Chill, Homie
Posted on Dec 10, 2016 @ 11:29pm by Iphigenia Bonviva
Edited on on Dec 10, 2016 @ 11:31pm
Mission: Aftermath
“Chill, Homie”
NRPG:No copyright infringement is intended
=/\=
Location: GATEWAY STATION - 2
SD: [2.16]1210.2200
Scene: Angel’s Angst
THIS SERVES AS A FORMAL NOTIFICATION THAT YOU, IPHIGENIA BONVIVA, MUST VACATE THE GATEWAY STATION-2 WITHIN 14 DAYS…
“Oh hells,” Iphie Bonviva sighed as she slapped the screen, which briefly caused it to flicker but that was all. “YO, STAFF MEETING,” she yelled.
Within ten minutes she called in the staff of Angel’s Angst and pretty much gave everyone who had shown up that day a promotion effective in 2 weeks time, which greatly gave anyone there a reason to be glad they showed up.
At the end of the meeting the two Bynars dressed neatly in white pressed chef jackets, black slacks and orange clogs showed up. However, listening to their rapid discussion (even if it was in binary) it sounded like fighting:
“1010101010101010--”
“0101010101010101--
“Hey I’m getting a headache from the fighting,” Iphie sighed as she stood at the edge of her kitchen, while it was still her kitchen. “Why weren’t you here for the staff meeting?”
Calvin blinked and went first, “There was no--”
“--staff meeting listed,” Hobbes finished off.
The Bolian/Human chef shrugged, “Like I ever list that.” Giving a look she asked, “Why were you late?”
“We got an--”
“--order to vacate.”
Iphie closed her eyes thought through the situation. “Why couldn’t homie have just let this shit go?” she muttered as she picked up some granola to eat it.
=/\=
TI: One year ago
“Dudes, not my circus, not my monkeys,” Iphie grinned as she leaned against the bar right after she wiped it down. It was pretty late, or early depending upon your point of view, so Iphie’s hair which had been in pigtails earlier were flowing down into messy waves of blonde and dyed orange waves. Since she had the bar that night, she traded her normal chef’s jacket for a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said “I went to Qo’noS and all I got was this lousy shirt”. She was moments away from announcing “last call” but she had a soft spot for these officers.
“Hey!”
“Sorry, *dude* and *dudette*, not my circus, not my monkeys,” Iphie clarified. “Feel better?”
“I disagree with you but I like clarity,” Lt. Jepsen grinned. Slinging back a beer she shook her head. “Iphie, you’ve been here longer than us, you keep telling us that.”
“True, you’re all a bunch of newbies,” Iphie nodded.
“You should care.”
“I care when my shit arrives on time. I care when my neighbor decides to re-enact the high holy days of BAJOR Resistance. A change of Command here who likes to shove his nose up some other guy’s ass in the Alpha Quadrant is so far low on my list you have no idea,” Iphie explained.
Ensign Platten sighed. “Iphie, you don’t get it.”
As she was drying the glasses, the Bolian/Human rolled her gray eyes. “Hey guys, stack the tables while I take care of the bar,” she yelled to the Bynars. As the Bynars began their normal discussion in binary in the background, she looked at Platten. “Honey, you aren’t even shaving. What are you? 18?”
“20, I graduated early. But I’m a full officer,” he pointed out.
Iphie bit back a grin. “Look I know you’re going to tell me how special that is, but I have neither the time nor crayons to explain how not special that is. Trust me, I may not be Starfleet, but thanks to my sister who was lucky enough to raise me, I grew up around enough Starfleet to know there’s always going to be more special around. The universe is full of special. And trust me every Commanding Officer is just specialer--”
The poor aCEO just shook his head, “That’s not a word.”
“Whose bar are you in?” Iphie asked nicely with a saccharine smile. After a beat she continued on, “So if Commanding Officer What’s His Bucket wants to make changes -- and he will -- then let him.”
Ensign Bruno Platten began hyperventilating. “Oh God, she called Captain Swift -- Commanding Officer What’s His Bucket. That’s like an offense.”
Iphie traded a look with the Security Officer. “I’ll let Jepsen arrest me.”
“I’m not done with my beer,” Jepsen grinned. When Platten kept hyperventilating the Security officer sighed, “She’s a civvie.”
Platten sighed as he played with his root beer. “You don’t get it.”
“Honey, you need to get it,” Iphie grinned.
The poor Ensign turned about ten shades of red. “Not everything is about--”
“Personally, I’m thinking a Red Death would do wonders.”
“You want me to die?”
“It goes down nice and smooth, will totally help with the un-clenching you need to do."
“Oh. You’re talking about drinks.”
Iphie shrugged. “Yeah. Dude, seriously, you need to lighten up.”
The aCEO sighed. “We have protesters--”
“Ten people, sitting on bench chanting, out of a station of thousands,” Iphie pointed out, “is hardly a protest.”
“Captain Swift told me to cut off their replicators if they wouldn’t stop their chanting,” the aCEO frowned. “I heard him tell the Chief that he thinks it’s going to get worse.”
The Security officer swiveled her head around. “WHAT? You never told me that!”
“I wasn’t supposed to know,” Platten sighed.
“Did you do it?” Iphie asked.
The aCEO nodded. “Direct orders,” he said glumly.
Iphie was vaguely aware of the Security officer yelling at the aCEO, explaining there was a way to not follow the order, but she ignored that. Walking away from the bar for a moment she stood in the doorway she watching the protesters.
Calvin and Hobbes walked over. “Hey, you two know anything about those protesters?”
The Bynars spoke rapidly to each other and began waving their arms which got Iphie concerned before they turned their attention back to her. “We know it began--”
“--as a protest to Captain Swift--”
“--for the restrictions put in place--”
“--for Starfleet and civilians.”
“What the what?” Iphie asked. She watched as the Bynars went walking back, and she was pretty sure rolling their eyes at her. In a few minutes sure enough, she had a PADD which outlined new rules courtesy of the GATEWAY Merchants’ Association that came directly from Captain Swift.
“Well I was wrong, monkeys are running the circus,” Iphie said. She knew nothing of politics, wasn't her gig. But nobody was going to want for food or drink, especially when they were right outside her door. Looking outside the restaurant’s door she mused, “They look hungry, and I suspect there’s going to be a crowd soon. Let’s see what we’ve got in the back.”
The Bynars looked at each other. “What do--”
“--we do?”
“Guys, you’re going to help me make some granola, sandwiches, and some tea, and then you’re going to be delivery tonight,” Iphie announced. “And for the foreseeable future.”
=/\=
TI: Present
For one year Iphie, via the Angel’s Angst, fed the protesters, first the 10. Then the 20. Then the 50. 75. She stopped counting at 100, even though the crowds grew. Captain Swift tried to shut down Angel’s Angst but couldn’t; the restaurant had been grandfathered into the Station and her being friends with the officers saved Iphie.
So Swift tried to stop Iphie, yelling she was an ideologue; when that didn't work her deliveries were blocked. She shrugged, never joining the protesters, but she never stopped feeding them the good food from the restaurant either. All Calvin and Hobbes were doing was acting as delivery Bynars and occasionally as sous chefs for the protesters.
Finally even on the GATEWAY they were noticing changes that they heard were happening in the Alpha and Beta Quadrants. Restrictions were loosening; goods were moving in again. The protesters dwindled down, and Iphie gave a sigh of relief, figuring her days of feeding a resistance were done.
Then the notice came.
The Bynars looked at each other. “What do--”
“--we do?”
“We, meaning the three of us, are getting new jobs,” Iphie announced. Walking back to the tiny office she opened up a comm screen. “But I also have to call someone else.”
The Bynars looked at each other.
“Hells, I am going to have to tell her,” Iphie muttered.
=/\=
TI: Half hour later
{{Let me see if I have this right,}} Xana Bonviva yawned. {{You woke me up--}}
“I didn’t know you’d be asleep on VULCAN,” Iphie pointed out. “I’m sorry it’s hard to keep up with your hobby of taking over the universe to know what planet you’re on this week.”
Her older sister rubbed her violet eyes. {{I’m running a campaign not--oh never mind. But you called to tell me that you’re getting booted from the GATEWAY from running my restaurant because you told the Commanding Officer: “Chill, homie, you need to let that shit go”.}}
The chef was quiet for a minute before replying. “You’re missing the salient point.”
{{I rather thought that was the salient point,}} Xana replied. Sitting back she looked up as she appeared to think through the problem from across the universe, {{Right new job...well there’s always--}}
“Starfleet,” Iphie nodded. “Yeah I thought that too. You know anyone to get me in?”
{{Me? No, that’s not me anymore. Honey, whether you get this or not, this is all on you now,}} Xana said quietly as she looked directly at her through the feed. When Iphie said nothing she pointed out, {{It’s what you always wanted, to make your own name.}}
Iphie sighed. “Yes, kinda. But on 14 days time?” Sighing she said, “And it’s not just me, I’ve got staff too.” Seeing her sister’s worried face she waved her arms, “I’ll make this work. I sent in my paperwork but I thought I’d ask.”
{{May I suggest --}}
“Yeah I know I won’t say any of that but I'm concerned I've got a record again thanks to Captain What’s His Bucket--” Iphie replied.
{{Iphie!}}
The chef waved her hand dismissively. “But I was right.”
{{I’m not saying you weren’t. I'm proud,}} Xana smiled.
“Don't make this--ya know--a thing,” Iphie said. “But I got a question. It was the “homie” part that pissed him off, right?”
{{Obviously,}} Xana replied dryly.
=/\=
TI: Next day
Starfleet had received her application and now was reviewing it. That was their exact message.
{{So...Ms.Bonviva,}} the Ops Officer.
“You can call me Iphie,” the Human/Bolian offered.
There was a long pause. {{I've been informed that proper designation is Chef Bonviva.}}
Iphie stifled a sigh; it did not take a Betazoid or a genius to figure out she did not like titles. At least he wasn't calling her Iphigenia.
{{Chef Bonviva, why do you want to work for Starfleet?}}. After briefly reviewing his notes the Andorian Ops Officer clarified, {{Again.}}
She hated interviews. There was nothing natural about these things, strangers sitting far apart, reading carefully selected words then only to say even more precise things, none of it was real. Even knowing this was an interview, made Iphie nervous so much that she pulled back her hair (which today was purple and blonde) into a sleek ponytail instead of fun pigtails. She still had on her chef’s jacket, which was completely appropriate and normal, but suddenly felt stifling.
“I want to explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no one has gone before,” she answered. When the officer gave her the oddest look she admitted, “I like documentaries? My sister dragged me around in the ‘Fleet and it didn't completely scar me for life? Everyone likes greasy food and getting drunk? I'm not sure what to say here except I went to the best culinary school in the Federation, I'm an excellent chef and pretty handy behind a bar, I've already got a staff, and I'm used to ships.”
The Andorian grunted, and appeared to be checking off several items. {{Very well, we have another candidate but you’ll hear from us soon.}}
After the comm blinked out, Iphie leaned back and shrugged. “Don't call us, we’ll call you,” she muttered. Looking up she saw Calvin and Hobbes standing there. “You two done with your interview already?”
The Bynars began talking binary before switching over to Federation Standard. “It ended--”
“--when we gave your advice.”
Iphie sat back in her chair. “I don't have advice. What advice did you just give Starfleet?”
Calvin and Hobbes looked at each other for a long moment before looking at Iphie.
“Chill, homie, you need--”
“--to let that shit go.”
Iphie just sat at the desk she'd have for the next 13 days and began to laugh. “Bright side, guys, at least you didn't call him What's-His-Bucket.”
=/\=
NRPG: Setting up Iphie Bonviva, your younger and definitely more chilled out Barkeep and chef (Xana’s younger sister) and Calvin and Hobbes and a brief glimpse at how the events of the last year may have impacted the Gamma Quad. Next time I write for them it will be getting them to join everyone else.
=/\=
Sarah Albertini-Bond
writing for
Iphie Bonviva
Recipe for Red Death:
1 oz Southern Comfort
½ oz Vanilla Vodka
½ oz Sloe Gin
½ oz Cointreau
½ oz Amaretto
½ oz lemon juice
4 oz orange juice
1 orange wedge
Ice cubes or crushed ice
Fill Serving glass with ice cubes/crushed ice build first 6 ingredients over it and top with orange juice
Garnish with orange wedge and serve
