By:

Jeb Kirby, CWO2, USS Grail

Vincent Rogers, Yeo01, USS Grail

<<Stardate 47307.16 18:27>>

<<10 Forward Lounge>>

"A little higher, and more to the right."

Vincent watched as Frobo carefully placed the banner in the proper place. Things were turning out very nicely, and Vincent was very surprised. Somehow he had managed to get all his staff to show up, and that was enough to boggle the mind. Most of the kitchen staff was from a civilian outfit based in Antares, and Vincent would never have trusted them to work outside their shifts. He glanced at one of the Norvian's setting decorations at the tables and wondered what they had promised the staff for a reward.

Vincent slapped his forehead as his attention focused once again on Frobo. Looking away for one moment was enough to bung up the entire operation. Vincent opened his mouth to scold Frobo for putting the banner in the wrong place, when someone approached him from behind.

"Are you Yeoman Vincent Rogers?" asked a somewhat dejected-sounding voice from behind him.

Rogers turned to face the voice's source. He saw a green-suited, short, stocky Marine with the insignia of a Chief Warrant Officer on his collar.

"That's me," replied the cook.

The Marine swallowed. "I, um, I am assigned to help you prepare for the funeral."

"Come again?"

"I have, as part of a disciplinary measure, been assigned to you for the next half-day."

Rogers just blinked, then ran the back of his hand across his forehead. He knew he could use a little help, but a marine? Wasn't their job just to break things and kill beings. What would he need a marine for around the kitchen?

Vincent then began running through his mind the possible jobs for his new "assistant". Considering the standard marine's personality, he didn't want the guy waiting tables. Somebody might get hurt. Rogers also thought about the possibility of the marine as the bartender, but quickly banished the thought from his mind. Trusting a marine with alcohol was like trusting him with your younger sister. You could never be sure what was going to happen, even under orders. Finally, he decided on the one job left. "Okay. Uhh, you could help me with these replicators? The rest of the staff can handle the actual serving duties."

"Alright," said the Marine. "That sounds fine. I'm Kirby, by the way. Jeb Kirby."

The two men shook hands and Vincent led the short Marine to where he would be working for the next few hours.