InsaneJournal

Pamela enjoyed a good drink, now and again, and the stuff that came out of the replicator was in a word terrible. She actually wasn't too fond of the lounge, preferring instead the company of plants. They might be the ship's plants, but she had quickly come to think of them as her plants. Her children. Or as close to children as she could get without genetic manipulation.

Something told her Starfleet would frown upon such a thing, but that might not necessarily stop her.

She sat near a lonely frond on one side of the lounge, stroking the leaves as she sipped her wine.