Updates Over Raktajino

Posted on Mon Feb 24th, 2025 @ 6:45pm by Cyreeya & Tavir

Mission: 01-A Change
Location: **Deep Space K-17- Cyreeya's Apartment**
Timeline: MD01-0830

The apartment was still, the quiet punctuated only by the soft clink of porcelain and the gentle hum of the station, a distant echo of life beyond the walls. Golden ambient lighting bathed the room in warm hues, casting elongated shadows over the polished wood floors and the rich silks that lined the walls, weaving through the air a subtle sense of calm. The sweet, heady scent of Orion night blossoms mingled with the sharp bitterness of fresh raktajino, filling the space with a familiar comfort.

Cyreeya lay half-reclined in the sunken conversation pit, the folds of her emerald robe spilling over the cushions in elegant disarray. One bare leg was tucked beneath her, the other draped casually across the pit’s edge. Her fingers, long and delicate, traced the rim of a delicate porcelain cup, the light from the overhead fixtures catching the soft curve of her hand as she watched the man seated across from her.

Tavir.

Even in stillness, Tavir commanded attention. His Romulan features were softened in repose, but there was an unyielding sharpness in his eyes—focused, intent, always calculating. He wore no pretense, no armor, only the quiet confidence of someone who had learned the art of restraint. He held his cup of raktajino with the same meticulous care he devoted to everything, letting the warmth seep into his fingertips as his mind worked through thoughts known only to him.

Cyreeya let the silence stretch between them for a moment, letting the peaceful quiet settle into a rhythm that was uniquely theirs. After a long sip of her drink, she spoke, the words light but knowing. “I take it business was productive while I’ve been away?”

Tavir exhaled through his nose, a quiet amusement flickering across his features. “As productive as one could expect, given the circumstances.” He stretched, his arm leisurely draping along the cushioned edge of the pit. “Your establishment continues to draw attention. The right kind... and, of course, the kind that needs managing.”

Cyreeya raised an eyebrow, her gaze never leaving him as she swirled her drink, watching the dark liquid swirl with casual interest. “Starfleet?”

He nodded, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly as if weighing the words before he spoke them. “Their new captain arrived this morning, but the anticipation of his arrival has already shifted the tides. More eyes are on the promenade. More questions are being asked.” He leaned back, studying her with that quiet, sharp gaze. “Nothing we can’t handle.”

A slow, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at Cyreeya’s lips as she leaned back, her body sinking deeper into the soft cushions. “We always do.” Her voice was laced with an undercurrent of confidence, like someone who had played this game too many times to count and knew exactly how it would unfold.

For a moment, the room settled into a comfortable silence. The only sound between them was the soft rustle of their movements as they shared a light breakfast: a plate of ripe fruit, warm pastries, and a subtle indulgence of something deceptively simple, yet rich in its own right. Tavir picked up a slice of drakna melon, tearing into it with his usual slow, methodical precision, savoring each bite as if he had all the time in the universe.

“You look well-rested,” he remarked, his voice laced with an observation that hinted at something deeper. His eyes, however, told a different story. They were calculating, aware.

Cyreeya chuckled softly, her lips curling into a knowing smile as she leaned back further into the pit, one arm resting casually over the edge. “I don’t sleep much on travel days. You know that.”

Tavir didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he studied her with an intensity that made her feel as though he were reading a story written just beneath her skin. “You should try,” he said, his voice softer, but still firm, as if he were stating a truth she could no longer ignore.

She smirked, her gaze never wavering from him. “Maybe when things are quieter.”

He didn’t argue, nor did he press further. There was a certain understanding between them, an unspoken agreement that some things weren’t worth pushing. Instead, he refilled her cup with a quiet efficiency, the subtle shift of his hands betraying a deep familiarity with the gesture. The silence between them stretched once more, comfortable, as if the world outside their little space could fade into nothing.

For now, the game continued.