"Who needs pomp?"

As Shirik made the appropriate correction of Iryna’s inaccurate assumption that she had been pretending to read, Iryna’s head popped up, then tilted away in surprised realization. A faint “Oh…” escaped her lips as she adopted an expression that could only be described as loosely apologetic, and heavily tinged with a reluctance to take full accountability. Then, as Shirik followed up with her pointed question, Iryna’s eyes shifted upward as though she needed a moment to contemplate an answer she already knew. “Hmm… maybe?” she said an instant later, before her penchant for plain honesty overrode any impulse to deflect. “Yes. Probably definitely,” she added, with a heavy affirming nod, as she reclaimed her hasperat and took a bite.

“Does that bother you?” she asked curiously between chews.

At the warning about the apparent indigestibility of Drokari cuisine, Iryna made an awkwardly silly face as she leaned in close and low to peer into the dark brew, wondering if it might well have been a swirling black hole in a cup.

“Is fair,” Iryna answered plainly with regard to the point made about discretion, lifting her gaze to Shirik and pulling back a little. “But that does not sound fun. It sounds like… sitting in silence in mess hall, eating food alone and pretending to read report on PADD. It sounds boring,” she surmised, retrieving her tea for another sip and letting the thought linger a moment. “Is boring interesting to learn much of? Would not be better to learn little that is boring, instead?” There was a faint pause as Iryna seemed to turn the words over in her mind, her eyes tracking up and from left to right before they settled again, content with their meaning.

Shirik’s musings, rather ironically, passed Iryna by—whether willfully or absently—just as the stars zipped past the nearby viewport. The blonde only looked deadpan at the exotic woman seated across from her, chewing her hasperat and seemingly listening.

Seemingly.

Then, as Shirik began to summarize what she had deduced from each of the other tables around them, Iryna let her gaze follow, shifting from one to the next in turn. “It doesn’t,” she answered succinctly to the dilemma Shirik had outlined at the first table. “That sounds boring,” she added of the next conversation her tablemate had been eavesdropping on. And lastly, as Shirik seemed to regard the final table with outright disinterest, Iryna could not help a teasing, playful smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.

She made an inquisitive face as she leaned in and glanced again at the glass of “klaas” in front of Shirik, still neither quite judging nor approving. “Drokari drink? I’ve not had chance to sample Drokari cuisine yet,” she said. “Looks like… maybe Nausicaan coffee?” She thought back for a moment to the first time she had tried that astringent drink—on a dare from a friend at the Academy—and quickly remembered it tasting like hot, sour fermented beet juice. With a visible shudder, she snatched up her cup of red-leaf tea and took another sip, as if to wash the memory away.

“Anyway, for your notes…” Iryna steered them back to Shirik’s people-watching and turned to point rather overtly at one of the two crewmen lost in their intimate conversation. “He…” she said, loud enough that it drew looks from a few others, “…is asking her if she wants dinner tomorrow, and she is…” Iryna paused, searching her native tongue under her breath for the right word. “Kakoye slovo… ravnodushnaya? Nyet. Neprinuzhdyonnaya? Nyet. Nelovko yey…” A beat. “…hesitant. That is the word! Hesitant! She is hesitant!” she repeated emphatically, oblivious to the others now listening in.

“I may have lingered at replicator for moment.”

An instant later, as it dawned on her that the others had tuned in to her and Shirik, Iryna looked back and waved her hands to shoo them off. “Otvernites’. Yesh’te dalshe! Ne vashe delo!” she exclaimed.

“Sorry. People can be so rude.” - (OOC Notes: Provided Russian-to-English dialogue translations are as follows: "Kakoye slovo… ravnodushnaya? Nyet. Neprinuzhdyonnaya? Nyet. Nelovko yey…" in English is "What is the word… disinterested? No. Casual? No. She feels awkward…" and "Otvernites’. Yesh’te dalshe! Ne vashe delo!" in English is "Look away. Keep eating! Not your business!")

Iryna listened and nodded as Shirik explained her choice of place for a meal, sipping her tea once more before setting the glass down and going back for another bite of hasperat.

With a simple shrug, she seemed to accept Shirik’s distaste for spicier cuisine.

“You watch people? Listen to them?” Iryna asked, half rhetorical, taking another bite before she tilted her head ever so slightly the other way—neither quite judging Shirik for it nor approving. Instead she turned from the ebony-skinned woman and glanced from one table to the next, looking over the faces of the crew seated at each. When she spotted a pair sitting alone a few meters away in a more secluded spot, apparently lost in some fond conversation, Iryna turned back to Shirik.

“Useful information?” She cocked an eyebrow in apparent disbelief.

A moment later her attention shifted to Shirik’s meal, drawn by the scent of something quite bitter. “What is that?” she asked plainly, leaning in a little closer to look.

“Da. I spent some time flying runabout to Bajor and back during war relief. Learned to like it then.” She explained simply before taking a second bite, then washing it down with a sip of tea. “Spicy food is best,” she added quickly.

“If you prefer to eat in quarters, why come here?” she countered, leaning back a little in her seat to listen to Shirik’s answer, genuinely curious and seemingly set on drawing her into conversation despite the obvious distraction of the PADD. Whether it was deliberate or only incidental ignorance, it was typical of Iryna to pull others into socializing even when they were not especially interested. She sipped her tea again, letting the sweet, cinnamon-like drink soothe the burn on her tongue before she took another bite of her hasperat. “Place like this is hazardous if you want to be alone. Someone might talk to you.”

There was no detectable irony or self-awareness in the last remark, as Iryna glanced around at the others seated in the mess hall, enjoying one another’s company or simply eating together.

Iryna’s head tilted just slightly as she looked at Shirik with curiosity.

“That is good.” Iryna quickly quipped in response as she looked at Shirik seated at the table, her gaze trailing over the other woman’s unusual features among the crew—ebony-dark skin, ice-white hair, lavender eyes. “Still, in mess hall, people vill sit where people vill sit, no?” she asked with a hint of rhetorical curiosity, careful that her examination of Shirik did not linger long enough to seem eerie. “Or they sit and eat alone in quarters?” With one hand she selected half of her hasperat, the traditional Bajoran dish much like an Earth sandwich wrap. She took a bite, letting the spicy brined peppers sting and stimulate her tongue just the way she liked.

“We did not get chance to be properly acclimated on bridge. I am Iryna.” She offered a polite nod as an informal, semi-familiar introduction.

"Who needs pomp?" Lieutenant Iryna Nakhimova Lieutenant Commander Shirik Lektar Stardate: 58807.14 17h12 Location: Deck 02, Mess Hall *** Sleep had been a fleeting thing for Iryna.

She’d been quite tired after the end of Gamma-shift, yet when she’d returned to her quarters to bed down, her mind wandered here and there. Thoughts came and went, and she struggled to silence them, instead tossing and turning for about two hours before finally drifting off, and even then what little sleep she had mustered was far from restorative. Eventually she’d had enough of fighting her insomnia and gave in to it, climbing out of bed and heading up two decks to find some food; maybe induce a gastro-coma, as her brother Oleksandr liked to call it.

As it was, the mess hall was decidedly busy at the moment, though given beta-shift had just come off a little more than an hour earlier, that made perfect sense.

Exhaling deeply, she peered along the far wall and at a brisk pace headed off toward the replimat, passing a few other crewmembers as they left with trays of food. “Umm — Bajoran hasperat, and hot cup of Cardassian Red Leaf tea, double-sveet, pleese.” She pressed a finger against the console above the replicator housing, and after the computer analyzed her order, deciphering her thick Russo-Ukrainian accent, a soft whirring noise and an ambient light shone as the food materialized from seemingly nothing and nowhere.

“Spasiba.”

Tray in hand, she turned on her heel and glanced about for an open place where she could sit and enjoy her meal, not necessarily in solitude, but she’d yet to really get to know any members of the crew.

After a moment, she spotted a nearly empty table and headed there, taking a seat. - (OOC Notes: No characters specifically mentioned.)