The bridge, as it was, could be called cramp. Dash Reinarr would've called it absurdly small considering the rest of the ship and the crew that currently embodied it, but he was certain that, by the time the Soyuz-class actually entered active service proper, this would no longer be an issue.

Unfortunately, for the duration of this voyage, it most certainly would be.

Four consoles, tightly compacted around the center, surrounded the captain's chair, adding a certain feeling of unease to Captain Reinarr's spine knowing Starfleet's ingenious, or insane, design for consoles to explode in a controlled burst so as to ensure minimal damage when under attack.

Separated by a railing, a trio of consoles dealing solely with internal ship functions ringed the backside of the bridge. Dimly whirring and occasionally flashing, the currently unmanned consoles were in low-power mode for the time being, given that the skeleton crew onboard the ship was only sizeable enough to operate the absolutely necessary responsibilities.

The low ceiling didn't exactly inspire a feeling of luxury either. The cramped design so far reminded him of when he toured theHelicanusas a cadet- that entire ship, by Monika Paige's own admission, had much more in common with a submarine than a starship. Even if space and room restrictions were always a priority when it came to space travel, he was certain that the gearheads back at the shipyards could have given them a little more legroom than this.

As it was, though, he could make do, and he was certain to make the most of this trip. His engagement with the Klingons at Morska had been, put simply, one mistake after another and had left him on ventilators and bio-regenerators for the past two months- he could not, under any circumstances, afford to not make the most of this voyage. Dash Reinarr's first steps back into the galaxy had to be surefooted- if they weren't, he wasn't sure that the Patrol Fleet would have any further use for him.

Shaking his head clear of the muck that the silence had let him sink into, Captain Reinarr flashed the same winning smile that had been plastered across countless posters throughout Federation space at his chief medical officer, the same anthropomorphic hippogriff who was equal parts grumpy and eternally joyful that had been with him almost since his career started.

"Doctor Prinn," He said, his sonorous voice coaxing the silence into obscurity, "How's the Meridian performing for you so far?"

"Oh just fine," She replied without looking up from her medical journal, "Aside from the fact that the sickbay is no bigger than the captain's quarters, is about as well equipped as a Terran with wings, and has the audacity to suggest that there only needs to be one bed," She briefly looked up to ponder if she'd left anything out, tapping on her pink-feathered chin with a talon-tipped claw, "Oh, and there's no way an Eksokaisen would ever be able to live on this ship, and I consider that not only an oversight but a direct insult that I will take directly to the council of elders back on Eksoka."

Captain Reinarr returned her mocking smile with an equally sarcastic short laugh.

"Yes, ha ha, very funny," He looked around at the small compartment that served as their bridge, "I'm sure your reports will encourage them to reconsider their design choices, and hopefully second my opinion of how small this place is. Y'know, I really thought when the Constitution project finished we'd finally move past this whole submarine ships issue."

"Perhaps for Starfleet, Captain," The heavily accented tactical officer said from his console to Captain Reinarr's left, "Not so for the Patrol Fleet it would seem."

"Ah yes, Mr. Grigori," The Captain said, interlacing his fingers and draping one leg over the other, "I forget that the different standards applied not just to behaviour but ship comfort as well, thank you for the reminder."

"Perhaps we all signed up for the wrong duty, eh, Captain?" Lieutenant Maksim Grigori responded with a sly smile from behind his beard.

Maksim was a good man. One of the best, if you asked Dash. His hands had been mangled years prior by an accident, now substituted by cybernetic replacements. They'd seen more than most Patrol Fleet teams saw in a lifetime: Shadowy first contacts, Romulan jailbreaks, bounty hunters and deadbeats, trials and tribulations. Like most people, he knew the surface of Dash Reinarr and was impressed with it. If there ever came a time to learn more, Maksim was one of the only that Dash knew he could trust.

Captain Reinarr pointed at the officer with raised eyebrows.

"Now there's an idea, Lieutenant. I bet you those Starfleet boys don't have to worry about keeping their snooker tables in the captain's quarters, no sir. They probably get an entire lounge for that."

Without even looking at her, Captain Reinarr could tell that T'Vrias Prinn was rolling her eyes and turning away in an attempt to attend to something else.

"Of course, Captain," Lieutenant Grigori agreed, "Perhaps even an entire deck dedicated to the science of your little billiard game?"

"You sir," He said with another winning smile, "Are getting a promotion when we get back. I like the way you think, Lieutenant," Captain Reinarr stood up, spreading his arms out wide as if he was framing a picture, "Imagine this: An entire fleet of fancy new starships, each one with an entire deck dedicated to the playing of snooker, another dedicated to the science and study of the game, and one entire shuttle purely for snooker on the go."

He turned to look down at his otherwise captive audience of tactical officer and helmsman.

"Boys, I think we have a winner for the head of Starfleet Engineering, give a big round of applause for Lieutenant Grigori, please."

Together, the three politely pantomimed a celebration of the Lieutenant's pretend promotion as their unfortunate Eksokaisen doctor did her best to avoid catching secondhand embarrassment from looking at the three grown men acting like children attempting to imitate adults. It was rarely said that Captain Dash Reinarr ever ran a tight ship, after all, and for good reason. His reputation as the poster boy generally preceded him, even by admirals and commodores who knew him better. If he wasn't so damn captivating in presence alone, T'Vrias was sure he'd never have made it past lieutenant.

Yet there he was, Captain Dash Reinarr, living life as aloofly as a Trill. It was still unnerving, especially since the good doctor could tell he had been, in fact, overdoing the performance ever since Morska and the Klingons ripped his previous ship, the U.S.S. Seeker, to shreds.

When they were satisfied, the other two resumed their attention on their duties as Captain Reinarr walked around the bridge, carefully inspecting each console, and flicking the occasional button just to ensure each station was still functioning. He adjusted his golden uniform once or twice as the silence settled over the bridge again, and Doctor Prinn watched him carefully from behind her padd, making sure to flick the screen to the next page every now and again.

Truthfully, in all of her two-hundred and fifteen years around the galaxy, she had never been as concerned for another person as she was for the Captain. Eksokaisen lifestyles didn't exactly allow for much doting on relationships past the first cycle, specifically on relationships outside of the nesting grounds, but the past ten years she'd spent looking over Reinarr's shoulder had driven that sociocultural norm right out the door and asked it to send postcards.

Carefully, he leaned in close and studied a series of ship schematics that clicked away on a screen in green and black wire-form. His face was tense. His jaw muscles, like they had been so often since he'd left the care of Starfleet Medical, were holding together so tightly that she was surprised he wasn't in constant pain. Every hand movement not spent inspecting a console was spent twisting and fidgeting around. The silence that had draped itself back over the bridge had clearly, at least to Captain Reinarr's mind, wrapped itself around him like a snug cloak and threatened to suffocate him. It was difficult to watch.

Indeed, the worst part about his condition was, T'Vrias mentally noted, that he'd always been this way, the battle at Morska had simply pushed him further down the hill. She'd only assumed, when they first met, that it was nerves, or the general reaction that tended to come from a child with less than ideal parents. Silence exacerbated the nerves, made them feel uneasy, caused all the worst thoughts to come pouring out in a flood that only the individual could hear or see. Dash Reinarr, however, was too confident for that to be the case. That and she'd read his psychological profile and Patrol Fleet record.

Taking a long strolling step, he powered down the last station and moved on to inspecting, of all things, the dust layer on the railing. Which, in a ship as new as this one, would be so miniscule that he'd be left without even a complaint to fill the void.

Something else was bothering Dash Reinarr, and she'd never been able to quite uncover what it was. So many things seemed amiss about the Terran who had made a meteoric rise to captaincy. Tragic losses along the way that always seemed to conveniently open the door, questionable leeway from his superiors, and those night terrors of his had put T'Vrias on edge. Yet she could never pinpoint what it was and had resigned herself to simply trying to look out for him- hoping that one day she might see that darkness and thwart it.

Something lurked beneath the thinly veiled surface, and even in ten years she hadn't been able to discover just what it was- but T'Vrias Prinn had time. She may have been on her last life cycle, but she had the time and the patience to potentially uncover whatever mystery lay beneath the surface of the Patrol Fleet's poster boy. She only hoped that their close relationship wouldn't be sacrificed in order to find out what it was. Perhaps this was all just some maternal instinct rearing its head, although she certainly hoped it wasn't, but she'd followed him this far across the galaxy, intent on keeping watch over him, and she could not stop now.

He scanned the room, nodding only once to T'Vrias, a nod which she politely returned while keeping her eyes steadfastly glued to the padd screen, and then straightened out his uniform again and took another long stroll as he retraced his steps, as if his slower pace would allow the time to pass by faster until something interesting happened.

Of course, she could be entirely off-base and he could simply be another eccentric Terran, there was certainly no shortage of those. Yet, she wondered…

"Captain," Ensign Mason Marlowe called out from the helm, freeing Captain Reinarr from his silent prison, "The Meridian is coasting along fine at warp two. Permission to increase speed?"

Despite the mundane request, the Captain, as T'Vrias expected, had quickly made his way to stand behind the young Ensign and busy himself by looking over the readouts.

"Yes, I think that's a good idea, Ensign," He answered quickly, "Kick her up to warp five, keep us on course for Corinth IV."

Glancing down at the sensor station, T'Vrias was thankful to find that the scanners hadn't detected anything amiss in all directions around them.

"Captain Reinarr," She said, tucking her padd under her arm, "Care to join me for a game?"

His lopsided grin expressed a silent thanks to her and he stood up to his full height again, "That sounds lovely, Doc. Picking up where we left off or would you like to start a new frame?"

As they walked to the turbolift together, she carefully tucked her wings in as close as they would go together.

"I think a new match would be a good idea. Fresh start for a fresh cruise, right?" She suggested kindly.

"A perfectly splendid idea," He replied, his voice bouncing off the walls of the turbolift that made T'Vrias feel as if she was trapped inside an opera house, "You're always full of those, y'know that, Doc?"

"I certainly hope so, Captain, otherwise those awards in my records have some explaining to do."