Relaxation Ritual [5/6]
Posted on Tue May 12th, 2026 @ 4:28pm by Captain Jaro & Petty Officer 1st Class Moana Thomas
891 words; about a 4 minute read
Mission:
Episode 0: 48 Hours and Counting
Location: Holodeck
Timeline: T -20 hours
Despite all evidence to the contrary, Mo wasn't so enamored with the idea of individual accolade that she could be accused of favouring it over the kind of collaboration Jaro was describing. At the very least, when it came to the sports she typically invested the most amount of effort into, anything that was a solo venture usually boiled down to a much more metaphorical struggle that still resembled the scene the Captain had walked in on; Mo versus Mo, pitted against her own shortcomings to test her readiness and tenacity for rising above those moments where it felt impossible to continue. It had been why she'd veered towards running, swimming, bike riding and then the combination of the three and had kept things like hitting a projectile back and forth to a mostly social endeavour that genuinely didn't come with very high stakes. That didn't mean a lack of effort, more that competitiveness took on a playful edge that became most of the point of the whole thing.
It also allowed her to appreciate the efforts of her opponents with sincere and earnest praise.
"Holy shit!"
It was not, she would concede later, the best exclamation to let slip in front of one's boss. But the puck had been hit so cleanly, and its trajectory had been so neatly angled to foil her best attempts at judging a decent defense, that her delighted shock as the disc whizzed past to slam into the goal-slot got the better of her tongue before her brain had a chance to step in and mediate. Not one to cave easily to embarrassment, Mo instead laughed, and pointed an accusatory index finger at Jaro.
"Now you're not allowed to cheat by being better than me already."
Jaro didn't so much as blink at the colorful exclamation. If anything, the Denobulan’s ridge-lined face split into a sheepish, extra wide-mouthed grin that suggested he was quite proud of the sudden spike in his performance. He straightened up, rolling his shoulders beneath his remaining layers of Tellarite wool, looking remarkably pleased with himself. "I assure you, Petty Officer, there is no deception afoot. Digital or otherwise. However, I must confess that a significant portion of my command qualification involved what the instructors called 'Angular Snap-Judgement Training.' Calling out evasive maneuvers for a starship in the middle of battle requires a very specific type of spatial awareness. I suppose my brain simply decided to apply those processes to this plastic altar."
He gave a playful shrug, his eyes twinkling with a mirth that spanned light-years. "Besides, by Denobulan standards, I am still quite far removed from the age where one's reflexes begin their inevitable march toward the duller end of the spectrum. So you have a built-in excuse, should you find yourself in need of one for any official and/or confessional records."
He paused, tilting his head as he watched her react to the score. "Of course, as Captain, I am technically obligated to uplift my crew and foster a sense of ever-increasing capability. If you find my geometric aptitude too discouraging, I could always offer to... 'go easy' on you? I wouldn't want to inadvertently bruise the morale of my crew before we've even reached the Delta Quadrant."
The offer was made with such a transparently mock-serious expression that the "threat" was entirely toothless. Jaro had seen enough of her intensity over the last few minutes to know that Mo would likely sooner jump into a warp core stark naked and butt forward than accept a handicap. He stayed hunkered by the table, waiting for the inevitable rebuttal, clearly enjoying the "clash of wills" far more than he had initially let on.
The only immediate response was a serve, delivered at blistering speed, that landed with such pinpoint precision in the back of the intended target that the entire table vibrated from the impact.
Mo lifted an eyebrow, a thinly-veiled smirk of challenge inviting retaliation.
In the end, Mo graciously conceded that Jaro was quick on the uptake. He'd at least picked up enough nuance to require some degree of strategy, and yet retained just enough spontaneous creativity that she could see a time where years of experience were going to prove unreliable. Adapting on the fly was part of the fun and so she didn't complain, even when he exploited a weakness in her stance that gifted the Captain several goals deflected from Mo's own mallet. It was better than playing against the computer at any rate, and though the closing margin was comfortably in favour of the more experienced player, the score was not so heavily one-sided that it proved too difficult to imagine a time where Jaro might actually pose a significant threat to her title.
Somewhere in the distant past, there were several old professors and a few Academy instructors pinching the bridges of their noses as she reached across the table to offer her Commanding Officer a sporting handshake. Mo didn't know what to tell them; people were people, especially when you were the most likely candidate for seeing them in a surgical gown shuffling towards the bathroom.
"Not bad, sir. We'll make a pro out of you yet."
[TBC]
Captain Jaro
Captain
USS Amazônia
Petty Officer 1st Class Moana Thomas
Head Nurse
USS Amazônia
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