Mutually Anti-social

Posted on Wed Apr 26th, 2023 @ 8:01pm by Lieutenant JG Kirral Nagata & Ensign Vivienne Conrad

Mission: Wrath of the People
6336 words - 12.7 OF Standard Post Measure

It was the same no matter what part of the universe you found yourself in; nobody ever wanted the graveyard shift.

Back on Risa, that had been arguably less of a problem than some places but a certain reluctance still tended to rear its head, if for somewhat different reasons. Risians, at least those who opted to work for the tourism industry, usually wound up in those positions because they thrived on the activity and stimulation of meeting a constant stream of people. Risa didn't exactly sleep but there were a few hours every night, just before the approach of early morning, where the only ones still occupying the communal spaces had allowed themselves to become a little messy. If you hadn't found a better place to be by then, with suitable company to top off the night's success, then there was every possibility that you were feeling a little disgruntled on top of entirely disoriented and, more often than not, hungry. It wasn't a great way to meet people at their best and holding down the positions of authority that made you responsible for dealing with their behaviour didn't exactly tick the boxes for titillating culture exchange.

Vivienne had found it no different when she'd stepped aboard Athena and realised it had its own licensed bar area. The crew were technically on duty rotations, which shouldn't have made any difference to activity levels in relation to specific times, and yet it still seemed to. There was a definite "quiet period" and Gamma shift maintained its reputation as the prudish dull cousin to Alpha and Beta's more amicable approach to crew interaction. It couldn't just be the time difference between here and home, there were too many worlds to take into consideration and their location kept changing. People's internal psychology just depended on a specified downtime, Viv supposed. It suited her and wasn't going to incite complaint any time soon. She'd much rather sleep through the chaos of morning shift and do her best work when nobody else was paying much attention.

She was currently reorganising the liquor shelf.

Which, she realised, would probably annoy someone eventually but the current system was inefficient and she was tired of dealing with it. The bar had been empty for the past half hour anyway, and so standing up on a chair trying to read the labels of the bottles pushed so far back, their contents might have been more medicinal than recreational at this point, wasn't like to garner much criticism.

Kirral's first thought as she entered was not at all about the lack of occupants. Frequent workaholism, tunnel-visioning to the point of skipping meals, liquids, and sleep were chronic for a lot of Starfleet. Especially go-getter officers, and she happened to fall squarely in that particular pen of sheep. Which of those was it this time? A combination that just so happened to work well for her, growling stomach having been enough to wake her from sleeping at her station.

Even then, in a daze and on a beeline for the mess at late hours, her mind had jumped right back onto the previous tasks set to her by Chief Ryan, Kirral's competitive nature not helping her deal with being reminded of her position as a junior officer, of her lack of experience. She liked her new colleagues enough, might even come to consider them good friends in time, but for now? She was the new one, untested except a cushy posting running experiments at her leisure. This whole situation with the station and pirates was her first true real world problem that needed solving. Any other day, she might have declined politely in favor of her work, her science. But she was coming to grips with what being an officer in Starfleet meant for what seemed the first time now, and she had no intention of bungling it.

All of that consternation built into work overdrive, solving the navigation problem for the nebula, and then... here she was, already having annihilated a hardy salad and yet still antsy. She'd missed good sleep, good meditation, and that green blood was creeping up on her, those potent emotions. And so, despite the hour, she'd laid in a course for the bar.

And so, coming back to the present, she'd just been glad there was anyone there at all. A familiar figure faced away from her, drew curious but modest glances as the science officer quietly padded in and leaned against the bar. She'd come for a drink, maybe a bit of company to take her mind off what it was already far too obsessed with, and found... someone? There was a tinge of green in her cheeks, something she rarely did mostly because she hated blushing and the sort of looks it got from those who weren't prepared. Eyes trailed from... eye level up, and then moved up to the person's head as she leaned to one side for a better view. Oh... well, that green was deeper now, no doubt. "Vivienne?"

"Who puts a bloody bottle of Aldean rice wine in the dark?"

It was not, all things considered in regards to the list of current options, the most predictable complaint the human could have issued. In another situation, it might have been entirely possible to sneak up on her but too many years tending bars taught one to develop an intrinsic synergy with the opening and closing of venue doors. Vivienne had no idea who the newcomer was yet, only that they were clearly within earshot of a well-deserved gripe. The offending bottle was being grasped by the neck, its label a little worn from the slight drizzle of its contents that hadn't been adequately dealt with last time anyone had been brave enough to order the sour, bitter drink.

"Cold storage under a direct light source, it says it on the label." A fingernail tapped at the offending advice, as if to accuse it of not asserting itself sooner. The outraged engineer frowned, shook her head, and then almost as an afterthought, glanced down to see who'd correctly identified her from a less-than-common angle. For a moment, she seemed slightly confused, and then stepped down from her makeshift perch. Perhaps it was the residual tinge on Kirral's cheeks, perhaps it was an uncharacteristic self-consciousness in regards to being caught rambling about correct storage of top shelf contraband, or maybe it was something else entirely, but it took the human several beats to pick up where she'd left off.

"In case you missed it, rice wine's off the menu."

There was a clearing of her throat, her form almost shrinking in her brief shame, like she'd been caught with her hand in a cookie jar. From her looking, maybe a bit, but also from the realization that now she might have to unload her problems on someone she knew better than most of the rest of the crew thus far. "Huh, yeah, that is uh... ridiculous?"

She tried to offer a helpful smile, but she'd never had the stuff, personally. Though her eyes did turn to the bottle in Vivienne's hand as the half-Romulan found a proper seat and coiled in on herself, arms folded on the bar top. Everything was running just a fraction of a second too slow for her; responses, expressions, eye focus. Clearly tired, and the food was settling her hunger which meant that other particular physiological need was the more potent one now. "Is it still good? I've never had it. I can help... or at least toss it in the replicator for you. Maybe someone else has a use for those particular molecules in a different form."

"Oh, this stuff is disgusting." It was a very cavalier response given the amount of fuss she'd been making but Vivienne shrugged as if the information was of little surprise to anyone. "The only correct way to store it is to tip it out as soon as you've corked it but if you're going to store it, or hide it, which seems more the case here, then you at least want to make sure you don't stuff it somewhere that's going to eventually reactivate the fermentation. Not unless you want it eating holes in your shelving." With the bottle sat firmly on the bar, Vivienne twisted it around by the lip and pulled a face. "I'd wager a week's holodeck allocation this was some ill-advised experimentation by a spotted man who thinks safety labels are invitations."

The ensuing sigh seemed, oddly enough, to placate Conrad. If, as she suspected, this was the handiwork of a specific colleague, there was something altogether more tolerable in resigning oneself to dealing with the aftermath. Vivienne may have been the only person on the ship to anticipate Teyo's misadventures with a degree of amused expectation.

Turning back to her task, the brunette stepped up onto her stool again and peered into the depths of the shelf she'd been busily emptying of its secrets. "I can offer you the last dregs of whatever brandy this was or there's always the mysterious vintage of no discernible origin." Even with her head stuck inside the cupboard, Vivienne's gesture downwards was roughly in the direction of a very tall bottle that no longer had its label and was made of glass so dark, you couldn't make out the contents at all. "Or I can just make you something actually decent."

'Spotted man', the words mouthed in silence as Kirral considered that. There were a few Trill onboard, that she knew of, but a cursory flip through her mental rolodex found no such match on the crew of the Athena. No big surprise there though, given how fresh she was. "Sounds... awful." She added, mostly unhelpfully.

A hand reached to slide the offending bottle over just to look at it, read the label. Pointed ears perked, eyes half surprised to find Vivienne back on her stool. In those brief moments, she considered being offended that the bartender would go about her business, but the woman was still engaging her in conversation, still the same Vivienne she'd talked to last and still seemed friendly, so she found those feelings unfounded and silly, chalked up to her frayed nerves from fatigue. And, worse, she found herself staring again, and decided to turn away entirely to dispose of the bottle as she'd promised. Recycling what was left was probably the only mercy anyone could hope to give that beverage, if Viv was to be believed. "How surprised would you be if I told you I'm not much of a drinker?"

Returning to her proper seat, Kirral decided to deliberately focus her gaze on whatever bottles the woman was currently messing with, seeing if she knew them or if anything stood out. It was all fancy lettering and colors and shapes to her though, indiscernible. "Whenever I'd 'go out' at the Academy, I always got the same thing, because I liked it and wasn't adventurous. Sure there's some Andorian ale in there somewhere... chilled, preferably?" Her own honesty surprised her. Or just bluntness, rather. No need to fluff it up, she was just oversharing at this point.

At this point, it would have been disingenuous to look surprised, not to mention entirely fabricated because Vivienne actually wasn't. Whether she'd realised it or not, she had reached a point where her default expectation was that everyone had some sort of preference, even if it was strictly from the travesty that was the mocktail portion of the menu. She had also, apparently, reached the subconscious decision that Kirral wasn't the type to 'sauce herself up' and get too bawdy. If pushed to have an opinion, Vivienne might have considered that a shame because there was something very rewarding about watching the slow unravelling of typically-uptight people's inhibitions when they finally realised self-inserted sticks didn't need to remain rectally-lodged indefinitely. As it stood, the bartender was more inclined to focus her attention on whether or not she could drum up a decent response to the request.

"Well, technically speaking, I'm supposed to serve you synthehol during active duty." They were mid-mission, any alcohol on reserve was closely guarded and portioned out under very strict guidelines. Ducking her head to make eye contact, there was a gleam to Vivienne's gaze that suggested she had finally latched on to the inherent potential in her current situation. "There are a few exceptions though. Are you currently celebrating any sort of cultural observance?" She stepped down again and turned to lean against the bar, lips twitching. "We could always look one up."

That look. Oh, that look... Kirral found herself on the defensive after that expected lag-time in her reactions, and watch Vivienne as she spoke. Was that look of shock because she'd actually just... forgotten she was on duty and in the middle of important work and outright asked for the hard stuff? Or was it because Vivienne of all people was reminding her of regulations? She hissed between her teeth, head shaking. She had to rewind, take it back. "No, no cultural things, even with my mixed heritage. And you definitely don't have Romulan ale."

She wrinkled her nose, rest of her features joining her in the self-chastisement as her eyes avoided those big, tempting brown ones watching hers. "Synthale is fine, you're right... Have you... ever fought pirates before?" Little fears bubbled to the surface, her usual filter unable to resist letting them through, buoyant as they were. It was just physics.

And there was the disappointment, making its appearance with the same unorthodox approach that seemed to summarise Vivienne nicely. It created the inevitable catch-22, where avoidance of potential professional rebuke created compliance that the honorary-Risian grudgingly respected but didn't really enjoy particularly. She was a responsible server, after all; one drink wasn't going to cause too much damage, other than perhaps to help the poor scientist breathe. As usual, Vivienne wore her opinion openly as a resigned putter of lips and turned to punch in the appropriate commands into the replicator.

"That probably depends on your definition of pirates. I've thrown a Klingon stag party out of a decorative water feature before, that's got to fall somewhere in the same ballpark, right?" Turning back, Viv set the drink in front of Kirral and then scanned her gaze upwards to consider the parade of other possibilities currently bobbing to the surface of immediate recollection. "And booting Ferengi out of the casinos is practically a national sport. Can't say I've tried it in the middle of a electrical storm though." It was a gross underestimation of the nebula's dynamics but Conrad didn't seem overly bothered by her own flippancy.

Lucky her, she wasn't looking when the disappointed look was directed at her. Not that hadn't seen it before, in turning down others in their requests for fun, trying to get her to drift outside the straight and narrow for just a little bit. There was always an excuse though. Good ones, her mind justified, but always there. And here, with actual lives potentially dependent on her keeping focused and solving this problem with the others in her department. The glass suddenly didn't seem very appealing, and she pressed to pick it up and take a nice, big swig before she talked herself into not at all. At least now, she could attribute part of that knot in her gut to the synthahol.

Her eyes only dared raised then, if just to give Vivienne a puzzled look, singular eyebrow raising. There was the lag-time again. And then she laughed. More than she probably had any right to for those little examples. Her head shook and her hand waved. "Klingons maybe. Never actually met a Ferengi before... It's something else though, isn't it? Bailey thinks it's not natural, deliberate radiation dump to cloud strategic areas. And... we're working on it. Were. Until I woke up in the lab."

It was her turn to exhale in disappointment, exhaustion as the hand not around the glass came up to support her cheek with her elbow squarely planted. "I've never... seen action before. Not really. It's one thing to tempt physics and try to get close to rocks without crashing into them. Rocks don't get mad and shoot at you when you poke them."

Previously, when confronted by the other woman's tendency to blurt out current fixation, Vivienne hadn't perhaps handled the forthright unloading of mental preoccupation with quite the grace and aplomb that would have been reasonable given her own capacity to shoot straight from the hip. Now, with the familiar veneer of a solid bar between them, she slipped more or less naturally into the role of vent-recipient. Usually, the situation she was asked to have input into didn't directly affect her, however, nor was she ever quite this likely to have to do something with the eventual outcome of another's investigations. It gave some gravitas to paying attention but it wasn't the reason for the unwavering consideration of the bartender's gaze. This was a framework that allowed Vivienne a far better scope to remain engaged.

"Well, that's what we have Security for, right?," she quipped eventually, though her tone was decidedly more sympathetic than it had shown capacity for before. "We prod, they run in and make sure nothing takes offense. Failing that, there was probably some point to them making us all run around the combat range like headless chickens. You're probably more prepared than most," Viv added magnanimously. "I doubt anyone's had to chase you around for recertification."

And here, ostensibly because she was trying to be reassuring, Vivienne winked.

Kirral found herself staring at Vivienne then, watching her face, shy, green tint in her cheeks faded as they openly discussed her real anxieties in this situation. And though the answer was... easy, straightforward even, she felt dumb for not having considered it herself. For blowing it out of proportion. For all the tact and comfort she offered as a bartender, the science officer's features soured briefly, then turned... apologetic. "Could have just told me I was being stupid, worrying. Whole crew is on this mission, same as me. Same as my division. Even you. I bet you get to fly!"

She took back the rest of the drink, all of it drained in those two, long hits, before she slowly slid the glass back in Vivienne's direction. Just a few centimeters, but enough for the hint. "I'm sorry. I'm so used to lab problems, research, and I've been up on this problem for awhile now. Guess I just kind of tunneled in and self-isolated with it. Mm mm, not acceptable."

She shook her head then, sat up straight, tried her best determined face as she lifted her chin and squared up her shoulders. "Let me help you organize? It'll help me unpack, and we can talk. And if you're worried at all too... you can talk to me?" As unsure as she was of her own capacity to offer advice, she was at least sure she'd tried her damnedest. No moping, that was a bottom line.

The raised eyebrows had a myriad of instigators to choose from but opted instead for ambiguity, followed by a genuine and abiding look of amusement. "I could have told you that you were being stupid, and I would have." That seemed very easy to believe. "If you had been. I solemnly promise to identify all evidence of stupidity henceforth but I don't think fretting over being shot up by a bunch of thieves really qualifies. I've not exactly done a lot of this either," Vivienne confessed, frowning at the empty glass before consenting to refill it, adding her own half-pint of beer to the order. "And I'm sure in no hurry to be target practise from some tit-fart with an itchy trigger finger."

She didn't so much accept the offer to assist then as fail to protest it, exhaling with weary resolve as she took her drink and turned to face the mess she'd made. A long chug saw her set the glass aside and clamber up again, an outstretched hand clasping an intricately-decorated bottle inviting participation without further ceremony. "You've got more hope than I do," Viv added after a moment's stewing over a singular detail. "I have to scrounge for helm time when we're flying in a straight line, I can't see them giving me control over anything when a bunch of asteroids are smacking against the viewscreen."

"Well... I'll take that, I suppose. Only because your examples of Klingons and Ferengi and what not seem to indicate you have a good understanding of what stupid is. I uh... I had no idea you tended bar. Suppose I could have guessed when you were back on Risa. But even after you put on the uniform?" She found herself smiling at the colorful language used to describe the pirates, deciding not to ask.

With the glass refilled, she decided her little gesture had been misinterpreted. Was there a good one for signaling one was done? Not pushing it toward the one who served was, in hindsight, probably a smart idea. So, to save face, and to be polite, she picked it up and took a bit off the top before she set it down and took the offered bottle. Kirral stood then, slipped over the top of the bar with a brief slide on her backside, and feet arcing to plant firmly beside Vivienne as she gazed at the bottle itself. "You know... it occurs to me I'll probably just organize these by color and height. Doesn't seem at all what you were going for."

She let herself lean back on the bar a bit then, eyes turning to the woman beside her, thoughtful. "Whatever plan they decide on, shuttles or splitting the ship... maybe both? Let me know which one you're driving, that's where I want to be. I've seen you fly, remember? To not let you in this situation would be du-- er... a tactical error."

"And are we past the point of expecting Starfleet not to make tactically dumb mistakes?" Vivienne's insistence on inserting abandoned words was met with a circumspect smirk and even descended into a huff of tired laughter as the pilot realised who she was talking to. "Don't answer that." Instead, she focused on the line-up of bottles and, head tilted to the side, considered the other woman's solution.

"Ultimately, it comes down to whether or not they remain part of an available rotation." If Kirral could talk endlessly about her data, then Vivienne could talk the hind leg off a donkey regarding bar management. She wasn't happy about that amount of useless information occupying valuable brain-space but she hadn't stepped far enough out of the tourism firing line to avoid amassing some sort of skillset. "As far as I can tell, that cupboard has been used to dump things nobody wants to deal with, so now we have to decide if we're the ones to break the chain or if we're just going to toss it all back in and forget we noticed." A sideways glance checked Kirral's expression before Viv added with a roll of her eyes and a confessionary bob of her head, "I don't technically work here, I just take care of Gamma shift sometimes. Used to do the same when I was flying a massive cruiser around and around in pretty circles." Reaching up, she rubbed the back of her finger against her nose, almost as if uncomfortable by the revelation. "Easier to blend in if you look busy."

Kirral found herself giving a reserved smile with that commentary, Vivienne so boldly and yet so casually finishing her words from a bitten tongue. She felt like a child being naughty just hearing it. Oh, how straight her uniform! There was a clearing of her throat then, glad Vivienne decided to start talking about the shelf and other, less treasonous, things. "Oh? Uh... well, I say, we already started so why don't we finish? A worse crime to just erase one bottle of foul drink and leave countless potential others there until someone ends up in sickbay over it. Right? It'd just be... the right thing to do!"

She offered Vivienne a big smile then, sure and proud. Leave it to Kirral to turn something like this mundane task into just another duty, a privilege to undertake for the sake of others with noble self-sacrifice. At least it wasn't angry pirates. "That... makes sense. Don't worry, secret's safe with me." Shaking her head, she raised a hand to briefly pat the other woman on the shoulder, squeeze in comfort, before she settled up to the shelves properly to peruse with her eyes, hands crossing neatly behind her back like she was from the QA department and doing a formal inspection. "At least, if my assessment isn't totally off about you. From what I know. This seems more like... home to you? Less formality and duty, more personable space and freedom."

There was a lingering quality to Vivienne's side-eye that suggested rendering a chore as a civic duty eroded somewhat of its already-tarnished sheen. The clap to her shoulder had broken the expression only as a series of slow blinks but the final remark finally drew her attention back to the row of bottles, and then upwards to what remained of the cupboard stash. One way or another, something had to be done because leaving things strewn everywhere like this was going to result in one of those Ensign Conrad conversations. With her foot planted on the stool, Vivienne bounced several times to get the hoist to pull herself up and then planted one foot on the counter beneath to gain an extra few inches momentarily.

"Didn't use to be," she replied after hesitation had created space for awkwardness to fester. "When it was just Dad and I, I never saw much outside of one spaceport or another. Spent most of my time in the crawl spaces of whatever small craft he was fixing." With a strain, Vivienne stretched her arm into the topmost shelf in an attempt to grab a bottle lingering in the corner. "Closest I got to a bar was the joints we ate at and those weren't really much more than licensed diners. Risa's got a heap of laws around kids in crawl spaces though, couldn't hold down a job unless it was one of the tourist grinds." She'd been 10 when they'd moved there, and by the age of 13, had developed a strong opinion about her time being split only between going to school and messing about. Life as a nomad had wrought her a stronger work ethic than that.

"Worked my way up from that, got my pilot license, flew a pleasure cruiser and nearly choked on my own boredom." Mindless of her company, Vivienne swore under her breath as her fingertips slipped against the bottle but refused to spin it closer to her grasp. "Now I get to fight pirates, so I guess there's a decent trade-off there somewhere."

The half-Romulan settled into a more relaxed stance as Vivienne seemed to take charge again, stepping up onto her stool and bravely taunting gravity with her perusals. Eyes again found themselves forced toward bottles, cast to shelves as she settled a single hand against the outside of the stool (maybe that'd help steady it? Yeah. She was helping). "Nothing like flying a proper Starfleet vessel, I imagine. Even something like an old Galaxy-class had quite a bit of power behind it, big as it was. I grew up on one of those, you know. Back when the Federation policy was to try and keep families and crew together for long-term, deep space exploration missions. Nothing like Athena." She found herself getting comfortable in the conversation again, relaxing tensions. And it was almost too lacks when the moment came.

Giving up set in motion a bout of clumsiness that wasn't usually typical of the athletic woman. Readjusting her weight in preparation to step back on the stool only lead to kicking the thing over, and with her centre of gravity already committed, Vivienne was left hanging with foot in air, gripping onto the edge of the lower shelf whilst the foot planted on the counter struggled to find a position viable enough to push herself back up again. It went without saying that she tried, Conrad wasn't a woman to submit to something as basic as gravity without a fight, but with nothing of decent purchase for her hands to grab hold of, she fell until she wasn't falling anymore, and there were more arms than she remembered owning, and a face buried in her hair that wasn't there before.

Kirral wasn't quite sure what was happening at first, the stool gave way, her arm placement all for naught as it did nothing to stop the events. Before she knew it, she'd reacted and cast her arms wide to the side and braced. Moments later, there she was, semi-crouched with the caught weight, Vivienne scooped gingerly from gravity's harsh clutches, and her nose in the woman's hair in the act of pulling her in for stability. Her feelings on her mixed heritage varied from day to day, moment to moment. There were always downsides and upsides to consider. This, her innate strength? A quiet inhale and a shy peeling back of her head to raise an eyebrow at Vivienne up close and personal... this was a definite upside. "Y-you're okay?"

Why was she pausing? Come on, Kirral, stop being yourself, for both your sakes. She offered a smile, feeling the heat in her cheeks and hoping the action would somehow stave it off. Back to her feet, almost effortless, she lifted Vivienne and set her back on her feet, careful of the tipped over furniture. "Daring, as per usual..."

Bracing for an impact that ended up being somewhat squishy and accommodating was disorienting. It wasn't until several seconds after she was upright again that Vivienne managed to process what had happened, at which point there was no amount of chagrin in the world that would have kept her from turning to face her rescuer with raised eyebrows. Embarrassment wasn't a key feature in Viv's life and it didn't last much past the initial frustration at having lost her footing in the first place. Physical proximity was far less of an issue, a point easily proven by the fact she hadn't immediately moved to reclaim any distance. Instead, she regarded the scientist with renewed interest, akin even to admiration, and remarked, "You're worried about pirates with reflexes like that?"

The already flustered blue shirt found herself leaning just a smidgen backwards, not so much not enjoying the sudden proximity, but unsure how to handle it like a normal person without seeming anxious and awkward. "Wasn't that fast, was it? I was just there and I reacted..." She trailed off, rear end falling back against the bar top, but she managed to maintain at least looking directly at Vivienne. Not as if she was ashamed or anything, just jittery from the surprise of it all. "Welcome, by the way. I can stand behind you next time, try to keep you steady." Hold you steady. That little thought got her head shaking in self-admonishment, replaced with a small smile to accompany her offer.

A relaxation in Conrad's features took the gentle rebuke on the chin and, for once, she corrected herself without the accompanying eye-roll. "Thank you," she amended, "for saving my ass." There was a glint to her brown eyes, the vague glimmer of humour that acknowledged a deliberate reference to the part of her anatomy Kirral had been forced to handle first, and the Vivienne proceeded in a manner that was far too accommodating and comfortable for someone who'd just been inadvertently groped. She leaned back against the counter, at least, arms folded across her chest to provide some semblance of barrier between her lack of concern and the sheer amount radiating from the other woman. "I'm not sure health and safety regulations would rule in my favour if I squashed a superior officer though." The inclusion of rank differential was more a tease than actual deference, though Vivienne was possibly joking with the wrong person if she didn't want to make thing more awkward.

Her awkward little smile widened some before she moved to pick up the stool and set it upright near the shelves again. Anything to get her addled brain back on track and not... Standing straight again, she straightened her uniform to match her posture and cleared her throat. "Yes, well... Lucky for you I have the strength to manage, hm? And you're very welcome, Ensign." Was that prim and proper? Or was she teasing herself? Even she wasn't sure if she managed to make it come off like the latter in her attempt. She was bad at that sort of thing, after all. As eyes settled back on Vivienne, arms folding to mirror, Kirral reminded herself she couldn't successfully flirt with a Ferengi if she was coated in liquid latinum. "Work accidents happen, right? Long as we both acted to minimize dangers like supervision with unstable platforms or unnecessary distractions."

Vivienne pulled a face. Somewhere between a scowl and a puzzled frown, it wasn't likely to aid any quest to hammer home an intent beyond conversational confusion, which was odd considering the woman ought to have been primed for recognising the difference between posturing and teasing. Risians were direct, however, even if they were gracious and tasteful about it for the most part. Vivienne, who also drew the shortest possible route to a point straight through the middle of obstacles others might normally have tried to avoid, had found it quite a relief to navigate emergent interest amidst a playing field that frequently slapped 'positions vacant' signs on their bejewelled foreheads. The flipside to that was a rather endearing obliviousness to anything slightly more nuanced. She wasn't in the process of actively taking offense to Kirral's phrasing, but no matter how she twisted the words in her head, 'work accidents happen' sounded ominous.

Eventually, her expression seemed to settle on mild amusement tinged with incredulity.

"Maybe," she said, tactful in a way that was refreshingly unusual, "We'd eliminate some paperwork if we switched positions." Vivienne cast her glance upwards to the offending shelf. "There's a bottle right at the back and that should be it. We get that out, all that's left is tossing what's exceeded its serving potential and reshelving the rest." Kirral only had a slight height advantage but buried beneath the suggestion was the begrudging admission that she was probably the strongest of the two also. "I'll spot you," Viv added dryly, hands held up in a pantomime of the offer.

Were she a less innocent person like some of those she'd only heard rumors of in this crew, Vivienne's statement might have prompted a rather spicy reply. Or at least something smooth and witty. But unfortunately for the situation, she was just herself. And so the suggestion was met with chaste enthusiasm and a bit of a smile. "I think I can manage that. Wouldn't be the first time I was recruited for a task where my height was a distinct asset." Kirral's eyes settled on the stool again, as if visually testing its sturdiness more thoroughly, now that it was her own weight at stake.

With a glance at the pantomime, the little statement, she nodded and confidently boosted herself up, one leg and then the other in an energetic hop. The stool wobbled gently before she adjusted her weight more evenly and got a feel for it, but eventually she had it down. At least for the time being. Step two? She got eyes on the offending bottle and gave her arm a testing reach just to see how much wiggle room she had. "Sure I can't just rig up a tractor beam with the replicator, a clean glass, and a lemon wedge? Neat trick they taught us at the Academy in engineering classes." Slowly, she started that stretch, fingertips flexing and coiling at glass, her whole form balancing like one of many, many poses she practiced all the time in her meditations. Could she manage it on one leg? Maybe. No need to show off though. "Almost..."

A swipe, a quick rebalance as things swayed, and she stood back triumphantly, bottle dangling by the neck from her hand as she smiled over her shoulder and down at Vivienne. "Sometimes, it's important for a superior officer to do a task themselves. Well, done watching my back though, Ensign. Will be sure to put you in for a commendation."

Undoubtedly not for the last time, Vivienne found herself bewildered mid-reaction to the point of inconceivably reconsidering her first remark. She closed her mouth, appeared to ruminate for a moment, and then released a huff of dry humour.

"Figures the first one would be something booze-related."

"Might have to dig into Klingon medals for that one." Kirral announced with amusement, stepping down off the stool and handing the bottle over to Vivienne. There was a moment there, a look of consideration, before the half-Romulan smiled and straightened her uniform top. "Know where to find me if you need more help. Good luck on the mission, Viv."

Awkward is as awkward does, and, anticipating just that from any attempted physical action, Kirral simply gives a little wave and excuses herself, quickly shuffling out of the bar.