Star Trek: Theurgy

Day 27 [2135 hrs.] HIq HInob pagh Hegh HInob

February 15, 2020, 05:20:51 PM

HIQ HINOB PAGH HEGH HINOB
STARDATE 57625.21
APRIL 6, 2381
2135 HRS

[ Lt Valkra, of House Daa'maq | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | bIjatlh 'e' yImev. yItlhutlh! ] attn: @Numen

She had her quarters, which were adequate. She had her effects, which had been an argument with both what passed for Security aboard this ship and both its quartermaster and its boatswain... something about 'too many guns'. Pah. And she'd finally found the (hopefully not only) drinking hall in this labyrinthine vessel, only to be told that all they could offer was synthehol and replicated food. No wonder these people had rebelled against the Federation, she joked with herself, if this was what it subjected its crews to. Of course their purpose was a noble one - if liable to get them all killed - but that was what had drawn this particular Daa'maq soldier to their banner in the first place. Such a steep challenge!

Worse still, she couldn't even properly show her displeasure to the simpering staff here, because they were all holographic. It took the sport right out of it. Especially when they were liable to disappear and probably go crying off to the computer-in-chief, the ship itself. Which could apparently make its own decisions. Valkra would rather not find out how vengeful a glorified software library could be, and so refrained from pressing the menu issue further. She changed tack.

"If you cannot provide me adequate entertainment from your own stores, I brought along several barrels of my own-"

"I'm afraid-"

"I will carry one down here myself if I must! Just beam it down here. The 'sixty-five."

"We don't have the authority to-"

"I do!"

"No, you don't."

"I have transferred into this crew, with the blessings of High Chancellor Martok, and your captain. I was told I had permissions according to my rank. Which of them are you calling a liar?"

"Ma'am, neither of them, but-"

"Then give me what I ask!" she demanded of the implacably annoying purple-clad holographic woman. Her leather gauntlet creaked as her fist clenched.

She was starting to draw attention (had been drawing it for some while now, if she were to be honest), not least because she was still in her KDF uniform. They had tried to give her one of their dainty little ornamental badges, but she simply told the ship to tie in her own comm to the net. In time the ship and Valkra would come to an understanding, she was sure, but for now they were doing it wrong and she had to correct them. Procedures and strategies were one thing, and she wouldn't spit into the wind there, but recreation was universal.

Supposedly.

Finally losing patience, she reached over the bar and fished around blindly for the bottles she knew were there.

"Hey! Stop that!"

"I will personally dismantle your matrix if you try and stop me, program," she growled as she clasped a likely-feeling contender by the neck. Drawing it out, she saw the telltale-green murk of Aldebaran whiskey. Passable. It would do until they saw sense and just let her drink her own damned bloodwine.

"You can't just take that-"

"You grow tiresome," Valkra informed the hologram, before tossing a few chits onto the surface of the bar - some tens of darseks. She didn't bother counting them before turning away.

"What are those?"

"Payment," she supplied, over her shoulder.

"We don't use currency-"

"vaj 'oH yuv woDDI' 'em!," she instructed the infernal thing.

Re: Day 27 [2135 hrs] HIq HInob pagh Hegh HInob

Reply #1 – February 29, 2020, 10:34:42 PM

[ Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai |Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
[Show/Hide]

@Top Hat

Khorin sipped from his glass and then stirred it to see how the reddish liquid formed a lazy spiral in the cup. There were few times when the young Klingon wanted to be alone, as he mused about his own concerns. Thinking was not one of his fortes, of course, but given what had happened over the past few days he needed to do some thinking. HARD. And, for once, he needed to do so with no one who knew him to throw their thoughts against his, no one to guide him or help him decide which path to take. It was a choice he had to make for himself. He knew what Zeph would tell him. He was pretty sure what Ghost or Tancredi would think about the matter. He could almost hear what Cross would bark at him. Counsellor Hathev had left him confused by her point of view. Ida hadn't been so vague and had given him her two cents in an almost Klingon way. Now it was up to Khorin to take all that advice and decide for himself what he wanted to do.


"Then give me what I ask!"


That's why he was alone. Well, not really alone-alone, because Khorin thought better if there were people around him. So he was at Bellow Decks, at a time when his acquaintances weren't usually around and he had nestled in a corner of the bar while he demanded answers from a glass of something non-alcoholic. The glass obviously didn't have any of the answers. Or at least none that would satisfy Khorin. Which was irritating. If anything, he wanted to get himself in trouble and let others choose for him. Or he could fuck things up in such a way that his options were reduced to naught and he no longer had to think about it. The easy way. His usual way. Khorin pressed his fingers against the glass. This time, that was not an option


"You grow tiresome,"


"Fuck it all," he grumbled to himself as he took a long gulp that emptied his glass. He knocked it on the bar and pushed it into the hands of one of the holographic waiters before he shoved himself sullenly into his black sweatshirt. That was one of those days when he deeply regretted that he did not drink alcohol any longer. Perhaps slaughtering a handful of the few brain cells he had left would help him to choose what the heck he wanted to do with his career.


"vaj 'oH yuv woDDI' 'em!,".


This time the sentence made him lift his head. On the other side of the bar there was a Klingon woman. But not a Klingon in UFP clothing with all the Starfleet demeanour stuck to her skin. Over there was a true KDF Klingon female, loud, pissed off, angry as fuck and about to rip out a hologram's virtual guts or shove a handful of coins through a hole that was not intended to act as a coin purse. Much to his regret, Khorin roared a laugh.


“Yo! “ he barked to grab the woman's attention. “No matter how hard you try, you're not gonna get any fight out of that bartender.” Khorin stood up and stepped towards the other Klingon, his cocky side-way grin briefly flashing once again amidst his bushy beard. “ghaH je tu'HomI'raH je bom targh ghojmoH 'e' lunID” he teased with a loud snort.


“Who are you? "Khorin asked, “I thought I already knew all the ridged-heads on board."

---

OOC:

ghaH je tu'HomI'raH je bom targh ghojmoH 'e' lunID -> That's as useless as trying to teach a targ to sing

Re: Day 27 [2135 hrs] HIq HInob pagh Hegh HInob

Reply #2 – March 15, 2020, 02:16:22 PM

[ Lt Valkra, of House Daa'maq | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | bIjatlh 'e' yImev. yItlhutlh! ] attn: @Numen

The hologram made a passable impersonation of someone looking confused at the chits, then back up at Valkra, before looking down at the darseks again. The Klingon stood her ground, as if daring the program to say something, issue some challenge. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or disappointed that she finally seemed to have flummoxed the machine. Honestly. Why even bother with fake serving staff for somewhere like this. There was no sport in it.

"Yo!"

Her head snapped around, looking for the source of the interruption. She was surprised to see a Klingon - while she had been told that there were a few of her species aboard this ship, but not who they were or whether they were exchanges like herself or substantive members of Starfleet. She suspected he was the latter; he wasn't dressed in any current Klingon fashion that she recognised. Not that she was much of one to judge, still dressed in her KDF uniform as she was.

"Perhaps," she returned, "these targs merely need an adequate tutor."

Valkra couldn't help but mirror the man's grin. Not only was he her best chance at hearing some sense so far on this ship, but he was easy on the eye and evidently well-humoured. There were certainly worse drinking partners available. She moved down the bar towards him and planted the whisky bottle with certainty between them.

"Who are you? I thought I already knew all the ridged-heads on board."

"I am Valkra, daughter of Sira, of House Daa'maq," she stated proudly. The latter was almost unnecessary, her baldric being worn around the waist in her house custom and utterly devoid of decoration beyond the Imperial insignia - but it was part of her duty as a soldier of the Empire to warn any potential enemy what they faced.

Even if any such enemy here in this room might be stretched to prove itself dangerous enough to bother with.

Fishing around behind the bar again for cups (and ignoring the programmed bleating of the objecting hologram), she jutted her chin towards her new companion. "And you? What keeps a proud son of Kahless in Starfleet pyjamas?"

She filled two hand-sized cups of fragile-looking glass or crystal or some other equally-decorative material tuned to Federation sensibilities, and pushed one of the cloudy green drinks towards him. Lifting hers, she barked a toast.

"'IwlIj jachjaj!"

The cup slammed back onto the bartop (and survived the experience, to Valkra's not-insignificant surprise), and she re-filled. It had barely touched the sides, and wasn't a patch on her bloodwine, but it would do until she found a way to make these holograms see sense.

---

ooc: 'IwlIj jachjaj -> 'Good health' (lit. 'May your blood sing')

Re: Day 27 [2135 hrs.] HIq HInob pagh Hegh HInob

Reply #3 – April 04, 2020, 06:31:52 PM

[ Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai |Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy]
[Show/Hide]

@Top Hat

"Perhaps," she returned, "these targs merely need an adequate tutor."


Khorin had no choice but bark a loud guffaw as an answer.  He had missed being amongst Klingons more than he wanted to admit out loud. Well, at least of Klingons who weren't openly hostile or eager to tear him to shreds at his mere arrival into the room. Khorin came from a Warrior Caste and had no qualms about fighting other people. But when it was the only interaction he encountered from others of his species, it was something that grew old quickly.


While he took a seat next to the klingon woman, she hooked a bottle from across the bar and introduced herself. "So a Daa'maq, mhm?” he repeated with an appreciative grunt as he scanned the house emblem that she proudly displayed on her uniform. "You belong to a fine house. Fierce soldiers," he acknowledged.


He then puffed up his chest proudly and punched it out before he cockily proclaimed, "I' m Khorin, son of Margon, of House Mo'Kai." The fact was that, in spite of all his efforts to appear intimidating and bombastic, that was more a show born out of habit than anything else. And it was further weakened by the starfleeter tracksuit she was sporting. Trendy and intimidating? It certainly was not. Warm and comfy? Quite. And Khorin had his priorities in the right place in that regard. "Nice to meet you, Valkra," he later added with less drama.


Khorin had the impression that she wasn't too thrilled by his boasting declaration (or maybe she'd seen enough of those to classify it as 'Klingon male behaviour 101' and not give it the slightest significance.) Regardless, she began to pour a couple of cups of the golden liquid as she asked.

"And you? What keeps a proud son of Kahless in Starfleet pyjamas?"


"Well..." he began to say. Actually, it was just what he wanted to find out. He had always known who he was and why he did what he did. Either that or he hadn't had the time or the inclination to ponder about it in deep. Now it wasn't so easy to figure out any more. So he chose to give the simplest answer.

"I'm a starfleeter, born and raised. My father was a Mo'Kai, but my mother served in the Federation Embassy." Should he told her that his mother was a smooth forehead? Probably if she was aware of his House background she would infer it, otherwise it was probably a conversation for later. His head already ached enough without having to explain (for the hundredth time) what had happened aboard the Savi vessel. "I guess I just chose to follow the family career, sort of." He added with a shrug of his wide shoulders. "What about you? Are you on exchange program? Ready to learn the intricacies of promotion without slaying your senior? Told you already: it's not funny at all. A ton of paper work around"


Before he had concluded his speech, she had already raised her glass and toasted aloud. She squeezed the glass in one gulp before hitting the bar with the delicate crystal and pouring herself another drink.

Khorin lingered for a brief moment and stared at his glass as if it were something toxic. He had not touched a drop of alcohol since that unfortunate incident at the Academy. He was not even sure what was the clear liquid he had in the glass...

What did it really matter at all? By Kahless' beard, was he really turned into a wimp who was intimidated by a little booze?

“ghIj qet jaghmeyjaj!”  he grunted before he mimicked Valkra and poured the contents of the glass down his throat.  The alcohol smouldered in its way down but it felt quite nice. Like a punch of adrenaline right into the left  stomach. He also struck the bar with his glass and barked out a laugh. "By the ruins of Praxis, I have missed this," he proclaimed. "Pour me another glass, woman, this night is young and the bottle is still full."

---

OOC:
ghIj qet jaghmeyjaj -> May your enemies flee in terror (traditional toast using a quite old and obsolete dialect)

Re: Day 27 [2135 hrs.] HIq HInob pagh Hegh HInob

Reply #4 – April 20, 2020, 03:02:49 PM

[ Lt Valkra, of House Daa'maq | Below Decks Lounge | Deck 28 | Vector 03 | USS Theurgy | bIjatlh 'e' yImev. yItlhutlh! ] attn: @Numen

"A Mo'Kai?" she appraised him. He didn't look like one. But that could just be the uniform. Valkra nodded, and raised her glass higher. He nearly spoiled it with a rather Federation follow up about it being 'nice' to meet her, but she put that down to recent company. No Klingon was an island, of course. "Your House was invaluable to us during the Dominion War. We share many great victories that never made it into song!"

They might not always have been the grinding ground battles against the Jem'Hadar, or the pitched naval actions against Dominion dock yards, but the back-lines work done by her House with the intelligence provided by Mo'Kai spies had been just as deadly (and considerably more dirty). In several ways, it was a good war.

The detail about his mother went a way towards explaining his current station and possibly why he didn't quite have the ridges of a Mo'Kai - not that she was one to judge. He had survived much, worthy of any full-blooded Klingon, and his deeds must surely speak for themselves.

"What about you? Are you on exchange program? Ready to learn the intricacies of promotion without slaying your senior? Told you already: it's not funny at all. A ton of paper work around." She had to chuckle, but joined him in his return toast before she could reply. 

"ghIj qet jaghmeyjaj!"

"Ha!" she barked, filling their cups again (deeper this time - it wasn't as strong as she'd hoped) and punching the man high in the shoulder in celebration. "Aldea is boring. The pirates are cowards who run. Their government are cowards who won't fight. The Syndicate are cowards who hide." She stopped herself from saying her usual suffix to that complaint - that the Federation were cowards who'd sooner talk you to death - out of respect for her current environs.

And the ship. Still not sure how much agency it actually had. Better not to provoke it until it was better understood.

"But when Martok issued the news of what was docked at my backwater, and from what they were flying? A Daa'maq soldier seeks no glory. But she will seek a challenge." She swilled the cloudy green liquid around her glass. "As for promotion... I have no taste for paperwork. But your Commander Ducote does look tired..." she grinned.

The next mouthful of the Aldebaran spirit went down as swiftly as the first, and was producing an interesting aftertaste. 'Interesting' in the scientific sense, at least. "Tell me," she said, refilling their cups again, "is this typical of the feasting halls on this ship? I knew not to expect live targs, but this is sterile even compared to Federation stereotype."

Valkra did not attempt to disguise the look of contempt she threw towards the holographic waitstaff as she finished her last statement.

"So what can keep a Klingon entertained here?" she queried, the hint of an unspoken question in her eye.

- FIN