As always, there was a substantial crowd milling around the entrance to The Gate Inn. The central location, the ‘authentic’ decor, and the reliable quality of the beer was always drawing in starship crews and travelers during their Starbase Bravo layover. After the harrowing events of the Vaadwaur invasion, the Inn’s warm lighting and overly-affected decor surely held a stronger appeal than ever. It was at least half the reason Dawa was there.

She just shouldered her way through the crowd as usual, picked up a pint at the counter, and wound her way deeper into the pub where those with less padding on their schedules were not likely to wander. As she rounded a corner, she stopped short at the sight before her and quickly took a sip of the beer threatening to slosh over the edge of her glass.

Instead of the usual rounds of darts and quiet card games, there were easels, palettes, and paints spread out around the sitting room, all directed towards the maestro at the center: a Betazoid man with dark hair and paint-stained clothing. Right, hadn’t she seen a sign about this on her way into the pub? Was it 1900 hours already?

Nico was trapped in The Gate Inn, the crowd was growing, he was trying to work his way around the crowd.

“When all else fails, use your elbows,” He murmured to himself, “There’s even kids here!”

“Hey now… I’m not a kid.” Said a Tellerite in civvies.

Oops.

The shorter-than-average Tellerite brushed past Nico, past Dawa, and joined the group with an easel, palette, and pint of his own. His arrival caused the Betazoid instructor to look up in their direction.

“You there!” he called in a voice that carried easily. “Come, come! I do not abide idle spectators to art. You will join in the process of creation!”

“Oh! Uh…” Dawa looked around and realized that he must be talking to her, or the officer in operations yellow next to her. Or both. She shrugged apologetically. “I don’t… have an easel?”

With a flourish, the instructor spun around and produced an easel and paints from the back of the room. “It matters not. The great Vinnoli provides for his students. My powers do not extend to the greater workspace, however, so the two of you will have to share a seat and an easel!”

So he was talking to both of them.

“Well, twist my arm,” she said, as she shot the man next to her a look that said ‘can you believe this guy?’ Still, she gripped her pint tightly in both hands as she wove her way to the front of the room and sat on the right side of a small chaise lounge in front of the offered easel, leaving room for her erstwhile partner to join her.

Smirking at the situation unfolding, he felt the crowd pushing him towards the center of the room.

“No, no I insist, i don’t want to offend you Sir, my talents are severely lacking.” Nico protested.

“You Starfleeters are so uptight, there is no right way or wrong way to participate, just follow your heart.” The artist encouraged.

Nico held up two fingers to signal a double shot of something stronger than what he had previously had. “Okay…” Nico said hesitantly.

“Now that’s a good idea,” said Dawa when she noticed Nico ordering another drink. She waved at the waiter. “One for me too, please!”

The fact that she still had a beer in one hand was irrelevant.

“Don’t worry, Lieutenant,” she said as the man took a seat on the other side of the chaise. “I’m not much of a painter, either.”

It was a lie, but a well-intentioned one.

“I’m Dawa Vlček, by the way. Since we’re sharing an easel and there’s alcohol involved, you can call me Dawa.”

Giving a smirk, “Hi Dawa, I am Nico Kalogeropoulos, but you can call me Nico.” He was finally at-ease since his husband pretty much left with everything in tow.

“Now slap the Canvas!” the painter exclaimed rather exuberantly. Raising an eyebrow, the Telepath motioned towards the partners in crime and exclaimed, “Slap it!”

The waiter was watching and holding back a hideous laughter, one didn’t need to be a telepath to figure that out, Nico hesitated, but he slapped the canvas, as ordered…

Giving a smirk, “Hi Dawa, I am Nico Kalogeropoulos, but you can call me Nico.” He was finally at-ease since his husband pretty much left with everything in tow.

“Now slap the Canvas!” the painter exclaimed rather exuberantly. Raising an eyebrow, the Telepath motioned towards the partners in crime and exclaimed, “Slap it!”

The waiter was watching and holding back a hideous laughter, one didn’t need to be a telepath to figure that out, Nico hesitated, but he slapped the canvas, as ordered…

Dawa followed suit with what could generously be described as a gentle pat. The rest of the students were likewise hesitant, if the quiet patter that cascaded across the room was any indication.

“Again!” cried Vinnoli.

The students hit the canvas again, slightly harder this time, but the effort was still not satisfactory.

“Again again AGAIN!”

Suddenly the room vibrated with the sound of every student slapping their canvas as hard as they dared. Dawa and Nico’s slaps were slightly out of synch, and she giggled even as she reached her hands out to steady their easel before it toppled forward.

“Yes!” Vinnoli sang in triumph. “This canvas is the vessel for your creation! Before you bring it to life with your mind, you must bring it to life with your touch! The energy and vibrations you imbue it with will come through in your art!”

As the students were busy imbuing, the artist’s assistant moved quietly through the room depositing brushes and palettes of paint at each easel. The waiter came back with Nico and Dawa’s shots at the same time as the assistant handed over their supplies, and Dawa’s eyebrows shot up when she saw their colors: drab vomit green, bright neon orange, and pale yellow. And nothing else.

Nico looked at the supplies, and eyed his partner in crime and motioned towards his drink. He was going to chug it… it was the only way to survive this. At least that’s is what he thought. The Betazoid came over as he was motioning for his plan as if to stop it and rested his hands on Nico’s shoulders and began to massage them…

“Now, everyone I want you to get to know your brush…” the teacher began to massage Nico’s shoulders deeper. Nico looked over to Dawa and mouthed the words ‘Help’.

Dawa nodded vigorously to Nico and raised one of her paintbrushes, instinctually ready to rap Vinnoli across the knuckles, when another idea hit.

“Do we need brushes?” she asked.

Vinnoli’s hands immediately stilled, his speech cut-off mid-word. “What was that?” he asked.

“Ah, uh, are we required to use our brushes?” Dawa asked again.

Moving like a paint-stained mantis, Vinolli reached for Dawa’s cheeks and squished them between his hands as he kissed her forehead. “You are asking the right questions!”

He turned back to his easel, grasped his brushes in his hands, and tossed them over his shoulder. “NO, you don’t need brushes! In fact, change of plans! It is time to begin anointing your canvases with your paint! You may NOT use a brush! Use whatever else you like, but no brushes!”

Taking a deep breath and nodding a word of thanks, Nico looked and Dawa and smiled. He resisted the urge to reach for his phaser, and to take out the artist, and dunked his hands in two of the paints randomly… How he wished this was over…

He smacked the canvas first with his left hand, turning it yellow, and than with his right, turning it some mustardy brown colour, “I think I am going to be sick.”

Dawa laughed and finished her drink in one gulp. Then she rolled the rim of her glass in the vomit-green paint and pressed it into the canvas, twisting a series of circles into the fabric. “Why’s that? Is it the repulsive colors? Or did you have too many of these?” she asked, shaking her paint-stained tumbler at him.

“I think it is too many of these…” Nico held up the glass with a swagger, he tried not to burp, as he feared it was more than a burp, and he smiled. “I think it is time for water…” pausing, he began humming the words to Britney Spears ‘Hit me baby one more time’.

Dawa chuckled, and gestured at one of the waitstaff. Water was definitely a good idea. “May I have two waters, please?”

“Depends,” said the waiter. “Are you going to smear paint on those glasses as well?” But there was a lilt to his voice and a spring in his step as he walked away, so Dawa assumed the statement was meant in good humor. They just tossed most of the glasses into the replicator at the end of the day anyway.

“Is that your painting song?” she asked Nico. Without waiting for an answer, she adjusted herself on the chaise and regarded the canvas. “What do you think of our work so far?” The laughter in her voice hinted at her own thoughts.

“What song?” Nico leaned into the aisle only to fall over causing the masterpiece to fall onto him and the paint to adorn him. “Man they make strong drinks here.” he smirked innocently.

Vinnoli cried out in delight. “Now here is a man who embraces art!”

Before he could take a step towards Nico, though, Dawa swooped in and pulled Nico to his feet, helping him settle back into the chaise. She picked up the painting and held it out in front of them as she sat back down. “I think that was just the touch it needed. Not bad.” She tilted both the canvas and her head at an angle. “I kind of like it. What do you think?”

Nico looked at the Canvas, after a slight pause he had to agree. “You are right Dawa. I think it came out wonderfully.” he smiled and threw his arms over his head. “I love this chaise… I want it for my quarters. It’s so darn fluffy!”

He was a man of multilingual talents and all he could come up with was … Fluffy. He awaited his water to arrive, he really did ponder why he was feeling so loose. This was not like him at all.

When the waiter did return with two glasses of water, Dawa took hers and intercepted Nico’s. She narrowed her eyes as she handed him the glass, trying to gauge his coordination. “Are you going to be able to get home alright by yourself?” she asked.

“I think so…” Nico said. He stood up his hands and made the motions of guns, and went “Pew pew.” before stumbling out of the bar. Had it really been a decade since he had last drank that much… at this rate he better work on his tolerance.