How do you take your coffee?

Posted on Thu Sep 17th, 2026 @ 12:38am by Captain Mhiess Hru’da & Crewman Patrick O'Malley

1,193 words; about a 6 minute read

Mission: Bloodline
Location: Ready Room, USS Saratoga
Timeline: 2439-08-12, 12:30

A new captain required new tastes. Patrick was known for making it his business knowing how commanding officers (and guests) took their meals and even their coffee breaks. Carrying a small tray across the bridge, Patrick smiled politely as he made his way to the ready room. He didn't wait to come in as he had access regardless due to his position mainly as yeoman and well, personal chef. "Captain, I'm Patrick O'Malley and I'm your chef. Mainly anyway as I manage the ship's galley as well."

The young Human smiled politely as he offered the tray. "I couldn't find your beverage preferences, so I've made up a small selection for you."

Mhiess shifted his attention from the star charts displaying on his desk console to the young crewman, taking in the unannounced entry with an impassive, measured scrutiny. His broad frame remained still, seated tall behind the heavy desk, hands loosely clasped before him. "You are attentive, Petty Officer O'Malley, though unannounced entries into the Ready Room are a habit you should quickly unlearn," Mhiess stated calmly, his deep baritone carrying a firm, unquestionable weight despite the neutral delivery.

He glanced down at the tray offered by the Yeoman, observing the carefully prepared selection. The gesture was efficient, though his own upbringing - forged in the stark, survivalist conditions of Deciria and the rigid discipline of Klingon academies - had left him with little care for culinary luxuries.

"Black tea, unsweetened, or plain water will suffice for my routine, Chief," Mhiess continued, leaning back slightly as he gestured to a corner of the desk. "I do not require elaborate accommodations; however, your initiative regarding senior staff preferences is noted. Place the tray there, log my preference into the galley's database, and ensure the Bridge mess remains fully stocked for the duty watches."

"P-petty officer?" Patrick stammered in sheer surprise, "did I miss something sir? I'm a crewman..." He poured the black tea and cleared away the remaining beverages. "I'll make a note to log bridge crew's preferences," he acknowledged, "and I'll update the logs to your own preferences. What about food sir, anything I should avoid?"

"My mistake, Crewman," Mhiess conceded calmly, his expression unyielding as he subtly corrected his mental ledger of the ship's roster. He watched with cool, calculating focus as O'Malley poured the steaming black tea, noting the young man's initial stammer and quick recovery. "As for dietary requirements, keep it simple," Mhiess instructed, "high-protein, minimal refining, and no elaborate garnishes. Standard field rations or basic Klingon and Romulan staple proteins - unprocessed - are entirely sufficient. I do not dine for recreation; I fuel for performance."

Patrick had the grace to look offended at the suggestion. "I don't replicate food," he explained, "I cook. That means that whatever I serve contains fresh ingredients. I can give you unelaborate dishes, but rations they'll not be unless it is an emergency situation. I'm a trained and experienced chef."

"Emergency rations drop crew morale by thirty percent," Mhiess stated matter-of-fact as he noted the mild outrage with quiet amusement. He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the desktop. "If you wish to apply your culinary craft to maintain the crew's psychological baseline, you have my authorization to do so, but for my tray, basic, fresh, high-protein prep will be sufficient."

"I'll agree in the rations," Patrick said, "they're disgusting and generally inedible. And food isn't just nutritional sir. A good and appetising looking meal also improves morale. They eye wants something too ..it can taste awesome but if it doesn't look awesome as well then the senses will war with eachother." He acknowledged the latter order with a small nod. "Vegetable, meat and potato," he chuckled, "as basic as it comes really."

A faint, almost imperceptible tilt touched the Captain's jaw, "Meat, root vegetables, and simple preparation will suffice for my desk. The visual presentation of sustenance is an indulgence of perception," Mhiess replied smoothly, his baritone maintaining its steady, unyielding calm as he picked up the teacup. He took a slow, measured sip of the unsweetened black tea before setting the cup down precisely in the center of its saucer. "However, your assessment of sensory integration is not entirely without merit. If your culinary presentation enhances the crew's operational focus, then your efforts serve a tactical purpose. You may save the artistic plating for the senior officers who appreciate it."

"Yes sir," Patrick answered, taking a mental note to keep things as simple as possible for the captain. "Will you take your meals in the mess or shall I serve them here?"

Mhiess leaned back, his broad frame taking up the space of his chair as his dark Romulan-Klingon eyes rested on the young chef with cool, calculating focus as he considered the options available to him. "When ship's routine permits, my meals will be taken in my quarters or at this desk. I do not utilize the general mess hall for personal dining as a Commanding Officer’s presence during off-duty hours can alter the crew's natural social dynamic and undermine the informal decompression essential for their morale."

He folded his hands over the console, his baritone voice dropping to an instruction-heavy cadence. "Deliver my meal tray to my quarters at 1900 hours on standard watches, unless duty requires me here or on the Bridge. If I am hosting visiting dignitaries or department heads in the private dining room, I will give you twenty-four hours' advance notice regarding service requirements. On those occasions, O'Malley, you may utilize your full culinary presentation to establish the appropriate diplomatic tone."

"Noted," the young Human responded, his expression turning into one of sheer delight at the mention of visiting dignitaries. "I won't let you down sir," he promised with a bright smile,"I may be young, but I have experience and dedication. Is there anything you require at this moment?"

"Nothing further for now," Mhiess replied smoothly, taking in the young man's sudden burst of enthusiasm with calm, detached observation. The raw drive was evident, though in Mhiess’s experience, untempered enthusiasm often required steady discipline to prevent unnecessary friction in the ship’s routine. It was also not something to break, "Your initiative is noted. Dismissed, and see to it that the Bridge shift rotation receives their refreshments on schedule." Mhiess picked up his teacup, taking another slow, measured sip. The unsweetened black tea was hot and bitter - exactly to his preference!

"Yes sir," Patrick answered happily and departed the captain's office to see to the order he'd been given.

As the door closed behind O'Malley, Mhiess set his empty teacup onto the saucer with precise alignment. The young chef's passion was a manageable variable—so long as it yielded tangible benefits to crew efficiency without disrupting ship discipline.

Reaching for his LCARS interface, Mhiess authorized a slight reallocation of ambient galley power to support fresh food prep, ensuring the chef had the necessary resources to maintain his baseline. With crew logistics addressed, Mhiess returned his attention to the tactical display of Sector 413, his dark eyes fixed on the boundary line as the Saratoga closed the distance toward the Neutral Zone.

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