[ quentin drinks from his mug, the coffee sweetened in a way that tastes foreign, but not unpleasant. he, too, will have to experiment some himself. but he listens to the story, the way koby speaks of it so quickly, familiar, leaning closer. but there's something else there.

he's tired, not as sharp as he might be, but something about koby draws his eye. with his free hand he reaches to stroke along koby's calf idly, adding more contact even if he wants to reach and press away the little furrow between his eyes. ]

Ah - you worked as a hand on your ship before you truly enlisted. That's difficult work. But I'll have you know coffee isn't your job here, nor is breakfast. Commander, or not.