Guys night

Posted on 12 Aug 2025 @ 10:35am by Lieutenant JG Douglas McDougal & 1st Lieutenant Robert Jones & Ensign Teton & Master Chief Petty Officer Harrison Madrie & Corporal Haden Stroad

803 words; about a 4 minute read

Mission: General Sim Postings
Location: Odin's bar- Star base fifty-one
Timeline: Pre deployment-

ON:

Every week like clockwork, the group of close-knit officers aboard the USS Tomcat found themselves at Odin’s Bar on Starbase Fifty-One. It was their unwinding ritual—a chance to let loose after long shifts and the pressures of life in Starfleet. Odin’s Bar was a modest spot, tucked away in one of the quieter corners of the station, with dim lighting, a holographic jukebox that was always slightly out of tune, and an eclectic crowd of travelers, station staff, and Starfleet crew. But for these friends, it wasn’t about the atmosphere. It was about the camaraderie, the laughter, and, of course, the cards.

The group had their usual corner table that gave them a decent view of the room but kept them somewhat out of the fray. Tonight, as always, a mix of uniforms and personalities filled the table.

“Alright, folks,” announced First Lieutenant Robert Jones, his neatly shuffled deck of cards snapping satisfyingly as he dealt, “let me remind you, I’ve got four kids to support. I won’t go easy on any of you.” His green eyes twinkled with mischief as the others groaned. It was a running joke that he never Actually won big, but he always claimed he was playing for his family's honor.

Master Chief Petty Officer Harrison, the steady, no-nonsense one of the bunch, took his cards with a calm smile. "If you’re hoping for a sympathy win," he said, brushing a hand through his neat black hair, "don’t count on me. I’ve learned to keep my credits far from you, Lieutenant.” The married father of one rarely let his guard slip, but around this crew, there was an ease to him, a light-hearted side that peeked through.

Across the table, Corporal Haden Strode fidgeted with his chips while studying his hand, blond curls slightly tousled as if he hadn’t quite run a comb through them before leaving his post. “You’re real funny, Jones. Real funny. Tell you what, how about we raise the stakes? Loser takes the first round of Andorian Ale Shots next time.” There was a devilish bravado in his tone, one they knew well—he was as competitive at cards as he was about everything else.

“Careful with those drinks,” Ensign Teton warned with a smirk, leaning back in his chair. The Andorian’s antennae twitched as he glanced at his cards with a practiced calm. “I won’t be held responsible if one of you humans can’t stomach the real stuff. Oh, and Jones,” he added with a low chuckle, “your poker face needs work. I can see you sweating already.” His white hair gleamed under the dim light, and his dark blue eyes flicked mischievously around the table.

“Not all of us were born with antennae that can cheat, Teton,” came a sharp rejoinder from Ensign Douglas McDougal—or “Doogle,” as the group called him. The 30-year-old Irishman with the perpetually untamed brown hair had become the table’s unofficial joker, a role he wore proudly. “By the way, I heard Barbra taught your kids old Earth card games, didn’t she, Robert? Explains why you’re so bad at it.”

This set off a round of laughter, Jones included. It was the kind of easy back-and-forth born from trust and shared experiences—long security shifts, away missions, drills, even the occasional brush with danger. They didn’t just tolerate each other. They were a family of sorts.

As the game wore on, the room around them seemed to fade into the background. Harrison would occasionally glance toward the bar to see if their regular server, Paula, who always anticipated their orders, had brought their usual round of drinks.

Haden Strode grew louder with every hand he won, somehow managing to convince everyone he had no idea what he was doing (a blatant lie). Teton played quietly and methodically, a master at mind games, though Doogle earned a loud laugh when he accused him of “telepathy.” As for Robert, he played on with a smile, reminding himself—as always—that the most important part of the game wasn’t winning, but the people seated around the table.

By the end of the evening, as the last hand was declared and the remainder of Doogle’s daring bluffs had failed him, the group straggled out of the bar, saying their goodbyes before heading back to their respective quarters or bunking on the station for the night. It wasn’t glamorous—they didn’t uncover galactic mysteries or fix universe-spanning crises during these nights at Odin’s. But in the uncertain, high-stakes life of Starfleet, these moments of connection were ones they never took for granted.
They’d be back next week. Same cards, same table, same friendships stronger than ever.

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