Relaxation Ritual [3/6]

Posted on Sun May 10th, 2026 @ 9:59am by Captain Jaro & Petty Officer 1st Class Moana Thomas

835 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: Episode 0: 48 Hours and Counting
Location: Holodeck
Timeline: T -20 hours

Mo wouldn't have been able to adequately explain why it had taken her this long to figure out who she was talking to, or why it was that exact moment that the penny had finally dropped. It was a realisation that sent her other eyebrow up to join the first but didn't automatically see her demeanor shift gears in the way others might have prioritised. It wasn't that the woman didn't respect authority; she understood the necessity of command hierarchy even if she did prefer to reserve respect for situations where it was earned. A natural disposition towards optimism made it easy to start from a point of assuming people deserved it and left retraction as an option if that initial trust proved unwise. At any rate, she had no evidence with which to dread a conversation with her new Commanding Officer, she just hadn't expected to meet him for the first time whilst dressed up as Christmas dinner.

"I hate to burst your bubble, Captain, but this is not a situation where sitting in the sidelines is going to cut it." Though one of the pucks was now missing on the other side of the room, it didn't take much effort to push away from the table and pull another from the chute, even though it was a timely reminder that her side had all the available resources because it had yielded all the recent goals. With a single, swift command, the frozen version of herself evaporated, leaving the space at the other end of the table vacant. "Best way to learn is to dive in."

Jaro’s eyes widened, a look of pure, unadulterated delight spreading across his face. "A participatory ritual! The most splendid way to grasp the nuances of any cultural artifact," he proclaimed. Without hesitation, he reached up and carefully unfastened the tall, feathered head-piece, setting it with reverence on a nearby formica counter next to a row of dusty 'Skee-Ball' tickets.

Following this, he began a methodical process of de-layering, though it was clear his Tellarite ensemble was far more complex than it appeared. "One cannot truly compete while burdened by the weight of twelve generations," he noted, expertly unhooking the first heavy wrap of ochre wool. "The outermost layer, the Turok-Sha, represents the protective hide of the first domesticated swine-beast. Beneath that," he continued, discarding a second, slate-grey fold, "is the Garek, signifying the stone walls of the ancestral mountain holds." He proceeded to shed three more layers in quick succession, explaining their ties to the Great Migration’s agricultural and military triumphs, until he was left with a still-substantial but significantly more mobile half-dozen layers underneath.

He stepped toward the vacant end of the table, his boots making one final, enthusiastic schluck as he took his position. He reached out and grasped the plastic paddle, testing its weight with a few experimental swings that looked more like he was wielding a ceremonial mace than a piece of arcade equipment.

"Very well, I am prepared to engage," Jaro said, his voice carrying a somber tone above an undercurrent of giddy excitement. He looked at the white, humming surface of the table, then back at her. "Are there specific prayers or incantations required before we begin? And regarding the rules, is a particular posture that best honors the historic battles fought here?"

By any stretch of the imagination, it was a strange situation. For the entire span of her working life, Moana had definitely had moments where she could have counted direct interactions with her superiors on the fingers of one hand. As far as aspirations went, hob-knobbing wasn't high on her list of priorities but she likewise wasn't the type to turn down an interaction based on paygrade. Besides, it wasn't the pips on Jaro's non-existent collar that were creating the most challenge; trying to navigate just how much he was taking the piss out of her was proving difficult, and though that might have perplexed a person with better sense, Mo simply found it hilarious.

Her eyebrows bounced.

"It's more a prayer-by-preference situation." Don't say bend over and kiss your ass goodbye. "Very secular past-time, air hockey. Accessible to anyone provided they're tall enough and have opposable thumbs. We'll start with standard rules for now. Centre line," she indicated the markings on the table. "Don't reach over it. Puck." This time, she held up the already-featured disc. "You have up to 7-seconds to return it by hitting it with this mallet, the intent is to get it past me into this hole." The jab of an index finger provided additional direction for clarification. "You can hit it directly or richochet it but you cannot rest your mallet on top of it and if it leaves the table, that is a penalty point awarded to the other side. First to 7 points wins the round, best of 5 rounds wins the match."

[TBC]

Captain Jaro
Captain
USS Amazônia

Petty Officer 1st Class Moana Thomas
Head Nurse
USS Amazônia

 

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