04-18-2024, 02:08 AM
==Had coffee when I got home, so I’m still awake at 9:30 to post, finally!==
A compatriot walked into the bar; well, Art had never seen a San-Tarah in person before meeting Kal-Geal, but still, he counted. Recognizing kindred spirits however-many years ago, Klingons “conquered” the Children of the planet San-Tarah, and they became a minor part in Klingon culture. Seeing one was rare for a Klingon; Art suspected that serving with one was even more so.
The furry medic walked into Quark’s Bar in battle armor, for reasons Art couldn’t begin to guess. She gave him an inquiring look, and the facial expression invited him over.
“I will never want to understand Ferengi.” The great white wolf-like officer commented. “Such fearful little beings, with pointy teeth, and silly desires for strips of coin.”
Artie grinned in response, an outward push of air going through her nose just forcefully enough to make a small sound.
“Kind of feels like the officer I just finished talking to.” He continued. “So afraid of the Klingon Empire saving their people, that they want to lie and send me home. Anyways, what's got your fur ruffled there Lieutenant d'Tor'an?”
Art just raised her drink at him, taking a slug that showed the drink was weaker than one she would have rather had. “Oh, just this whole sit-around-and-wait-for-your-fate nonsense.” She told him. “I know I joined Starfleet, and I know I have superiors, but it’s so aggravating feeling like you’re not in charge of your own future.”
Even with her company wearing armor, Art felt comfortable sitting next to Beinn at the bar. She wasn’t one to believe in such things as “auras”, but you couldn’t deny that the man gave off a certain Klingon-esque “vibe.”
“I’m pleased to see some hint of civilization in this place.” The voice of Peter Jensen, their First Officer, came from behind both of them. Art turned to face him, unsure whether or not he was being sarcastic. She decided that since the man was rarely sarcastic, if ever, he was simply expressing his pleasure at seeing the two of them there.
After putting in an order to the bartender, who was still trying to stay away from the Klingon Empire citizens, he turned back to his shipmates. “How do you fare?” The FO asked. “Both of you?” He was concerned, and he let the tone of his voice show it.
“Not drunk yet, but getting there.” Art said, holding up her drink to show him.
==I’ll wait to acknowledge Black until Jensen does. Again, apologies for my tardiness!==
A compatriot walked into the bar; well, Art had never seen a San-Tarah in person before meeting Kal-Geal, but still, he counted. Recognizing kindred spirits however-many years ago, Klingons “conquered” the Children of the planet San-Tarah, and they became a minor part in Klingon culture. Seeing one was rare for a Klingon; Art suspected that serving with one was even more so.
The furry medic walked into Quark’s Bar in battle armor, for reasons Art couldn’t begin to guess. She gave him an inquiring look, and the facial expression invited him over.
“I will never want to understand Ferengi.” The great white wolf-like officer commented. “Such fearful little beings, with pointy teeth, and silly desires for strips of coin.”
Artie grinned in response, an outward push of air going through her nose just forcefully enough to make a small sound.
“Kind of feels like the officer I just finished talking to.” He continued. “So afraid of the Klingon Empire saving their people, that they want to lie and send me home. Anyways, what's got your fur ruffled there Lieutenant d'Tor'an?”
Art just raised her drink at him, taking a slug that showed the drink was weaker than one she would have rather had. “Oh, just this whole sit-around-and-wait-for-your-fate nonsense.” She told him. “I know I joined Starfleet, and I know I have superiors, but it’s so aggravating feeling like you’re not in charge of your own future.”
Even with her company wearing armor, Art felt comfortable sitting next to Beinn at the bar. She wasn’t one to believe in such things as “auras”, but you couldn’t deny that the man gave off a certain Klingon-esque “vibe.”
“I’m pleased to see some hint of civilization in this place.” The voice of Peter Jensen, their First Officer, came from behind both of them. Art turned to face him, unsure whether or not he was being sarcastic. She decided that since the man was rarely sarcastic, if ever, he was simply expressing his pleasure at seeing the two of them there.
After putting in an order to the bartender, who was still trying to stay away from the Klingon Empire citizens, he turned back to his shipmates. “How do you fare?” The FO asked. “Both of you?” He was concerned, and he let the tone of his voice show it.
“Not drunk yet, but getting there.” Art said, holding up her drink to show him.
==I’ll wait to acknowledge Black until Jensen does. Again, apologies for my tardiness!==