his mouth twitching with something that wasn't quite a smile. "Right," he said flatly, like the puzzle piece had finally clicked. His fingers tapped once against the glass before he let out a breath and met Rook's eyes. "Never worked that way for me. Not enough to make a difference long term."

"Well, that is why you have to keep doing it," Rook replied as if it were perfectly obvious. "However, I've heard that reorganising your weapon's collection by power and hit count has a similar effect," he shrugged lightly.

Jace looked at him for a long moment, clearly considering it. And then realised that maybe there was something already in his arsenal. "I...engrave," he finally said. It felt strange to volunteer such information, but he had. Willingly.

"Jewellery?" Rook asked as an eyebrow quirked with interest, holding back the impulse to touch the gold pendent hanging around his neck.

"At times," Jace said, eyes on him before he lifted the drink to his lips. He took a sip, but he did not look away from Rook's face. "I...like the details you can get."

"Hm..." Rook watched him casually, but he was thinking hard on it. Because he was describing another activity that required control and calm. "Have you ever tried something...unpredictable?"

"The world is unpredictable enough. I like what I can control," Jace said before he gave a small shake of his head in answer to his question.

"For now," he replied with a knowing twang to his words, but he remained casual rather than challenging with it.

Jace studied Rook at the words before nodding. He would not disagree with the truth. Things did change. He couldn't control it. He had not liked drinks like this before setting foot into the Green Kiss. Now...the flavour was something he didn't mind enjoying. It wasn't...grounding, like mint. But it felt warm, and not just from the contents. It was the entire situation. His shoulders shifted and he looked around the bar. At Rook's realm. "When it is usually quiet here?"

"The later half of shift slots...some people that we shall describe as...dull...decide to rest or prepare for their next shift, can you imagine?" he replied lightly, but his scorn was theatrical.

Jace nodded, calculating in his head. It gave windows for when he could come here. He finished the drink, eyes flickering to the doors when they opened, to the people walking in. One shift ended. He got off his seat and stood, taking a moment just to watch Rook. "Next time then," he said, his voice low.

"I shall be waiting," Rook held a hand out in a sweeping gesture, tilting his head in farewell to him.

---

Sergeant Jace Morven
Platoon Sergeant Alpha Squad
Federation Ground Forces Detachments
USS Guinevere

Rook
Proprietor of The Green Kiss
USS Guinevere

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