Planting Roots
Posted on Mon Feb 3rd, 2025 @ 10:29pm by Crewman Mateo Gardel
Edited on on Mon Feb 3rd, 2025 @ 11:43pm
1,459 words; about a 7 minute read
Mission:
To Boldly Go
Location: Personal Quarters, Deck 4, USS Fenrir
Timeline: Day 8
[ON]
Mateo stood outside the entrance to his assigned quarters on Deck 4 of the USS Fenrir, his Starfleet-issued rucksack slung over one shoulder. The corridor smelled of fresh sealant and faintly of ozone, mingling with the subdued hum of the ship’s systems—a sensory reminder of a vessel ready for its first journey since its refit. Everything here was new, untouched—pristine. A small LCARS display to the right of the door, just above the access panel, listed the room's occupants: "M. Gardel" in bright white text, while the other three slots simply read "Vacant" in pale gray. For a moment, he let his fingers hover over the access panel, hesitating. Another transfer. Another fresh start. Another shot at proving he could belong.
With a soft sigh, he keyed in his access code. The doors slid open with a quiet hiss, and the lights inside slowly faded on, illuminating his new home—for however long it lasted.
The quarters were minimalist yet efficient, the design typical of Starfleet accommodations. The muted gray walls and sleek fixtures radiated a sterile, utilitarian charm. Still, Mateo's gaze was immediately drawn to the small personal touches that hinted at comfort: the modular couch with its subtle ergonomic curves, the central table’s smooth matte finish, the wall-mounted console positioned invitingly for use, and the vibrant cluster of real potted plants thriving in the corner—a welcome burst of life against the otherwise uniform industrial palette. He smirked at the sight of the plants, already imagining himself accidentally killing them with neglect. Not really, of course—but the thought lingered, a sarcastic jab at his own perceived track record with anything fragile.
“Not bad,” he muttered under his breath, stepping inside and letting the doors slide shut behind him. It was such a stark contrast to his past experiences with Starfleet quarters—the cramped, overused bunks on the USS Arakov, where the mattress springs creaked with every movement, and the dimly lit, perpetually drafty accommodations on the USS Calhoun. Those spaces had felt more like afterthoughts, hastily maintained and unwelcoming, always shared with too many roommates, often hotbunking with strangers who were more like passing ships than comrades. But here, on the Fenrir, the sense of newness and care in the design made it feel… different. For the first time, it felt like he might actually have a space worth calling his own.
The space was divided into two sleeping areas, each containing a pair of single beds aligned neatly against opposite walls. At the foot of each bed sat a matching footlocker, sturdy and spacious enough to hold uniforms, boots, and personal belongings. Above the head of each bed, two small shelves recessed in the bulkhead provided space for personal items like books, PADDS, or a cup of tea. A soft wall sconce above the top shelf compartment allowed for individual lighting, ensuring occupants could read or work without disturbing others. These sleeping rooms opened directly into the main living area, their strategic layout ensuring accessibility while maintaining an understated sense of privacy.
Each sleeping area had discreet climate controls, letting occupants adjust the temperature to their comfort, from arctic chill to summer warmth. For now, the quarters were Mateo’s alone; his assigned roommates had yet to arrive. That, at least, was a relief—one less variable to deal with in the daunting task of adjusting to yet another new assignment.
To the right of the wall-mounted console in the common space, the bathroom entrance led to a well-designed facility. The bathroom’s interior featured two sonic shower stalls with sleek glass doors, their metallic trims catching the light, and two toilet stalls with frosted privacy panels that provided both discretion and ease of access. A single elongated sink stretched beneath a wide, polished mirror with integrated lighting that illuminated every detail. Along the walls, storage compartments labeled for each occupant offered ample room to organize personal care items without cluttering the space. The bathroom’s clean, modern lines, paired with its soft, ambient lighting, lent it a welcoming quality despite its functional purpose.
Setting his bag down by the common area table, Mateo paced the length of the quarters, taking in the carefully considered details. Each element—from the uniform design of the sleeping areas to the streamlined fixtures in the bathroom—seemed purposefully crafted, a subtle message that the crew’s comfort and functionality mattered here. He poked his head into the bathroom, appreciating the thoughtful layout and newness of it all. The faint smell of fresh polymers and cleaning agents lingered, mingling with the neutral temperature of the air—a sterile yet oddly inviting atmosphere, reinforcing the feeling of being the first to inhabit this pristine space. It felt impersonal, unclaimed. A blank slate waiting to be filled with life.
As he moved into one of the sleeping areas, he ran his fingers over the edge of one of the single beds. The idea of claiming a specific spot amused him briefly, and he could already hear Benji’s teasing: Let me guess, you want the one closest to the door? Always practical, Mateo.
But nostalgia aside, practicality won out. He chose the bed nearest to the door, tossing his rucksack onto the mattress. The bed creaked slightly under the weight, but otherwise, it was sturdy. He sat down, running his hand across the cool, synthetic fabric of the blanket. It wasn’t exactly cozy, but he’d make it work. Besides, Mateo thought wryly, cozy was overrated when practicality won the day—at least in Starfleet accommodations.
Unpacking was a ritual Mateo approached with deliberate care. His rucksack was meticulously packed—a small act of control in a life that so often felt chaotic. First came his capsule wardrobe, each piece folded with precision. As he placed them into the matching footlocker at the base of his bed, his fingers lingered briefly on the soft emerald fabric of his off-the-shoulder sweater. A slight smirk played on his lips as he imagined Renata insisting, Trust me, Mateo, this color makes your eyes pop. Renata had given it to him last year, insisting the color brought out his eyes.
Next came his art supplies. He opened the small container holding his brushes, watercolor pans, and a thick stack of paper. Each item had its place, nestled snugly to avoid damage. His sketchbooks—filled with studies of microbial structures, alien pathogens, and intricate cellular forms, abstract swirls of color, and half-finished anatomical diagrams—found a home in the bottom drawer of the common area desk.
Finally, he unpacked his keepsakes: a worn holoprint of his family, its edges slightly frayed from years of handling; a smooth river stone Benji had picked up on one of their childhood hikes—still cool and grounding to the touch; and a small ceramic llama Renata had painted for him when he was seven, its playful colors a joyful rebellion against the quarters’ muted tones. These he arranged carefully on the shelf above his bed, small reminders of the people who grounded him even when everything else felt uncertain.
He sat back and surveyed his work. The quarters still felt impersonal, but they were starting to look like his space—just a little.
Mateo sighed, running a hand through his pink-streaked hair, the tips brushing lightly against the side of his neck. His fingers lingered momentarily on the small tattoo behind his ear—a starburst design he’d gotten impulsively years ago, now a quiet reminder of his defiant streak. The Fenrir felt like an opportunity, a chance to turn things around. But he’d been here before. The fresh start, the clean slate—it all came with an expiration date.
Shaking off the thought, he stood and crossed to the console in the common area. He tapped it awake, the soft glow illuminating his face as he pulled up the crew roster and scanned for familiar names. Nothing jumped out, but it was just as well. He wasn’t sure he was ready to dive into introductions just yet.
Instead, he queued up a playlist—a mellow mix of acoustic guitar and gentle vocals—that softened the sharp edges of silence in the room. It wasn’t quite home, but it carried a warmth that made the space feel less hollow, less impersonal.
[OFF]
Crewman Mateo Gardel
Medical Science Specialist
USS Fenrir
OOC: Below is an AI-generated image of Mateo's quarters based on the descriptions in this post. While the rendering is not perfect, it's a close approximation!
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