TEN: Breaking Bread
The hair pin was returned discreetly, with little to no fuss, though Shral was frowning with his antennae and Thelen appeared puzzled. Neither said anything, though, and Dagmar tried to push the matter from her mind, instead suggesting that they go find some breakfast –a meal long overdue, as far as she was concerned.
Dagmar opted not to comment when the shaft of the pin was tucked into the sleeve of Shral's uniform, the head detached and slipped into a fold near the collar of the leather suit. It occurred to her that Shral was not exactly a typical aide. Intriguingly, Thelen didn't appear surprised at all, amber-yellow eyes taking in the movements without comment. Looking at the pair's antennas wasn't helpful –for all that she could tell, they indicated polite interest only.
Both aide and security officer had the morning off, which suspiciously coinciding with the fact that she had the day off as well (well, technically, the entire week) so breakfast took place in the compound. Jokingly, Thelen offered her another serving of that godawful beetle dish –and nearly had a mug of bitter katheka (the Andorian equivalent of coffee) thrown at him for it.
"Never again." She muttered darkly, eyeing the dish in Thelen's hand as one might a proffered glass of drain cleaner. Thelen's antennae bowed towards each other and the dish was set back on the table. The arrangement was not unlike what she had seen in the restaurant –low-set round tables accessible to large groups. The only thing missing from this arrangement was the hot pot of bubbling oil.
And a more tolerable ambient temperature, that is.
"Your friend will be alright." Shral assured her abruptly, though his attention was focused on his own mug of katheka. For once, his antennae weren't directed at her in that strange, pointed way; rather, they were a shade on the droopy side –something Dagmar interpreted as mild depression or weariness. Verdant eyes cut to her, antennae twitching faintly in her direction.
Dagmar's interested sparked. Leaning towards the aide, she asked, quietly, "You know what's wrong with him?"
Shral nodded after a long moment and murmured, "It is a Vulcan problem –a chemical imbalance triggered in their males upon reaching a certain age. If anything, your friend is experiencing the imbalance a few years later than is usual."
That... didn't explain much, really. She already knew that some sort of chemical imbalance was involved. She just didn't know why it was happening or how serious it was.
Her lack of comprehension must have shown, because Thelen sighed, barely audible, and stated the crux of the matter bluntly. "It is a mating drive, Dagmar. Your friend will be sent back to Vulcan to get married and live logically ever after, but don't ever ask him about it. It's considered a very embarrassing affair."
Dagmar stared.
Oh, wow.
No wonder Varek wouldn't talk.
Something occurred to her then, and Dagmar poked Shral's arm. When the Andorian aide hummed his acknowledgement, she asked curiously, "Do Andorians have problems like that?"
Shral startled and stared at her as if she'd gone completely mad, antennae ramrod straight with either alarm or horror –Dagmar couldn't quite tell. To her left, Thelen choked on his fridd, an Andorian tea served frozen solid and drunk as it thawed, and sputtered an empathic, "No."
"Oh." The Terran woman deflated slightly at the looks she was getting. "What? I was just wondering!"
Needless to say, Dagmar didn't ask too many more question during the rest of her breakfast, which consisted of a sweet spice cake and some sort of toasted open-faced sandwich consisting of shredded redbat meat, a paste made out of a red vegetable called dreaak and –much to Shral's horror- some mozzarella that Dagmar had added on a whim.
Andorians weren't especially fond of cheese in their ordinary diet. In fact, they tended to reserve dairy products for their offspring only.
Naturally, this meant that Dagmar spent most of her lunch breaks gleefully scandalizing her Andorian friends by adding copious amounts of cream to her coffee. And, needless to say, the task of finding a few slices of mozzarella in the compound bordered on some sort of epic quest.
Towards the end of the meal, Shral indicated a dish Dagmar had never seen before. It was similar to a custard in appearance, and served in small portions –probably a dessert of some sort, the Canadian determined- in what looked like a small, thin pie shell that had been folded in on itself and shaped so that it resembled an sixteen-pointed star. The pastries were delicate and small, one easily fitting into the palm of Dagmar's hand, and when Shral handed her one she noted that the dessert had a faint fruity aroma.
"Have you tried shevt'ak before?" The aide asked curiously. Dagmar shook her head. "It's a popular dessert on Andoria. Its name also doubles as an endearment –often from a parent to a child, but not always. Not unlike, I understand, many Human endearments."
Intrigued, Dagmar tried the tiny pastry –and was surprised by the sharp citrus tang where she had expected a more mellow flavour from the creamy custard. The pastry itself was soft and not particularly sweet, balancing out the custard, but it was spiced with something that tasted like a mild form of cinnamon.
That she really shouldn't be eating pastries –no matter how delicious- for breakfast occurred to the redhead, but only very briefly. Quite frankly, she could happily live off of shevt'ak for the rest of her natural life. Or any Andorian foods, for that matter, so long as she never saw those horrible speckled beetle things ever again.
"I think she likes it." Thelen commented wryly, and Dagmar realized with a start she'd made a happy cooing noise.
Oops.
