Family Traditions (also, Tip the Help Well)

Posted on Tue Sep 4th, 2018 @ 10:53pm by Lieutenant Samuel Clemens XV

Mission: Holographic Horrors
Location: The Artan Family Orbital Fortress
Timeline: During shoreleave for the Hera crew, after the Holographic Horrors mission
Tags: Clemens, Fortress, Casino

The bluish "smoke" drifted upward from the handlebar-moustached human at the card table, as he drew in, then puffed out around his "cigar". The grin that split his face as he did so was accompanied by a distinct twinkle in his eye, as he raked the large pile of chips toward his playing area. "An' that, ladies an' gentlebein's, is why ya nevah, evah draw to an inside straight." He tipped his hat to the players leaving the table, as they wandered off to other forms of entertainment, and added, to himself, "...especially if ya can't do simple math in y'all's head."

Standing up, he flipped his hat over and raked the chips into it, even though they threatened to spill out onto the floor. He turned to the spotted catgirl who had been serving this table in the lavish private casino on the estates, and beckoned for her to hold out her tip purse. Her eyes widened as he skimmed all the chips that wouldn't fit into the bowl of his hat into the purse, with a wink, and then strolled over to the cashier window to convert the remainder into something more portable, before moving on to other forms of entertainment.

After having also tipped the cashier generously, he realized that he was feeling a bit peckish, and noticed it was nearly suppertime. He determined to head for his suite, and as he approached, he could clearly hear the bell-lady, whom he been generously tipping his entire stay on a daily basis, haranguing a member of the kitchen staff quite thoroughly, regarding the quality of the dinner he was attempting to deliver to the room.

"...you think that this tourist slop is something Mister Clemens would be interested in eating, you'd better go hide before I get back from showing this tray to the Head Steward! Where in the Tarkasian Pits did you get your training??"

It went on for some minutes, before Sam moved in to rescue the boy, who was actually cowering from the Tellarite tower of rage. "Whoa, whoa, now, Garvil! It's not all as bad as that! Ah like mah junk food, 'specially when ah'm gettin' back from th'casino." The looming storm in her fancy uniform settled, slightly, looking dubious. Clemens waved the boy off, and the teenager ran like he was targ-bait.

"I'll nibble on it while ah'm gettin' dressed fer Silver Screen Night- ah'm happy with th'snack." He paused, and gave her a look plus a twinkle.

"...say...what time are ya off-shift? I hate seein' a movie alone..."

Much later, as he slipped downstairs to grab a midnight-or-later snack, he spotted the kid he'd saved from the fury of Garvil (which turned out to be caused by simple frustration with her choice of activity partners- something easily-remedied), cleaning up the snack bar area. He ambled over to him, with a friendly smile and wave. The boy looked surprised, as most guests treated him as though he were completely invisible. "S-sir?"

"...ah've got sumthin' fer yah, son." Clemens fished into his pocket for one of the 500-credit chips he liked to keep on his person when in this sort of establishment, and tossed it to him. The teen caught it out of the air, quite deftly, the engineer noted.

His eyes looking like dinner plates, the boy (who Sam now knew was named Arno, from his nametag) seemed to fumble for what to say. "Now, now, Arno. Ah think you've more than earned that, considerin' th'beatin' ya took, just tryin' ta keep me fed tonight. Are ya due fer a break anytime soon?"

Arno looked around, realizing the place was practically-empty, and he'd nearly finished his work, and nodded. The engineer gestured for him to have a seat at the nearby table, where he parked himself, as well.

"How'd you end up workin' here?" the officer asked, doing the roll-the-coin-down-your-knuckles trick with one of his other chips, idly.

The young man brightened a bit. "Oh, my uncle Carl, he told me that I should do some honest work, learn how to do a trade, build up some savings, so I can get properly-schooled. My uncle, he never got to go to school much, on account of his family always movin' around. He said that for every credit I earned and didn't spend, he'd throw one of his own into savings for me, so's I can go away to the Federation and get into training for somethin' really cool, like bein' a pilot." He looked wistful. "Carl's always made sure I'm okay, since I lost Ma." The wistful turned into something worse, but came back out, quickly, as he continued, "Izzit true that you're part of Starfleet?"

The Lieutenant, who'd been smiling most of the conversation, cocked a big grin, and shot back, "Yeah! Ah fix ships, now! I've been a lotta places, all over, really, an' I think bein' an engineer is just 'bout the best thing ah ever decided ta do!" The look on Arno's face had changed from curiosity to absolute awe, and it stayed that way as Sam began to regale him with the various adventures he'd gone on as a teen, and then later, as a midshipman and Ensign, and onward through Lieutenant, Junior Grade.

"I'm here, now, to meet mah new ship, th'Hera," he drawled. Before he could continue, a beeping erupted from his wrist. He immediately reached into a pocket (he seemed to be all pockets- even in nightclothes) and pulled out a small device. He touched a control, and a wide blue beam fanned out, which he played over his hands, and then gestured to Arno to hold his own hands out. The boy complied, and Clemens swept them as he'd done his own. Arno pulled his hands back, and flexed them.

"Wow. They feel so...clean!" He looked them over, and sure enough, there wasn't a trace of the grime he'd built up while cleaning earlier. "What is that thing, Mister?"

Sam looked a bit sheepish. "Well, t'be honest, it's a portable sanitizer unit. It's a long story, but it amounts to a family tradition, started by my great-way-in-back grandpa. Seems he started havin' nightmares about an epidemic comin' and wipin' out thousands of people, and it scared him so bad that he started havin' his whole family work really hard at bein' extra clean. He had a baby on the way, see, an' he wasn't gonna take any chances, nosirree. Ever since, th'Clemens family has had kind of a bit of an obsession with killin' germs, especially since they all lived through some really, really bad times. It was 500 years ago, and barely anyone knew how sicknesses spread. But grandpa Samuel musta got tipped off, or sumpin'. He was a really smart man. Famous writer, actually."

Arno's eyebrows jumped, and he breathed, "Famous?" Sam nodded, and fished around in his nightshirt pockets, and pulled out a datachip, as he stood up. He handed it to Arno, and said, "Here's some of his stuff. Well, all of it, really. I keep a few of these on me most of th'time. Just in case I find someone who I think might like 'em. Here ya go."

As he also stood, and took the chip, labeled neatly, "The Stories of Mark Twain", Arno breathed, "NEAT...thank you, sir!"

Sam, patted him on the back, as he turned to head back toward his room, snack forgotten. "Yer uncle's right, son! You keep up th'hard work, and hit school like lightnin'!"

Arno carefully put the chip in his wallet, and went back to work, whistling.