Opening Ceremonies, Part 3
Posted on Sun Oct 12th, 2025 @ 3:24pm by Captain Philippe Auvray & Captain Remy Johansen & Josef Forstinger & Lieutenant JG Leilani & Civillian Samuel Wynters
Edited on on Mon Oct 13th, 2025 @ 4:00pm
1,914 words; about a 10 minute read
Mission:
Peril at the Unification Accords
Location: Barisa Prime Conference Center
Timeline: MD 08, 1745, After Part 2
Captain Philippe Auvray intercepted Captain Remy Johansen at the buffet as if the whole spread had been arranged for the moment of their meeting. He held his champagne like a prop, the bubbles catching the light as he held it aloft. His uniform was immaculate, belly pushing against the line of the tunic.
"Ah, ma chère collègue," he said, rolling the words with the warmth of a Parisian bistro owner. "I feared I might spend the evening in the company of only diplomats--each one as stiff as a duranium rod." His eyes danced at her flute, at the plate in her hand, then back up again. "But fortune smiles. We can suffer together through these hors d'oeuvres."
He made a weird, theatrical bow, as though she were royalty and the cold canapés were a feast.
Remy did a quick look around to see who else the portly Captain may have been performing for, and seeing no one else in the vicinity, she suffered an amused grin for Captain Auvray that landed somewhere short of a smirk.
"You aren't a fan of diplomats?" Remy asked as she quietly sized the man up. She'd heard reports from both Keel and McEntyre, and neither had been impressed with his demeanor at a briefing a few days earlier, so her defenses were up. "I always found them to be some of the most interesting people. The stories they can tell. You don't think?" She asked.
Auvray's chest swelled as if she had thrown him a stage cue. He wagged the flute lightly, one finger extended along its stem like it was a conductor's baton.
"Mais non, Captain," he said, his accent dripping with a French varnish on each syllable. "It is not that I dislike them. No, no. I adore their stories--yes! Tales of betrayals, of treaties, of ancient grudges. But mon dieu..." He leaned closer, lowering his voice until it brushed her ear conspiratorially. "...they tell these stories as if they are reciting engineering schematics. Flat, dry, lifeless."
He drew back, face alive with mock tragedy, then snapped it upright again, his smile reforming like a curtain being pulled back. "What they need, Captain Johansen, is a little theater. A little..." He twirled his free hand in the air, searching for the word, "...panache. Otherwise, the galaxy will die of boredom before it dies of war."
The round Frenchman chuckled, pleased as his own wit, and took a sip of champagne that looked more like punctuation than a drink.
Suddenly, a powerful presence appeared next to Remy again. "Careful of the French, my dear," Samuel's playful whisper filled her right ear. "He might try to steal you from me with his slick moves and silver tongue." He then chuckled, as he stood next to her, waiting for introductions to be made.
"Captain Auvray," Remy's pronunciation of the Frenchman's name was close, though her r was not quite deep enough, mottled by her Midwestern North American accent. "Samuel Wynters. He's lived several lifetimes of stories, though he'd tell you he's more of a listener."
Samuel grinned warmly at Remy's introduction, he then extended his right hand yo the other man and spoke in flawless French, "Capitaine Auvray, enchanté de vous rencontrer, Monsieur."
Auvray's face lit up as if someone had turned a spotlight on him. He set his flute of champagne aside on the edge of the buffet table, careful not to spill a drop, and clasped Wynters' hand in both of his, an exuberant gesture that was utterly French.
"Mais enfin! A gentleman who speaks like civilization itself has not completely fallen apart." His grin deepened, creasing his cheeks like a perfect parenthesis. "Enchanté, mon ami. You are proof that refinement is not yet extinct among the stars."
He held the handshake just a moment too long--Auvray never hurried through pleasantries--and then released him with a flourish, brushing invisible crumbs from his sleeve. "Captain Johansen undersells you, I can tell. A listener? Non. That is what people say when they have already written much of the story themselves."
Remy cast an amused look at Samuel. "Oh, I don't consider it my job to sell anyone, Captain. People are going to judge for themselves. Don't you think?"
Samuel smiled warmly to the excited Frenchman. "Actually, Sir, Remy did speak true about me. I am an El Aurian, and my people are commonly called a race of listeners. And it does have merit, as we have crossed this galaxy for millennia, listening to the stories of others, collecting them and saving them in perpetuity." He then gave Remy a playful side glance and wink."
Auvray's eyes widened slightly, as if Wynters had just slid a secret note to him. He straightened, smoothing the chest of his tunic in a ritualistic gesture.
"Ah, mon ami," he said, the syllables dripping with his Parisian accent, "to be a collector of stories--that is a noble art! More than any medal, more than any rank, the preservation of what is seen and said across the stars is... magnifique." He waved one hand, as if he were conducting an invisible choir. "And to hear that you honour this duty--that civilization is not yet lost--is balm for the soul. Mais oui, truly, balm."
He leaned closer again, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "You see, Captain Johansen, there is an entire universe in every glance, every pause, every sigh. And if one listens well... oh, the symphonies we might uncover!"
"Symphonies, you say?" Remy repeated back. "Tell me Captain, how did you get such a zeal for life? You seem to be an optimist. Even in these somewhat dark times."
Captain Auvray's laugh came through low and easy, almost like the opening bars to a new-age song that only he could hear. He took a small step backward, spreading his arms as if he were about to take-in the entire hall--the sharp, glittering wardrobe of the guests, the tinkling of champagne flutes, the perfunctory diplomatic smiles.
"An optimist?" he mirrored the word and winked at the Astrea's red-haired commanding officer. "Mais non, my dear Captain Johansen. I am a realist who simply refuses to be bored."
He reached for his flute of champagne again, its bubbles glinting in the reception hall's light. "You see, the galaxy--our galaxy--is a grand, exhausting stage. Every century, the actors change, the costumes get shinier, the speeches grow longer... but the plot, ah, the plot remains the same. It is pride. Fear. Ambition. Tragedy, sadly. But it remains the same tired script."
Auvray paused to take a sip, his eyes flicking over to Samuel for half a second. "So, one must decide. Either despair at the repetition..."--he gestured toward the crowd, where diplomats leaned close and whispered--"...or delight in the performance. Delight is my choice."
His gaze returned to Remy, sharp but far from unkind. "You see, optimism is not blindness. It is defiance. It is to smile in the face of entropy and say..." He seemed to lose his train of thought of a moment. "And say, non, pas encore--not yet! The curtain will not fall tonight!"
Remy's eyes flashed briefly toward Sam - a man who had lived centuries, survived numerous casts of actors in Auvray's metaphor. In another setting his words might have triggered more thoughts of despair, worries about her own legacy, but the buzz of the room and Auvray's electric energy daring to exalt the spirits of those around him.
"No, I suppose it won't," Remy agreed, raising her glass toward his. She wore an amused smile that reached her eyes as she offered him the toast.
Auvray wasn't at all what she'd expected after hearing from her officers about their briefing with him a few days prior, still she remained cautious.
Leilani moved through the crowd with the skills of one born into this lifestyle. Her parents had made sure of that. Though she'd never used the skills they'd taught her for their intended purposes. Right now, she had another role to play, and that was to monitor the man out of time they had picked up. Being exposed to aliens would help him adjust to the new reality.
Finding her charge, she walked over to him. " Amazing the diversity the universe has created, isn't it," she said softly.
Josef had been to his fair share of parties and gatherings but for some reason, he felt... uneasy. He wasn't sure if it was the presence of Aliens and the unknown, or just the sheer amount of people. Instinctively keeping to a corner and mostly just observing the goings-on. He had tried some of the food but some of it seemed to taste off to him in a way he could hardly describe.
Being one of the few people in the room without a uniform, badge, or modern fashion sense already made him feel a bit like he didn't belong there. That, and of course, his "Watchdog"- well, it wasn't like he didn't appreciate her trying to help, but some voice in his brain would rather stubbornly stick by himself.
"I guess." The young man responded to the Betazoid. His eyes followed some of the attendees passing by with a neutral expression.
Leilani stood next to him, giving him a reassuring look. " It doesn't look like it, but nearly every lifeform in this room is related. You're not alone Josef."
Leilani's words, while perhaps seeking to instill comfort, sounded empty to Josef. Related, really ? To whom ? Because it wasn't to him. His friends, his squad was dead. In his memories it has been maybe a week or two, in while reality their bodies have long since returned to dust. His family too was dead. He could deny it all he wanted, but no one lives 400+ years. No Goodbyes to his mother, father, grandparents.....
Even the World he was on didn't feel real. Sure, there was dirt, breathable air...but its like something inside his body told him that this was not home, or normal. Or was it just his brain messing with him ? Or how many of these aliens while at a first look seemed human, were anything but. The ones with ears like elves seemingly lacking any and all emotion like a robot-or at least most of them-some of the ones he met at this conference did anything but lack it-on fact they seemed to explode with emotions. Or Leilani, who while nice, understanding, and one of the faces he truly considered friendly, always seemed to almost know exactly WHAT he was feeling.
~tbc~
Captain Remira Johansen
Commanding Officer
USS Astrea
Captain Phillipe Auvray
Starfleet Command
Lieutenant J.G. Leilani
Counselor
USS Astrea
Josef Forstinger
Civillian
USS Astrea
Samuel Wynters
Owner Paddy's Loft
USS Astrea
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