The room was crowded with a near silent type of murmur. The chatter was easily spoken over and near impossible to pick out. There were people playing cards and reading books, the room was mostly busy, but everyone still was in their uniform. A lot of people were looking towards a young boy he had made himself the centre of attention by sitting in top of the back of a settee, all the cushions around him abandoned by none willing to dare to sit so close. He had made himself the tallest person sitting in the room by sitting on top of the sofa (the part where people were supposed to lean their backs.) He was talking lively to the people around him, all of which where from the bridge crew.
"And that's why I don't like dancing." Spock finished what no doubt was an embarrassing story. Sarek looked to Captain Kirk, emotionlessly disapproving as he began to approach Spock.
"Why is my son being allowed to make a fool himself in such an intoxicated state?" Sarek asked as the rest of the bridge crew stood to his attention.
"Ambassador" McCoy said in his strongest politest voice, having previously met him "your son is not intoxicated." The ambassador began to say something but stopped as an awfully skinny Spock stood, with a mild difficult in his balance.
"And this!" Spock began loudly, pointing with both arms. He quickly recoiled his arms and managed to turn his voice into an although more logical tone, was not any quieter.
"This is my father. For some reason he is still not dead" he took a deep breath pulling his falling fringe over his head "tho by now he must be over two hundred years-"
"I'm only just a hundred."
"But maybe next year Father, maybe next year you shall finally pass away."
"I do not intend it."
"Bastard" at this the young teenage Spock, stepped, or stumbled forwards off the chair and landed in a slightly undignified heap on the floor. Sarek turned to McCoy who was quickly scrambling to pick up his tricorder.
"My son is clearly intoxicated."