IKC FHew 7C6110
Operation Foxtrot Uniform – May'bel
by Soghla' Jared
Post Details
Jared entered the Klingon bar warily. It was the third one he'd checked.
Time was running short, but he was still cautious. House Matlh for the most part knew and respected the TiQ, and none of them were about to try and beat him up for his lunch money. But there was more than just Klingons on the station here - he eyed a group of human mercenary-pirates warily. Plus, there was always the danger of getting caught in someone else's fight.
The Klingon behind the bar nodded at him respectfully.
"Ancient. Welcome. Can I get you anything?"
Jared shook his head.
"Not just now, thank-you. I'm looking for a person actually, not a drink."
The bartender glanced around at his patrons.
"Anyone in particular, or just a random face from the crowd?"
"No, someone in partic... wait... you have people come in just looking for a random stranger??"
"We get all sorts in here, ancient. You'd be surprised."
Jared nodded, surprised, but willing to believe it.
"Well, no. I this case I'm looking for a specific person. A Klingon warrior by the name of..."
"Jared??"
The voice that interrupted him came from across the room. A Klingon warrior rose from his chair, moving towards the little man with a look of disbelief. Jared looked at him quizzically.
"Umm... yes?"
The Klingon was young, but close to his prime. He had battle-worn armour, an impressive scar along one cheek, and his hair flowed down his back in ragged dreadlocks.
"It's really you, isn't it? You don't just all look similar. You're really Jared!"
"Last I checked," Jared replied, a little unsettled.
"By the gods' rotting carcasses, you really don't age! You're exactly the same as you were years ago. Except maybe you've shrunk some."
Jared looked at the warrior. He was a stranger to Jared, but there was a familiarity about his features. Something that reminded him of a little boy, clinging to the back of a massive targ...
"May'bel?"
The warrior slapped him on the shoulder with a smile!
"You remember me! Kahless's teeth, your people must have great memories!"
"Worse than you'd think!"
The warrior sat at the bar, gesturing for the bartender to bring blood-wine and two cups. He gleefully filled both to the brim from the bottle, and raised the glass.
"I remember enough from when you visited our household to know that it's not going to hurt you to join me for a drink."
Jared took the glass with a shrug, and clinked it against May'bel's. The two drained the draught in one swig. Jared was aware of the five pirates beginning to show an interest - no doubt wondering how long before he was unable to walk. Few outside the Klingons knew about the Vetus immunity to alcohol.
May'bel refilled both cups.
"So what are you doing here on the station?"
"Looking for you, actually May'bel."
The Klingon laughed loudly.
"Don't flatter me, ancient. It's not my thing."
"No, really! I mean... it doesn't have to be you explicitly, but... well, you see our ship has lost some crew. And we need people we can trust in a fight. And when I recognised your name..."
May'bel laughed again, and waved dismissively at Jared's explanation. But after a moment it began to register that the TiQ's expression remained earnest.
He looked at Jared, slightly incredulous.
"Wait... are you serious?"
Jared nodded. The Klingon looked bemused.
"Which ship are you with?"
Suddenly, something dawned on the warrior. He sat up, a sudden intense look on his face.
"Wait... Jared, are you still on the FHew? Under uncle Ro?"
The TiQ nodded. There was an intensity in the Klingon's face now.
"And you're really looking for warriors?"
"I'm really looking for a tactics officer, as a matter of fact. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I saw on your file that you've manned tactics before..."
The warrior had a faraway look in his eyes now.
"By the gods' cold stiff fingers... uncle Ro! I haven't seen him in years. Not since I was a child! I've never even seen him in action. I've just been hearing the stories since I was young."
He looked intently at Jared.
"And you're serious? You really need someone to man tactics?"
Jared nodded.
"Otherwise I might end up doing it myself, and that'll end badly for everyone."
The Klingon warrior was thinking hard.
"I've never fought on a B'rel though. I know the specs, but I've never taken one into combat."
"You've run tactics on a Negh'Var. That's nothing to scoff at."
May'bel gestured dismissively.
"Bah! The Negh'Var is like a city with engines and guns. That's not fighting. That's pushing buttons and laughing. Fighting on a B'rel though... that's life. You and a handful of warriors against the worst the galaxy has to offer."
Jared smiled.
"So you want the job?"
May'bel looked at him, and then shook his head slowly.
"No, it's not that easy. You don't just hand your personnel file to a warrior like Ro Matlh and say 'I'll take the job thanks!' That's not how it's done."
He tapped his forehead, thinking hard.
"I need some kind of trophy. Like a Rahkt-hound's head, or the horns off a greater Bortahk. That's the proper way of doing it. You need a badge of courage before someone of Ro's calibre would even consider you. But there's barely even a feral targ here on the station. What on earth could I get?"
Jared shrugged.
"Sorry May'bel, this isn't my area of expertise."
There was a sharp snort of laughter behind them. The TiQ and the Klingon both fell silent for a moment, listening to the mumbled voices of the five human mercenaries behind them.
"No, I heard it for sure that time. His name is Mabelle."
There was a snigger.
"Wasn't it Make-bell?"
"Nope. I'm pretty sure I heard Mabelle."
The group sniggered some more.
A slow smile spread across May'bel's face. He raised an eyebrow at Jared.
"Sometimes, it's just too easy!"
With a deft movement, the Klingon warrior pivoted on his stool, and moved upwards, sitting himself on the bar and facing the five humans, who sat around a table about four meters away. There were around five of them. Two were large and muscular, one with dark skin, and another with a more tan complexion. All had disruptors on their belts.
"Let me guess, gentlemen," he began, loudly enough to cut through the group's conversation. "You couldn't help but overhear me speaking to my friend here, and you heard him call me by name."
The group paused, looking around. The tan-skinned muscular man, who seemed to be the leader, turned around and eyed the Klingon with a slightly scornful smile.
"And," May'bel continued, "you couldn't help but think 'Maybelle... that's not much of a name for a big, bad Klingon warrior, is it? A little on the... effeminate side, isn't it?'"
The group were stifling laughs.
"Your words," the leader said with a wry smile, "not ours!"
"Yes, but it's not hard to see you're thinking it. So now you're stuck with this mental image of a Klingon warrior dressed in frills, or dancing like some kind of dabo girl. And there's not much I can do to get that image out of you head. Not unless I did something to... change your minds, perhaps. Like beating you all unconscious without even pulling a weapon?"
The group suddenly got serious. Each laid a had on their disruptors, as they eyed the Klingons around the room.
"No, I don't mean them," May'bel interrupted the train of thought. "Not me and fifty other Klingons. Just me!"
The group eyed the other Klingons warily. May'bel stood up on the bar, gesturing out at the other Klingons present with the blood-wine bottle in his hand.
"No-one is to touch these humans on my account, understand? You lot stay out of it!"
There was a general chorus of shrugs and nods from the Klingons, and a couple of mumbles of "fight your own battles, warrior!"
May'bel looked at the humans again, and smiled.
"Just me. Without pulling a weapon."
The group eyed the crowd warily, but it seemed clear the other Klingons had little interest in getting involved. They sat back and took their hands of their disruptors. After a moment, the leader smiled at May'bel.
"Just you? Beating up on the five of us?"
The Klingon nodded.
"Just me."
The human man smiled. He glanced around at his rough looking companions, and then back at the Klingon.
"I'd like to see you try, Mabelle!"
The two warriors eyed each other for a moment. Then May'bel knelt down on the bar to mumble briefly to Jared.
"Like I said. Too easy."
He glanced over at the humans.
"I don't suppose any of you know what May'Bel actually means in Klingon, do you?"
The humans said nothing, but a few shook heads. May'bel nodded.
"Let me demonstrate."
He pounced like a cat, throwing the blood-wine bottle mid air.
The dark skinned man had turned back towards one of his companions a moment before, and copped a blood-wine bottle squarely to the left temple. He fared slightly better than the group's tan skinned leader, who before that point probably hadn't realised that a flying liverpool kiss was even possible.
After that, things turned a little... violent.
by Soghla' Jared
Post Details
| Title | May'bel | |
| Mission | Operation Foxtrot Uniform | |
| Author(s) | Soghla' Jared | |
| Posted | Mon Nov 29, 2010 @ 3:03pm | |
| Location | A bar on the Klingon station | |
| Timeline | About 90 minutes before departure |
Time was running short, but he was still cautious. House Matlh for the most part knew and respected the TiQ, and none of them were about to try and beat him up for his lunch money. But there was more than just Klingons on the station here - he eyed a group of human mercenary-pirates warily. Plus, there was always the danger of getting caught in someone else's fight.
The Klingon behind the bar nodded at him respectfully.
"Ancient. Welcome. Can I get you anything?"
Jared shook his head.
"Not just now, thank-you. I'm looking for a person actually, not a drink."
The bartender glanced around at his patrons.
"Anyone in particular, or just a random face from the crowd?"
"No, someone in partic... wait... you have people come in just looking for a random stranger??"
"We get all sorts in here, ancient. You'd be surprised."
Jared nodded, surprised, but willing to believe it.
"Well, no. I this case I'm looking for a specific person. A Klingon warrior by the name of..."
"Jared??"
The voice that interrupted him came from across the room. A Klingon warrior rose from his chair, moving towards the little man with a look of disbelief. Jared looked at him quizzically.
"Umm... yes?"
The Klingon was young, but close to his prime. He had battle-worn armour, an impressive scar along one cheek, and his hair flowed down his back in ragged dreadlocks.
"It's really you, isn't it? You don't just all look similar. You're really Jared!"
"Last I checked," Jared replied, a little unsettled.
"By the gods' rotting carcasses, you really don't age! You're exactly the same as you were years ago. Except maybe you've shrunk some."
Jared looked at the warrior. He was a stranger to Jared, but there was a familiarity about his features. Something that reminded him of a little boy, clinging to the back of a massive targ...
"May'bel?"
The warrior slapped him on the shoulder with a smile!
"You remember me! Kahless's teeth, your people must have great memories!"
"Worse than you'd think!"
The warrior sat at the bar, gesturing for the bartender to bring blood-wine and two cups. He gleefully filled both to the brim from the bottle, and raised the glass.
"I remember enough from when you visited our household to know that it's not going to hurt you to join me for a drink."
Jared took the glass with a shrug, and clinked it against May'bel's. The two drained the draught in one swig. Jared was aware of the five pirates beginning to show an interest - no doubt wondering how long before he was unable to walk. Few outside the Klingons knew about the Vetus immunity to alcohol.
May'bel refilled both cups.
"So what are you doing here on the station?"
"Looking for you, actually May'bel."
The Klingon laughed loudly.
"Don't flatter me, ancient. It's not my thing."
"No, really! I mean... it doesn't have to be you explicitly, but... well, you see our ship has lost some crew. And we need people we can trust in a fight. And when I recognised your name..."
May'bel laughed again, and waved dismissively at Jared's explanation. But after a moment it began to register that the TiQ's expression remained earnest.
He looked at Jared, slightly incredulous.
"Wait... are you serious?"
Jared nodded. The Klingon looked bemused.
"Which ship are you with?"
Suddenly, something dawned on the warrior. He sat up, a sudden intense look on his face.
"Wait... Jared, are you still on the FHew? Under uncle Ro?"
The TiQ nodded. There was an intensity in the Klingon's face now.
"And you're really looking for warriors?"
"I'm really looking for a tactics officer, as a matter of fact. That's why I wanted to talk to you. I saw on your file that you've manned tactics before..."
The warrior had a faraway look in his eyes now.
"By the gods' cold stiff fingers... uncle Ro! I haven't seen him in years. Not since I was a child! I've never even seen him in action. I've just been hearing the stories since I was young."
He looked intently at Jared.
"And you're serious? You really need someone to man tactics?"
Jared nodded.
"Otherwise I might end up doing it myself, and that'll end badly for everyone."
The Klingon warrior was thinking hard.
"I've never fought on a B'rel though. I know the specs, but I've never taken one into combat."
"You've run tactics on a Negh'Var. That's nothing to scoff at."
May'bel gestured dismissively.
"Bah! The Negh'Var is like a city with engines and guns. That's not fighting. That's pushing buttons and laughing. Fighting on a B'rel though... that's life. You and a handful of warriors against the worst the galaxy has to offer."
Jared smiled.
"So you want the job?"
May'bel looked at him, and then shook his head slowly.
"No, it's not that easy. You don't just hand your personnel file to a warrior like Ro Matlh and say 'I'll take the job thanks!' That's not how it's done."
He tapped his forehead, thinking hard.
"I need some kind of trophy. Like a Rahkt-hound's head, or the horns off a greater Bortahk. That's the proper way of doing it. You need a badge of courage before someone of Ro's calibre would even consider you. But there's barely even a feral targ here on the station. What on earth could I get?"
Jared shrugged.
"Sorry May'bel, this isn't my area of expertise."
There was a sharp snort of laughter behind them. The TiQ and the Klingon both fell silent for a moment, listening to the mumbled voices of the five human mercenaries behind them.
"No, I heard it for sure that time. His name is Mabelle."
There was a snigger.
"Wasn't it Make-bell?"
"Nope. I'm pretty sure I heard Mabelle."
The group sniggered some more.
A slow smile spread across May'bel's face. He raised an eyebrow at Jared.
"Sometimes, it's just too easy!"
With a deft movement, the Klingon warrior pivoted on his stool, and moved upwards, sitting himself on the bar and facing the five humans, who sat around a table about four meters away. There were around five of them. Two were large and muscular, one with dark skin, and another with a more tan complexion. All had disruptors on their belts.
"Let me guess, gentlemen," he began, loudly enough to cut through the group's conversation. "You couldn't help but overhear me speaking to my friend here, and you heard him call me by name."
The group paused, looking around. The tan-skinned muscular man, who seemed to be the leader, turned around and eyed the Klingon with a slightly scornful smile.
"And," May'bel continued, "you couldn't help but think 'Maybelle... that's not much of a name for a big, bad Klingon warrior, is it? A little on the... effeminate side, isn't it?'"
The group were stifling laughs.
"Your words," the leader said with a wry smile, "not ours!"
"Yes, but it's not hard to see you're thinking it. So now you're stuck with this mental image of a Klingon warrior dressed in frills, or dancing like some kind of dabo girl. And there's not much I can do to get that image out of you head. Not unless I did something to... change your minds, perhaps. Like beating you all unconscious without even pulling a weapon?"
The group suddenly got serious. Each laid a had on their disruptors, as they eyed the Klingons around the room.
"No, I don't mean them," May'bel interrupted the train of thought. "Not me and fifty other Klingons. Just me!"
The group eyed the other Klingons warily. May'bel stood up on the bar, gesturing out at the other Klingons present with the blood-wine bottle in his hand.
"No-one is to touch these humans on my account, understand? You lot stay out of it!"
There was a general chorus of shrugs and nods from the Klingons, and a couple of mumbles of "fight your own battles, warrior!"
May'bel looked at the humans again, and smiled.
"Just me. Without pulling a weapon."
The group eyed the crowd warily, but it seemed clear the other Klingons had little interest in getting involved. They sat back and took their hands of their disruptors. After a moment, the leader smiled at May'bel.
"Just you? Beating up on the five of us?"
The Klingon nodded.
"Just me."
The human man smiled. He glanced around at his rough looking companions, and then back at the Klingon.
"I'd like to see you try, Mabelle!"
The two warriors eyed each other for a moment. Then May'bel knelt down on the bar to mumble briefly to Jared.
"Like I said. Too easy."
He glanced over at the humans.
"I don't suppose any of you know what May'Bel actually means in Klingon, do you?"
The humans said nothing, but a few shook heads. May'bel nodded.
"Let me demonstrate."
He pounced like a cat, throwing the blood-wine bottle mid air.
The dark skinned man had turned back towards one of his companions a moment before, and copped a blood-wine bottle squarely to the left temple. He fared slightly better than the group's tan skinned leader, who before that point probably hadn't realised that a flying liverpool kiss was even possible.
After that, things turned a little... violent.