Better Pissed Off Than Pissed On

Posted on Thu Feb 16th, 2023 @ 7:05pm by Master Warrant Officer Trenton Mayhew & Siany ZyMach

Mission: Season 1 Interlude II (E5.5)
Location: Overwatch Station
Timeline: ID 4

The Phantom had departed once again with most of the ranking officers of Memory Theta all together. This time they weren't on mission but vacation. Figures. Fleeters always had it cushy. They expect rewards for simply doing their duty, whereas Mayhew had suffered his throat getting ripped open by a possessed psychopath and only received a medal. Nobody sent him on a luxury trip to Risa.

Not that he would have gone anyway. Risa was for weaklings. Everything about it was fake, a deceptive ruse pulled over the eyes of weak-willed people who couldn't accept the universe for what it was. Nature was merciless and didn't give a damn about anybody. Pretending otherwise through comprehensive weather control and other constant terraforming technology didn't help anybody in the end. Mayhew's place was on mission. He had accepted that. His only resentment was that his assignment was to Memory Theta. There was nothing to do here but protect secrets that never should have been uncovered in the first place. It was thankless and that suited Mayhew fine. He just wished for competence which in his view was in short supply.

And so he found himself at Siany's bar again. His first visit was rather ignominious if he were being honest. It had consisted of cagey banter between himself and a far too exuberant little princess slumming it in his secure facility where some idiotic diplomats had decided she could play barkeep. The notion had infuriated him so much that he had broken down and had his first alcoholic drink since his implant. The surgeon's advice had proved true. It had burned like hell.

So why was he back? Mayhew didn't rightly know. But here he was, ready for another round. With any lucky, Siany would keep her pestering questions and perky antics to a minimum.

Siany, who have been making interesting stacks out of her glasses behind the bar, immediately lit up when he door opened. Then she saw who it was and her bright smile turned slightly wry, but also mischievous. “Back already?” she teased. “Need another drink?”

The mere thought of another drink made Mayhew's throat itch around his tracheal implant. "Yes. Give me a double pour." He sat down at the nearest stool and folded his arms across the bar.

“The Ardbeg again?” she asked, indicating the bottles on the shelf behind her. “Or would you like to try the Belvenie this time?”

"Whatever you got close at hand." Mayhew let out a soft grunt. He wasn't drinking for the taste.

Both bottles were equidistant, so Siany opted for the Belvenie this time. “The station seems more relaxed lately,” she commented. “Not like lower security. I meant like a more comfortable atmosphere. Like everyone is less stressed.”

"Everybody's gone." Mayhew double-slapped the bar top, indicating he was ready for a drink. "Gone to Risa. Only a skeleton crew left to run a station created to run itself."

Siany’s nose wrinkled. “I hate Risa,” she said, sliding the now filled glass across the bar to him. “I mean, it’s okay if you like beaches, but… I’m more of a mountain girl myself. And skiing. Skiing is great. Have you ever been?”

"I hate snow," Mayhew said before taking a swig. "Almost as much as I hate Risa."

“Really?” asked Siany, surprised. “I love it! But that’s probably because it doesn’t exist on Yegorah. The first time I saw snow, I was almost 19 years old. I’d seen pictures, but never how it falls from the sky. It’s unnervingly quiet. You know, unless it’s a blizzard.”

Mayhew downed the rest of the glass in one hard swig, then let out a soft groan as it burned his throat. "That's the thing. Snow is blizzards. Whiteouts. Arctic fury. Anything else is just glorified rain." He pushed the empty glass back to her. "Another," he said, his voice more hoarse than before.

“Then I suppose what I like is glorified rain,” replied Siany with a cheeky grin as she refilled his glass. “And to be honest, if I can be inside by a cozy fire, I don’t mind blizzards, either.”

"No, what you like are creature comforts," Mayhew said, "just like every other soft Federation citizen. Gentle tinkling of musical notes, climate control set just so, replicated sweets and treats within arm's reach, anything you could ever want just a computer command away..." He chuckled bitterly as he choked back more of what felt like fire-water. "Uggghhh..." He shuddered and held the glass on the bar for a moment before taking the last swig again until the worst of the burning had passed.

“Oh, and I suppose you like discomfort?” she retorted. “Putting your body through hell? Breaking bones, pulling muscles, marching three miles through a blizzard? Everybody likes to be comfortable.”

"There's a saying in my beloved Corps," said Mayhew. "'Pain is weakness leaving the body'." And then he chugged the rest of the glass in visible pain. "Either you overcome nature or nature overcomes you. Softening things up only makes you soft too. There's no two ways about it, little miss."

“Just because I like being comfortable doesn’t mean I don’t push myself,” she pointed out. “I used to be a gymnast until a nasty fall destroyed my shoulder. Now I just play the cello. Which is a different kind of torture. But at least it means I don’t have to reach my right arm above my head. It hurts like hell and no doctor has been able to work out why,” she explained.

"Yeah, and I used to be a tenor until my throat got ripped out." He downed the last of his drink and closed his eyes until the pain ebbed away. "Another."

She refilled his glass. “So aside from being grumpy, what do you do for fun?” she asked, mostly teasing.

"I don't have 'fun'," Mayhew said. "I have duty, I have ambition, I have goals. And I work hard for gains in all of them. That's what men do. Fun is for children." He sniffed the glass and considered abstaining. That moment of hesitation made him swallow the full contents in one toss. "Fucking hell!" His voice cracked as he fell into a coughing fit.

Siany rolled her eyes- not at the coughing, but at the fun comment. “Then I guess about 98% of people are children,” she replied sarcastically. “And I’m one of them. I think what you need is a good game of Floor is Lava. That would set you to rights.”

Once he got his coughing under control, Mayhew blinked a few times as he processed Siany's last words. "Are you insane?" he asked at length. "You... you might need your head checked." He looked at the nearly empty bottle and chuckled. "You want a game? I'll give you a game." He pulled the combat knife he kept in his boot--the one he had used to defeat the damned Betazoid in combat just before the son of a bitch bit through his trachea--and laid the bottle sideways. After a few slow, measured taps to get the distance right, he brought the heavy knife down in a slash that cut the bottle cleanly in half without shattering it. "Fucking A! I'd bet you my left hand that you and your 98% couldn't do that stone cold sober, and I am clearly three sheets to the fucking wind."

“But why would I want to?” asked Siany. "For that matter, why did you want to?”

"Asks the person who wanted to play make-believe a minute ago." Mayhew paused to examine his empty glass and sliced bottle. "I'm empty again." And his voice was turning more hoarse than ever.

“The difference,” replied Siany, turning to retrieve another bottle, “is that I know why I want to play games. They’re fun. Cutting a bottle in half sounds difficult, futile, and unentertaining.” She poured him another measure of liquid. “Maybe drink this one more slowly; you’re starting to sound… weird.”

"Whatever you say, princess." Mayhew pretended to savor the drink, but in truth his throat was burning like hell around his implant. "Just know that every moment of your fun in life was hard won by the blood of men like me, unthanked sentinels and guardians of rulers burdened by the noble lie of royal privilege." He forced a gulp down. "I cut the bottle in half as practice for doing the same to an armored opponent. If we were ever attacked, you would be glad I can do so under the influence because that means I can do it under combat stress too." A condescending smirk crossed his mouth above his chiseled jaw. "What would you do if the station were ever under attack? Get your attacker to pretend the floor is lava?" He took another sip and bit back a bitter cough.

She gave him a sad sort of smile. “You don’t want to know,” she replied enigmatically, a dark look crossing her features. “I would say thank you, but somehow, I don’t think you’d accept it.”

"I haven't done anything for you," Mayhew said. "But color me curious. What would you do in the event the station was boarded?" He gave her an incredulous look as he finished his drink without showing the flinch he felt.

“Realistically, stay out of the way and let security and the marines handle it,” she replied. “But I can defend myself or anybody else if I need to.”

"Yeah, you and your bum shoulder..." Mayhew's words at the end turned so gravelly they were nearly unintelligible. He coughed into his hand. "Ugh... damn..." After more coughing, he tried to speak, but nothing came out but hoarse whispering that didn't have the wind power to form words.

“I learned it all with the bum shoulder,” she pointed out. “I’m not sure I could do it with two good shoulders, to tell the truth.”

Whatever Mayhew had wanted to say was nothing more than quiet mouthing motions.

His sudden lack of speech caught her attention finally. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Do I need to take you to Sick Bay? Or main engineering?”

Mayhew gave her a confused look. Engineering? He wanted to yell inflammatory interrogatives at her, but his voice was nowhere to be found. Finally he just scowled and thumped the bar in frustration.

“You know, to fix the vocalizer,” she replied, noticing his confused expression. “Hang on,” she added, quickly kneeling behind the bar. She produced a PADD from a cupboard and opened the notes section, then slid it across to Mayhew. “Tell me what you need.”

Taking the PADD in a hasty grab, Mayhew smashed it on the edge of the bar. He glared at Siany all the while. "I-oh-ee-uh-ee." Though his lips formed words, the vocalizer struggled to vibrate enough to put sound to them. The closest sound it made to speech was mild throat singing.

Siany crossed her arms and set her features into a stern glare. “If you’re going to start breaking things, you can get out,” she told him sharply. “I’m only trying to help.”

"Ay-ee-aye-eh-la!" When Mayhew heard his digitized gibberish, he only got madder. His fuming face turned beet red.

Siany’s expression only turned more stern as she turned to retrieve a glass of water. “So help me if you break this, I’ll call security and have you permanently banned from this establishment,” she said testily as she set the glass on the bar. “Try this. Maybe it’ll clear out the vocalizer.”

After chugging the water, Mayhew tried to say, "I am Security," but it came out, "I ah ze ur eh ee."

“Give it a minute,” she said more gently this time. “Maybe don’t try to talk? I’m not sure if that’ll help, but it does with laryngitis.” She shrugged. “Can’t hurt, though.”

Mayhew glared at her even harsher and then shrugged his shoulders. His hands were upraised as if to say, 'What else am I supposed to do?'

“I’m sure I don’t know,” replied Siany. “I’ve never encountered a vocalizer before, so I have no idea what’s good for it.”

Rather than reply, since it was the one thing he was unable to do at the moment, Mayhew just finished his water and set the glass down. The motion wasn't hard enough to break the glass, but it still made a resounding thud. His face was unreadable save for the visibly angry disposition.

Siany had to close her eyes and take a deep breath. He was projecting his emotions a bit too much and it was starting to affect her. After a quick mental exercise that consisted of separating herself from the situation and looking at it rationally, she opened her eyes and said, “you should definitely have somebody look at it. I don’t know how it works and you don’t know how it works, so consulting somebody who does is probably a good call.”

Why was he standing here listening to obvious suggestions from a damn bartender? Mayhew shook his head with a disdainful scoff and turned on his heel to leave.

Siany sighed and shook her head as the door closed behind him. “You might be cute,” she said to herself, “but you’re kind of a pain in the ass.” And since there was nothing else to do, she went back to cleaning the bar and waiting for customers.