Ghagh Order

 Episode Name:  Ghagh Order

   Written By:  Shaft

         Cast:  Cerene, Churas, Cristobal, Donavon, Gr'laH, Harris, J'qoba, Javits, 
                Jiasha, S'ele, Shaft, Stewart and Turtledove.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Shaft

     Aired On:  Fri Jul 18 04:19:40 2003

     Stardate:  53368.7

Time: Thu Jul 17 20:28:31 2003

Stardate: 53368.0

The hall of the Gharas has been prepared for the event rather fully. The tables are set with enormous amounts of food, predominantly Klingon due to the sheer number of that species in attendance, though full repasts fit for the major species of the Alpha Quadrant can be found if one looks carefully through the tables. Even now galley servants continue to bring in massive platters of food from the kitchens and warriors continue to drift through the massive double doors at the head of the chamber, greeting comrades with laughter and blows to the arm on their way to the walls of casques for a drink.

At the head table, seated in his massive throne is Gr'laH. Of course. At either side of him is a woman. To his right is Churas, his daughter. To his left is Jiasha, his guest. Beside Churas can be found Cristobal. The rest of the table is for the moment empty but for those four.

Shaft goes home.

Shaft has left.

Cristobal leans over to Churas, speaking quietly with his wife for the moment.

S'ele steps into the great hall, glancing about for someone to ask about where she is to sit.

Gr'laH doesn't seem to be in a particularly good mood despite the celebration. A servant is keeping his goblet full, at the very least, and this is cause for him to be at least mostly content with the way of things. Bloodwine goes a long way towards a good mood. He is not presently engaged in coversation with anyone, preferring companionable silence to conversation. When S'ele ambles into the hall, Gr'laH's single eye squints, trying to make her out at the rather impressive distance of the hall from one end to the other.

J'qoba walks on set.

J'qoba has arrived.

S'ele steps a bit away from the door as someone else enters behind her, making her way towards the nearest unoccupied seat at a table.

Javits enters through the grand doors at the far end of the table, a determined frown set upon his features as he strides forward, practically marching along the deck, back straight, eyes level, arms swinging in time with his strides. He is, for all intents, apparently unarmed. He makes his way straight up to the head table, centering himself on Gr'laH, before speaking with a confident tone, "Ambassador Gr'laH, Son of Go'laH, Captain of the Gharas, may the son of William have the honour of joining you and yours at your table." It's more of a statement than a question, though there is just enough of an inflection to make it a respectful one.

Churas leans back in her chair, tilting her head to one side and listening to Cristobal as he speaks to her. Her massive hands are folded over her belly, though occasionally she unfolds one to reach out and pick up a chunk of food form her plate. The only variation in her repast seems to be which animal, exactly, died to make her meal.

Javits's approach is noted by Churas, who says nothing, simply eyeing the engineer. This could be the 'he's okay' look or the 'I wonder if he'll fit on my plate or if I'll have to eat some of what's already there and make room' look.

Jiasha sticks more or less by Gr'laH. Once, she touches his short arm gently, grinning from ear to ear. She's into the scene, here, surrounded by blustering and brave Klingons of blood-soaked pasts.

Cristobal's meal resembles Churas, being composed entirely of meat, (though unlike hers, none of his appears to be alive.) It should be noted that he does not appear to be drinking any bloodwine, not exactly normal for him. At Javits's request, he looks over at the man, saying nothing at the moment.

J'qoba walks over to a table and takes a seat with a low sounding grunt. After settling in, he reaches for a plate of food and hunches over it. He beings to take the food and starts eating immediately.

Gr'laH glances aside at Jiasha when she touches his stump -- the short arm, as she calls it -- grinning faintly himself at the girl's apparently enjoyment of the events as they stand. "We have not begun the feast in earnest. Wait until the songs begin. The hall will /shake/ with thunder." Chuckling, he pokes his 'short arm' into the Bajoran's shoulder in a paternal nudge, turning about to finally get to the examination of Javits. The bluster of the human causes Gr'laH's head to roll back in laughter. Deeply amused. "You have studied, Son of William! Pull up a chair beside Jiasha. Or by Nathan if you wish. Eat with us." His attention then returns to the hall, his hand reaching out to nudge Churas and point at J'qoba. There's a question left unspoken.

S'ele couldn't help but notice the way the engineer made his entrance. The vulcan girl stops, off to the side by one wall, as if pondering what to do next.

Stewart reveals his Knife.

Stewart enters the feast hall, dressed in the Stewart equivalent of casual clothing. It's basically a duty uniform with /pockets/. Right now, he has his hands in said pockets, keeping quietly to himself as he moves through the crowd. His fundamental understanding of how to behave in Klingon society is that there's a right thing to do, and a wrong thing to do. The wrong thing results in a bloody fight, possibly including deaths. The right thing to do is a mystery akin to the holy grail or philosopher's stone. The net result is naturally that Stewart tries to do as little as possible, besides attendance.

Jiasha busts a giggle. What fun. She straightens a bit further in her chair, and takes a deep breath of this crazy atmosphere. She takes a good look of Javits, and just grins at him.

Churas stares at Javits for a bit, picking up a chunk of meat and popping it into her mouth thoughtfully. Said long stare is broken in order to answer her father's unspoken question. She says in Klingon, "J'qoba, son of M'Elan. The IKDF Exchange Officer with Starfleet. He is the one I sent away from the meeting because he had not your clearance to be there. Why he has not come to introduce himself to you as of yet, Father, I do not know."

Javits responds with a firm nod, though there's a definite smile that he can't quite fully suppress as he makes his way around the table to claim the chair next to Jiasha, looking to her with a polite nod, willingly allowing the smile to show just a little to her before attempting to cover it once more. Letting out a long breath, he sits back a bit to gaze out over the hall, his eyes darting from one table to another as he attempts to take in every detail at once.

S'ele nods, as if to herself. The little vulcan girl walks right out into the middle of the room... and right towards Gr'laH.

"I see," Gr'laH states with a squint that says very clearly he does not, "J'qoba." Gr'laH files away that particular blurry image's location for later bellowing, given that Javits has joined his table and he has a rather small Vulcan girl stepping out of the blurry distance into the more focussed nearness of his eyesight. Ah ha! "Child," he greets pleasantly enough for a Klingon, "you must be very brave to come to such a gathering of Warriors." His eye returns to the blur that is J'qoba, squinting all the more. Preterubred.

Cristobal places a piece of meat dripping with a brown sauce into his mouth. After chewing and swallowing. He leans over to Churas once more. Cristobal whispers to Churas, "I must confess I find it highly amusing to watch my colleagues nervous behavior around you and your father."

S'ele lifts her hand, fingers forming the vulcan salute. "Live long and prosper, Ambassador Gr'lah. I thank you for your compliment. The honor of being allowed to remain is not lost on me.""

Jiasha plucks a couple peices of dead meat and places it on her plate. Dead, as opposed to living. She'll get to that. Hungry. Pregnant. Eat now. She offers to Javits in Federation Standard, leaning over to speak to him without shouting -too- much. "That, there, is delicious meat. Very tender."

"Why is that? Do you not think they /should/ be nervous?" Unlike Cristobal, Churas does not whisper. /Like/ Cristobal, Churas /does/ eat more meat. Mmm, carcass parts. "I agree, it is somewhat amusing, but it is nevertheless appropriate."

Javits tears his attention away from the hall to focus it on Jiasha, then eyeing the meat curiously as he leans over towards her to ask, "How did you-" At this moment, a rather surly Klingon appears rather abruptly from one of the kitchen doors and thumps a plate down before the startled engineer, then just as abruptly disappears back from whence he came. Blinking a few times as he watches the server depart, Nick directs a sidelong glance back to Jiasha, "Smells wonderful."

J'qoba is too busy to notice the ambassador's gaze. This is due to him busy shovelling food into his mouth and allowing the crumbs to get caught into his goattee or fall onto the plate or tabletop. As he leans back and pats his belley slightly, he notices the Ambassador. When he stands, he takes his plate and a cup of bloodwine that he just scooped up. He makes his way to Gr'laH's table and sets his cup and plate down. He thumps his fist to his chest and states, "Ambassador Gr'laH, Son of Go'lah. I am J'qoba, Son of M'Elan. The Klingon Exchange Officer to Starfleet."

S'ele is completely 'blocked out' by the big klingon.

Cristobal shrugs and replies in a similar tone, "Appropriate, perhaps, but hardly beneficial." He sips his water before saying, "Note how well I've done without such nervousness?" a light grin threatening to poke out onto his face.

Stewart makes his way up to the table reasonably slowly, trying to avoid accidentally elbowing anyone in the back, or getting elbowed. Once there, he takes a seat and begins the process of transferring meat over to his plate, taking a sampling from various dead animals before beginning to eat.

"I am not your guardian, Child, nor would the Federation allow me to be." Gr'laH's grin grows perfectly sarcastic at this moment. "It would seem I am not the sort meant to watch after children. So I will not watch after you. I suggest you step carefully if you intend to step here at all, child. It is my advisement that you leave before the hour grows too long. I do not know how tends you here, but they would doubtless be greatly concerned at your presence here--" Gr'laH cuts his words short at J'qoba's arrival, lifting his chin slightly to scrutinize the officer standing opposite him. "Q'pla, Sogh LagH. I have heard much of your name since your arrival and seen very little your face. You will join us." Gr'laH's chin juts to the side to indicate a chair at his table beside Cristobal.

Jiasha's eyes shoot from Javits and talk of meat to Gr'laH. She'll have to address that, yes. After initial and apparent shock, she turns back to Javits, another genial smile. "Have you ever had Klingon food?"

Churas eyes her husband for a long moment before rumbling, "Sometimes, Nathan, I think that perhaps a bit of nervousness in the face of my father's wrath might serve you well." She glances aside at her father's commentary, and her face becomes downright /stormy/ for a moment, a low growl issuing forth from her throat which, if her gaze is any indication, means that her plate really really made her angry. BAD PLATE. PLATE MAKE CHURAS ANGRY! After a moment, she looks up at S'ele for a moment and then over at J'qoba. "Q'pla, Sogh LagH."

S'ele arches a brow as she's 'cut off' in her introduction of herself to the ambassador. She merely turns around and heads back for the door.

J'qoba sits in the indicated chair with a grunt. He reaches for his food and drink. He takes a swig from the mug and replies, "I will join you, ambassador. I would had joined you when I first arrived here, but I was rather hungry from my long journey from QI'tomer. It seems my old unit is being investigated for potential war crimes..." He grunts as he takes a scoop of gagh that are still slithering in his fingers as he places them into his mouth which he chews with a grin on his face before swallowing.

J'qoba , finally grunts, "Q'pla'!"

Cristobal speaks quietly in response to Churas. He says in Klingon, "Yes, but it wouldn't have served us so well in times past." He arches a brow at J'qoba's statement, before inclining his head to the Klingon who sits down next to him. He says in Klingon, "Success, Sogh LagH. I trust you are well, this evening?"

Javits gives the contents of his plate a tentative poke, then tears a bite sized portion away from the meat, looking to Jiasha with a shake of his head before bringing the portion up to give it a sniff. "Never, but tt does smell delicious."

S'ele continues to the door.

"War crimes, is it," Gr'laH asks in raising his goblet for another drink, "what did they do? Kill someone outside of the scope of Federation tolerances?" Gr'laH glances down the table with a forward lean and chuckles deep in his chest. "War Crimes? You must explain." His attention shifts back to Javits and Jiasha, finding them engaged in polite conversation. This seems to please him. "Jiasha is expecting her second child soon--" NEWSFLASH! "--I pressure her to name it Gr'laH but she has insisted on Mauno. I have found it in my heart not to be offended." Aaaand back down to the Klingon side of the table. Well. Klingon and Nathan.

Jiasha effectively takes Javits under her wing for a debriefing. "It's hard to eat the live meat if you're not ready for it. I ususally start with some dead and cooked things." She confides, "and work up to one or two live things. I'm not especially certain, but I think it's usually safest to only drink water."

S'ele steps In Character.

S'ele has left.

J'qoba grunts as he glances to Cristobal, "I live another day to fight!" He chuckles and take a hearty drink. "I would be glad to know the veredict on the accusations from the Romulans which they have no substantial evidence to support their claims."

Jiasha laughs again, bright and quick. She turns, with a wink at Gr'laH, "I have not told you what Gr'lak means in Dakhurian dialect." Yes, with the K. Gr'lak.

Churas rumbles low in her throat. She says in Klingon, "No, that it would not have." She lapses into listening to conversations, then, watching Jiasha down the table with a clearly fond eye, and apparently now measuring Javits up according to a different scale entirely.

Cristobal arches an eyebrow and says, "Why would the Romulans be accusing your unit of war crimes? You haven't fought a war in a generation."

Javits nods to Jiasha as he pops the bite into his mouth and gives it a few thoughtful chews. Directing a look to Gr'laH as the ambassador directs a comment towards him, he smiles, still chewing away, then swallows before directing a emphatic nod to Jiasha, "Dead and cooked, it's delicious. I have tried... oh yes, a spiced raw beef before, an Ethiopian dish one of my father's coworkers made on occasion. If it's anything near true Klingon food, that which isn't poisonous to most non-Klingons, then it should be quite good as well. Oh, and congratulations."

"The night is young, Nathan." Gr'laH's aside into that particular conversation.

Stewart is currently sticking to things that are not only certified dead, but flash fried, burned, baked or otherwise subjected to high enough heat to further confirm that fact. Right now, he is eating quietly, devoting his attention primarily to eavesdropping.

Jiasha nods the Javits, with a sliver of nerves showing in her smile. "Two weeks until the big day. Thank you."

Gr'laH finally rejoins the OTHER conversation. Watch the old bastard multitask. "What does Gr'lak mean in your dialect, Havaris? I am curious now." His expression is amused, anticipating something horrible and unflattering no doubt.

Cristobal snorts at Gr'laH and says, "They have to be /here/ to start a war, don't they?" Oh how little he knows. He asks Churas, "Salt?" as he sprinkles some on an unrecognizable meat on his plate.

Jiasha leans over to Gr'laH, and says it quite quietly, knowing his ears to be pretty sharp.

Churas contents herself, for the moment, with eating meat, drinking water -- which seems to suit her rather ill, if her expression is any indication -- and listening to conversations, though she does raise a hand to fend off the proffered salt.

Jiasha whispers to Gr'laH, "Well it means two things. One, it is the deep brown clay earth of the foothills, where fine mushrooms grow. But during the occupation, it came to mean.. well. When people were made to do the washing for Cardassians, there would sometimes be.. stains left behind on their undergarments. It took the name of the clay, because people did not want to say the real word for it in front of their children."

GAME: Gr'laH spends a courage point.

GAME: Gr'laH spends a courage point.

Javits directs a curious glance in Jiasha's direction as he continues to tear off morsels from the hunk of meat on his plate, slowly chewing them. Occasionally he washes down a bite with a sip from his water.

Gr'laH narrows his eye slightly at the first battery of Jiasha's explanation, grinning slightly and nodding his head in approval. That explanation pleased him, or at least amused him. The latter parcel, however, has Gr'laH's eye widening slowly and his lips drawing back in a manner that is not conducive to the health of those nearby. He tears his gaze away from the Bajoran girl to stare fixedly into his goblet prior to draining it. The servant at his back steps forward at once to refill, only to get a goblet in the face which sends a sonorous clang across the hall, fit to quiet the whole of it for a moment as the servant staggers backwards with a wince. Laughter soon erupts as Gr'laH swivels his head back to Jiasha. "Fitting," he finally growls loud enough to carry through the hall, "if I were a Cardassian and saw the Son of Go'laH approaching I, too, would soil myself!" He begins chuckling softly before erupting into a full throated guffaw.

J'qoba pauses long enough to hear the ambassador's response. After washing his plate with a drink from his muc, he joins in the belly laughter and raises his glass. He finishes off his drink which is refilled by the table servants. J'qoba waves off the servant with a wave and says, He says in Klingon, "Thank you."

Jiasha wrinkles her nose, knowing immediately that came out a bit wrong. "I should think so. I hadn't said anything sooner because it's really.. not a nice word and I didn't think it was funny, the idea of it. It is unfortunate. Gr'laH is a tall red stone of a name."

Cristobal eats and drinks. And listens to assorted conversations. Like his wife, he seems to be keeping quiet, for the most part.

Gr'laH is placated by Jiasha's words, his wounded honor assuaged such as it is. He is mollified. He even reaches out to pat Jiasha affectionately on the head with his good hand. "It is no fault of your language that my name means other than it is. You know the right of it." Gr'laH's grin widens slightly. "As do the Cardassians." Slick with loathing is that final word. Gr'laH finally retreats from the conversation, leaning forward to grab himself a slab of meat and take a massive tearing bite from it, speaking through his chewing. "There should be... stories! Who begins."

GAME: Churas spends a courage point.

Javits turns quickly to stare fixedly at Gr'laH's outburst, his eyes widening somewhat and his chewing coming to a dead standstill. The ambassador's laughter seems to snap him out of the revelry and he returns to his meal, perhaps a little red in the face.

Jiasha says, "What sort of stories?"

Churas's face turns dark and glowery at mention of the lizard folk, and she says nothing, simply pitches her half-empty metal goblet against the far wall, sending water splashing. It's only water, and not bloodwine, and she's not breaking anything, but it'll do, it seems, for now. "Yes. Stories." Someone other than her should speak, since apparently the baby in her gut has taken over and made her throw a brief tantrum and glower like a child.

Stewart finishes with his meat, for now, leaving just enough on his plate to dissuade anyone from deciding he needs a second helping. He then leans back in his chair, looking back and forth to see who'll be the poor bastard who gets to tell the first story.

Javits seems to have his mouth full at the moment, chewing slowly as he glances first to one side of the table, then the other.

Cristobal arches an eyebrow briefly before peering at his plate and very carefully not noticing the tantrum that just occurred beside him. He eats more meat. Mmm, meaty.

"No? I have a story, then." And it goes like this! Gr'laH leans back in his seat and begins, "Once, I threw a feast and asked for stories to be told. None of my guests told a story. So I killed one of them-- true story." He tears another bite from his meat slab and adds, "With my hands. Choked him." A pause. "He was Orion." So that makes it okay. "So. Who is next?" Gr'laH chews his raw meat with a faintly amused grin.

Jiasha speaks up again, repeating, "What sort of stories."

"Stories of battles glorious, stories of joys shared. Memories of those now dead. Stories, Havaris." Gr'laH swallows his meat and adds, "I enjoy stories."

Jiasha lifts her chin. Leave it to the -really- pregnant lady willya. Huff. "-I- will tell a story."

Javits nearly chokes on his food, as least until Gr'laH ends the pause with a species completely unrepresented at the table, then swallows hard, following it up with several gulps of water.

. o O Javits thinks "Whew."

Cristobal, contrary to Churas's prior suggestion, fails to show nervousness in the face of Gr'laH's wrath. He can't help it, he's family. Gr'laH has yet to kill family members in public to the best of Cristobal's knowledge.

Churas, apparently not at all nonplussed by the idea of her father strangling someone -- much less an Orion -- simply goes back to eating. The idea of Jiasha telling a story apparently pleases her, and she leans forward, propping her elbows on the table to look down it at Jiasha (and incidentally Javits, who she intermittently watches, just in case he breathes funny near Jiasha).

Stewart isn't about to get bothered by that sort of talk unless Gr'laH is actively searching out someone as a 'volunteer'. But, just to be sure, he leans down a little and paws around under his chair. Best to avoid any Klingon Door Prizes, if at all possible.

Gr'laH settles back in his seat, turning his head to listen to the story he has been promised. He looks, in truth, rather expectant.

Jiasha says, "Once when I was a child, I knew a very brave boy. He lived in the woods, where lizards would fear to go because it was too over-run with guerrila fighters, and the densest trees were the death of them. Our soldiers kept hand-trophies of all the dead men who fell in trying to get into the bluffs of trees, and would throw them rotten at soft spots in the purple lizard troops before ambush. He was not like this, he was pur, but touched, like a beast. He was a boy, young, an orphan who they say was born in the woods. This boy, they say, was touched by the prophets, their fingers held his heart. It was because of this that he was invisible to disruptors, to weapons which were not attatched to the bones of the holder. This boy would take on ten, twenty soldiers, her would run into battle with such fast feet that it fooled the eyes of the lizards. It used to be said that only a blade could take his life from him, because only a weapon which touched both the killer and killed was pure enough for him. I would run to the woods in the night to take him food, he was fond of me and I thought he was magnificent, pure and the truest warrior in the world. He was a warrior and a hero to our whole valley, and I knew him to be very close to the large beasts in our thick woods. I have always had fast feet, and because I was young, I could move with a bit more impunity where I would like, and so I would take him food and pretty things I would find, tokens of my own affection. The beasts that he lived among are common to the woods of my region, and move in heavy packs of ten, if possible, and guard their young by moving in a tight ring of large, strong beasts with the little ones marching in the middle. Their hair is long and knotted by time into lean, dark cords, but when they're young it is only in curls. One night when I had come to take him food from the village I found him stuck in a gulley, where he had been trying to save one of the younger beasts who had become caught up in this slice of rock."

Javits stops eating for now, listening attentively as he takes a small sip from his goblet.

J'qoba pushes aside his plate to listen to the story and takes a small sip. He smiles as he listens to the story.

Gr'laH seems nothing short of enchanted with this tale, fanciful though it sounds. Klingon legends have the same sort of hallmarks -- they killed their own Gods, after all -- so the notions are not argued as impossibilities. His eyes narrow intently, his head nods in approval at places, or draws back in a soft chuckle at other points. His lips purse tightly at the pause, brows worrying together between his good eye and his patch. Yep. She's got him. It's officially a Story Worth Hearing.

Churas gives her intent attention to Jiasha, which becomes more intent as time goes on. It's possible that she'd not notice even Cristobal at this point in time without being punched. She slowly leans forward, peering down the table at the Bajoran and listening with rapt attention.

Stewart is more focussed on the Klingons themselves than on the story. Storytime is interesting, but it's not where his priorities lie at the moment.

Jiasha says, "He was caught up by his arm, hanging upside-down. I suppose it was then that I first saw that the greatest myths have soft skin between their ribs. He looked peculiar, he was in troule because the beasts were trying to pull him out without finesse, and they had pulled his shoulder from its joint. They beasts were causing a fuss, trupeting and stomping so that their cords were flogging in the air. They loved their boy very much, and loved him because he was theirs, and not for the warrior he was. and they would kill him if they kept their tugging, their mourning stmps would have crushed him, thought legend would not have permitted this. I was very frieghtened, I was a child of eleven at the time. Now, I had given him kisses before, and that night I gave him a kiss because it closed his eyes. Which is when I learned for sure that a proper application of affection can drive the best of men to distraction. At this point I took the small, dull knife which my father had left to me, and that I carried with me all the time. He used to crve bone, and rock into dolls for us after he was done his work details for the day. And so I lay down and reached into the gulley with his arm, and carved as seiftly at the stone as I could, trying all that while not to peirce his skin, for I was absolutely certain I would murder him by my own hand before the love of the beasts did. And so I kept kissing him, and the beasts flogged at us and tugged at us, but eventually, with the looseness of his shoulder, and the carving of the rock, he came free and was able to assauge his faily in the woods. I hid my knife directly, in case he should see it. But as I set his shoulder into his body I noticed that I had sliced him badly. And it was then that I learned that bravery is stronger than myth and myth can be more true that truth."

Jiasha appears to be quite finished.

Javits cocks his head to one side as he continues to listen, absentmindedly tearing off another morsel a meat, then chewing it slowly and thoughtfully. At the end of the story, his expression seems to show a little disappointment, perhaps that the story ended too soon for him.

Churas listens to Jiasha throughout, nodding her head at salient points and eating chunks of food from time to time. "Excellent." That is her pronouncement. It is solemn, and it is final. Excellent. That solemn pronouncement is followed by a feral grin, however, that threatens to split her face in two. She looks about, then, her eyes sliding over the far end of the table before slipping around the rest of the room.

. o O Churas's defensiveness spikes when she notices Javits's reaction to the end of Jiasha's story. That is a BOY near her JIASHA who she must PROTECT.

Gr'laH swings his gaze back towards Churas in a rather ponderously slow manner. It is not at once obvious just what his reaction is, save that Churas must necessarily be included in it. His gaze shifts to J'qoba, checking the other Klingon's reaction to the story before looking back Jiasha's way with a slow sort of nod. That slow nod becomes slightly more certain prio to him lifting a balled fist and beating it on the table rather violently and repeatedly. Klingons show their praise in strange ways. "Well told! Well told, Havaris!"

Cristobal drinks the water in his goblet, and then uses it to mimic Gr'laH's gesture, banging the heavy metal cup on the table and calling, "Good story!" to Jiasha.

J'qoba raises his glass, and a loud deep growl from his throat. "Well done!" He stands and states, "I must be off.. I got to get my affairs in order since I got back to the station.

Stewart doesn't seem to really get the story. Philosophical points aren't his forte. Still, he raises his glass briefly, so as not to be the odd one out at the table, and then takes a sip.

J'qoba steps In Character.

J'qoba has left.

Javits raises his glass in kind, then takes a long sip from it. He nods with a smile to Jiasha, but doesn't otherwise make comment.

Jiasha turns a good strong shade of red at this, well. Hee. At least it saved Gr'laH the troble of killing that poor Orion.

And, naturally, Gr'laH prompts once more. "I would not wish to be the one to follow so excellent a tale as Havaris has presented us. If there are others who would speak? A story to pass the hours? Do so. I have bored my daughter and my men with my stories countless times. This is, in truth, your moment to be heard. I speak enough in pursuit of my duties." Chuckling, Gr'laH settles back, eyeing first Javits and then Cristobal. One of the Humans best represent in this hizzouse. As it were.

Javits Looks to Gr'laH, then glances from one side of the table to the other. With a slight frown, he tears another bite of meat off the hunk in his plate and pops it into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully.

Jiasha settles back into her seat. To eat. Pregnant. A cute little blonde! A GIRL! of eighteen or so. Willing to stand up and tell stories in front of all these bigscary Klingons. Which is fortunate for the orions in the audience. And for humans. Who won't represent their peeps.

. o O Javits thinks "I am so out of place here. I doubt Klingons would find engineering stories all that interesting. Nothing explodes, well usually it doesn't, and no one enters combat, save for combating that odd signal from the STALO assembly."

Cristobal hrms, pausing and frowning. Since it is ostensibly a party for Churas, he supposes that if he tells a story, it should in some way involve her. Balduk? Nah, they told that story for the Chancellor. Can't go dragging the same story out all the time. He supposes the story of defeating Gr'laH might not necessarily go over too well with this crowd. Wedding night? Too many sharp objects in Churas's reach. Perhaps... "I think I might have a story. One involving the guest of honor," he says, a bit of a small smile spreading across his face.

Churas glances at her father. Herself. Up and around at the ship itself. Then, she queries, "Which one, Nathan?" There's that subtle warning tone in her voice that only a wife can imbue into so few words. Which guest? Which story? Am I going to have to hurt you in a way you won't actually like?

Jiasha leans back on her chair to peep at Churas. That silent language between girlfriends, that wuthering femenine nuance of 'if need arises, I'll block the exit and watch for teachers while you beat him in the broom closet'.

"Yes," Gr'laH offers in a manner that mimics Churas' only insofar as the threat of sleeping on the couch isn't his to make, "which one." Apparently the Gr'laH family has a measure of the cut of one Nathan Cristobal.

Javits' eyebrow climb towards his hairline and he purses his lips slightly at Churas' tone, then covers it with a long sip from his goblet.

. o O Javits thinks "This should be interesting..."

Rather than directly answering, Cristobal launches into the setup for the story, "Some months ago, the Ambassador and myself were unhappy with each other. Over the course of the time we've known each other, this has not been what you'd call an unusual state of affairs, but it was nevertheless the case, at this time. I'll forgo the mundane details as to /why/, but we were. I walked into the Garden on deck 19 to notice that one Churas, daughter of Gr'laH was present." He glances at Churas, giving her a look that says, 'this one'.

. o O Churas thinks "Oh /no./ Not /this/ story."

Stewart continues his run of quiet listening, though his attention is now also spurred by the possibility that, at the end of the story, he might get to see the groom impaled on something. Always a good way to add interest.

. o O Javits thinks "What's this, their first encounter?"

See Churas. See Churas lean slowly to the side. See Churas prop one elbow -- the one opposite Cristobal -- on the arm of her chair, leaaaan her head into her hand, and raise one eyebrow slowly. Like so. And watch Nathan. "Ahha." Apparently she's waiting to pronounce a verdict on this particular story. From her expression, 'on the couch' isn't so much the likely end result of the story coming across poorly as perhaps 'on a biobed.' Fear the pregnant Klingon. Now with extra added hormones!

Gr'laH has no hand on the arm opposite Nathan to lean his head on. So he just leans onto his stump and turns a bit to stare fixedly at Nathan, lips pressed into a thin line. He hasn't high hopes for this anecdote apparently. Fathers-in-law are impossible to impress sometimes.

Javits leans forward to watch Cristobal across the table as the security officer relates his story, with a concerned glance every few seconds to Churas and Gr'laH, noting their reactions.

. o O Javits thinks "That first aid training might end up useful here before the night is done."

Turtledove walks on set.

Turtledove has arrived.

Donavon walks on set.

Donavon has arrived.

Harris walks on set.

Harris has arrived.

The hall is raccous with Klingons. The rumble and drone of conversation, counterpoints of guffawed laughter, sporatic singing, they create a blessed cacaphony in the Gharas' great hall. At the end of the hall, directly opposite the grand doorway, is the head table of the House Elder, Gharas Captain, and Ambassador himself. To his right are Churas and Nathan. To his left, Jiasha and Javits. Stewart mingles somwhere amongst the crowd. The head table seems to be focussed on Cristobal at the moment.

Cristobal says, "I'd barely spoken to her, nor she to me. At the time I was rather frustrated in the dealings I'd had with Klingons aboard the station. Similarly, she was not overly fond of Starfleet Security at that particular moment. I attempted to stifle my displeasure, but was unsuccessful. She asked me if simply being in the same room with a Klingon was so upsetting." A pause and a light grin, "I replied that she should know it was not wise to relax in the presence of a predator." He's pretty much just starting the story, it appears."

Gr'laH offers a grudging sort of chuckle at Cristobal's tale. The sort of chuckle that says 'if you weren't married to my daughter, I'd be laughing louder'. Obligatory gruffness and grumbling from old Gr'laH, you see. It's in his idiom.

Javits barely suppresses a quiet chuckle, managing to attenuate it into a broad grin. Perhaps in an effort to quell any further disturbances, he tears off another strip of meat from the rapidly dwindling mass on his plate, chewing it slowly and quietly as he focuses his attention on Cristobal.

. o O Javits thinks "That sounds like a Klingon pickup line, Lieutenant. For shame. *chuckle*"

Churas's expression softens somewhat. She can't help it. This is apparently the kind of story that passes for sweet in Klingon World, or at least Churas's. Still, she does her best to keep on her 'you'd better be careful how you tell this story, mister,' expression.

Entering the great hall with Donavon and Turtledove, Harris appears to be just a bit... apprehensive, but filled with bravado all the same. After all, in Kirk's Starfleet, you only got this close to the inside of a Klingon warship as you blew it apart... so this is (apparently) a rather new experience for the old man.

Turtledove walks into the fray with Harris and Donavon, appraising the room with quiet interest. Her attention comes to rest on the head table... and it brings a quiet smile to her mouth. She glances to her companions, resting her attention on Donavon. "We should... probably find a seat?"

Turtledove reveals her Knife.

Turtledove is dressed in black leather pants, and a black high-neck shirt. Her knife is sheathed at her belt, transported, presumably in the appropriate manner.

Cristobal continues, "We argued over the details of our mutual apprehension, the ones I've chosen to omit. We did /not/ come to any sort of agreement during the course of this argument. I threw up my hands in frustration, and said I couldn't think of any way to continue the discussion short of challenging her, and that I felt it would be out of the question for me to do so."

Gr'laH opines at this point, "Nathan wasn't always as forward thinking as he is presently." Out of the question? Fighting? Bah!

Which is probably why Harris wasn't allowed to carry a phaser, but Donavon trusts him for there's no tell tale sign of worrying on her face. She does however listen to the story that is bravely told over the din which earns a faint cracked smile. "Sit without greeting the hosts? Let's wait for the story to end, first," is suggested to Turtledove.

Churas laughs aloud at her father's commentary, looking back over her shoulder at him before turning her attention back to Cristobal. Her expression says it all: do go on, dear.

Javits can't help but burst forth with a laugh this time, shaking his head and taking another sip of water in an effort to recover.

Turtledove's eyes shift to Donavon, a grateful smile and nod acknowledging the redhead's acumen, before turning her attention back to the head table and listening with subdued curiousity.

A smile is directed at both TD and Meg from Harris' direction. He's out of his league here.

Cristobal gives Gr'laH a mildly annoyed look. Who's telling this story anyway? He resolves to at least finish the story before putting the old man back in the Infirmary. "She asked why. I explained that I felt it was a mistake for a Security Officer to get into a fight like that. That as someone entrusted with keeping the peace aboard the station, it reflected poorly for me to break the peace simply because my uniform was off." He chuckles, "At the time, I suggested creating a holographic version of myself that she could fight against. As I recall, she wasn't interested. Her rejoinder was that I should spar with her." He mimics her voice, (in a non-mocking way) "You never know when you'll need to subdue someone with over a decade's training in Mok'bara, and a holo-opponent won't prepare you for that."

Gr'laH grins rather wryly at the laughter his comment nets, glancing back to Cristobal with a slightly raised brow and a wider grin. Whose ship is he telling it aboard? Ha. While the story continues, his gaze drifts out about the hall, squinting at the trio of forms in the distance that are obviously not Klingon. He leans forward, as though his eye simply can't make the figures out. Precisely because they can't.

That creeping smirk brightens further at hearing the rest of the story and Meg has to dip her head down in order to stifle a laugh behind a fist. Security Officers never fighting in order to keep peace...never. Amused eyes glance once up at Harris, then dart over at Turtledove to read their expressions before turning attentions back on her fellow officer.

Cristobal pauses theatrically, saying. "I considered this. Mulled it over. It really was a good idea. Good training. This was before Fight Night started, so I thought 'How often would I get a chance to spar against a Klingon warrior?'" He pauses for laughter, at this point, from those in the know.

Turtledove's expression is, probably, disappointingly bland, her amusement registering as a little smile. The kind of smile that one wears to a new, interesting, yet alien environment.

Javits remains silent for this one, quietly chewing a large bite of meat taken from his plate as he glances about the table, gauging reactions.

My. There are a lot of Klingons here. Harris' eyes start tracing the room.

Tongue rolling against cheek, Donavon muses over the point though refrains from interjecting a comment - the story is not yet done. Unlike her counterpart, Harris, she's entirely at ease in the room, reminds her of home. In fact, eyes glance about for a drink for every good story needs a toast at its ending.

"So," Cristobal continues, "we went our seperate ways to change into appropriate dress, and arrived at the holodeck. Then, we began to spar." A pause here. "At the end of our 'sparring' match, neither of us were able to stand unaided. I wondered aloud how I was going to explain this as a training exercise. Churas's response was, 'You were training. With. A. Klingon, Lieutenant. How do you /think/ you are going to explain it? I am just wondering how I am going to explain to my father that I was training with /you/.'" Another pause for laughter.

Javits, after taking a sip from his goblet, lowers it to reveal a rather amused expression. Noticing the trio at the far end of the hall, his expression intensified just a bit.

Turtledove chuckles, in spite of herself. Can't resist. She looks at Harris, winking, before looking back to the head table.

Stewart's expression remains polite throughout the story. But just polite. Whether or not others laugh, he just sits quietly. To compensate, he selects more meat with which to occupy himself.

. o O Javits thinks "And the party only gets better. I really do wonder what the Ambassador's reaction was."

Churas snorts in amusement and shakes her head slightly. Yes, that's the, 'Oh, if only we'd known,' headshake, there.

Catching the wink from the corner of his eye, Harris offers Turtledove a tiny smile.

Laughter cometh and amusement warmeth. Donavon peers across the room, noticing the rumbles about, then glances back at the storyteller. All the while, her hand squeezes gently at Robert's captured one, perhaps relating a little about 'sparring'.

Gr'laH shakes his head with a soft chuckle, bobbing his head in agreement. "An explanation I have, in hindsight, wished I had demanded." Jokes. Jokes. He reaches around Churas to smack Cristobal on the shoulder. All in good fun, that. "Good story, Nathan. Good story." Finally his attention shifts to the trio with another squint. "I cannot see you! So if you wish for me to greet you, come closer! They took my /good/ eye, you know!"

"/So!/" Cristobal says, not otherwise acknowledging Gr'laH's interruption, the tone of his voice sounding like he's wrapping it up here, "by lowering the gravity of the holodeck, we were able to work ourselves to a standing position. By leaning against each other, we were able to make our way to the Infirmary without being stretchered over. Between us, here was what we'd accumulated from our sparring match: A dislocated shoulder, several broken ribs, several more fractured ribs, a broken nose, a concussion, and two bills from the Dream Factory for a cleanup of the blood we left. When I regained consciousness, I would not, at the time, have believed that that was the luckiest day of my life." He smiles and pats Churas's shoulder fondly before sitting down.

Turtledove quirks a brow on the way to looking at Donavon. Grinning, her eyebrows perk and she straightens up. To Donavon, she says, "After you."

. o O Javits thinks "And I thought my first dates were interesting. Wow."

Remaining silent, Harris seems to be content to let Donavon lead as well.

Born with red-hair and Irish to boot, Donavon isn't going to skirmish away from the challenge. Onward does she approach the head table, now commenting in aside to Cristobal, "Congratulations on the marriage. May both you and your wife share many more pleasant experiences in breaking another. Keeps the blood alive." She should know, considering how often she's brawled in her lifetime. But politeness demands that attentions are directed upon the host, Gr'laH. How she phrases the next words is a bit on the spot, not having fully studied the art of Klingon greeting to a host. "Greetings, Gr'laH, son of Go'lah. Harris, Turtledove, and myself would like to extend our gratitude at the open invite and come bearing gifts for the newly married warriors." She pauses and waits. Here's where they discover if they were invited or not.

Churas punches Cristobal really quite solidly in the shoulder as he sits down; it's only the angle that keeps it from being her full-out /decking/ him. *PUNCH* Like so. Churas whispers to Cristobal, "jlH thulH." She even quietly addresses him, a rather besotted -- for her -- look on her face before turning to look at the incoming personages.

"Greetings, Ensign. Lieutenants." Gr'laH inclines his head rather deocorously, grinning his approval at the notion of gifts. The greeting, the gifts, the whole of the moment seems to please Gr'laH as much as Cristobal's story. (That should have ended with the punchline!) He motions with his hand towards the couple at his side. "Once they are done being thoroughly adorable, you may no doubt get a word in edgewise." A pause. "Do not, however, hold your breath for speaking. It can take some time."

Javits winces at the punch, turning away to regard the arrivals with a friendly smile. Greetings are best left to the honoured host.

Cristobal /winces/ at the punch. He makes a motion with his elbow, then stops, shaking his head. Blows to the midsection bad. He twists his body just a bit before elbowing her in her shoulder instead. He both winces and grins as a response to Gr'laH's comment, turning to Donavon and saying almost impishly, "Wha'd ya bring us, Meg?"

Robert presses the bottle of whiskey that he carries into Meg's hands. She's better at this than he is, apparently.

. o O Javits thinks "That's a display of affection, right?"

"I'd have brought my pipes to play, but I'll save that for another night. We bring whiskey home brewed. It is traditionally drunk after a victory or enduring a long brawl, at least it is with my family." Meg nudges Robert gently to offer it to Cristobal. "Give me about a month and you'll receive a case of it."

Turtledove stands straightly, giving Gr'laH a relatively wry grin. Her eyes reveal a mellow sort of curiousity, overlaid with a quiet boldness. "I thank-you for your hospitality, Ambassador, and bring wishes of success and fruitfulness in this union." Shifting her attention then to Churas and Cristobal, she waits for Meg to present her gift, as requested, by Cristobal. Then adds, as she hands over a smallish-sized box. "A sharpener for blades. Of high-quality, I was assured." Yes, this is Turtledove, trying to think like a Klingon.

"Congratulations," Harris says with a broad smile after he's rebuffed by the redhead, placing the bottle on the table. "May your married life be joyous and long." And that's as poetic as he gets.

Churas shoots a /look/ at her father, one that's not entirely displeased. "Ha." She settles back in her seat again, and eyes the whiskey with poorly-concealed jealousy. Alcohol! Sad Churas misses alcohol. "Thank you for your words and gift. Eat. Drink. Be welcome," she rumbles, looking next to Turtledove. Ah! Now this, this is a gift she can accept without reservation. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

Cristobal accepts both of the gifts, smiling as he does. "Thank you," he says to the trio, "All of you." He forces himself not to shoot a look in Churas's direction when he is present with the whisky bottle. Wordlessly, he passes the box over to Churas. Here, new toy. He shoots a grin in her direction.

Javits looks on as he continues to enjoy his meal, gradually working away at the large chunk of meat on his plate.

Straightening, Harris glances at Turtledove - still grinning as if to say, "Nice choice."

Donavon adds in an offering, "Save it for when Churas victoriously endures her next battle - giving birth." From what she's read and heard, pregnancy isn't peaches and cream. She nods her head to the trio at the head table, cracks a grin at Turtledove - nice toy - then steps a tad back against Harris.

"We were sharing stories," Gr'laH notes to the guests, "sit with us. There is food. Drink. Good company. The price is, of course, joining in the tale swapping. We have heard of a wild boy of Bajor and a fateful lapse in judgement. Both with their morals to them. I am curious to hear what you would have to account for. Most especially you, Lieutenant Turtledove. You are a Warrior Maiden. And you are far too subdued in countenance to be other than excellent at it."

Stewart, being an adventurous sort, Stewart takes the moment of gift-giving to try the gagh. This way, he can safely gag, should such become necessary, without becoming the focus of attention.

As Donavon leans back against him, Harris lowers his voice in speaking to her.

Harris whispers to Donavon, "Tired, anamchara?"

Donavon faintly smiles while whispering in return to Harris. Sights are focused on Turtledove, awaiting a story.

Donavon whispers to Harris, "Being tired is weak and we just arrived. I may sit in the back to listen. Why don't you share a story?"

Turtledove smiles readily to Churas and Cristobal, nodding precisely in a military sort of way. Gr'laH's comment draws her attention, and she looks over to him, surprised by the remark. But she can't help but quirk a grin. She raises the volume of her voice above it's usual slight timbre. "I am what I am, Ambassador." But, she is not about to refuse a story outright. "I prefer to let my actions tell the story. Each battle is fought with the memory of each preceding battle, as I see it. I would tell a story, but if I did, it would be by action, not by word."

A small grin escapes Harris' lips, glancing toward TD before he replies softly to Meg.

Harris whispers to Donavon, "Not many stories to tell, Meg."

Churas grins back aside to Cristobal before opening the box to peer at the gift. Donavon's comments are greeted with a feral smile and a nod, before her attention is redirected to Turtledove.

A snort follows after the soft murmuring in her ear. Donavon peers once at Harris, disbelief apparent, before turning an ear and eyes to Turtledove. Words are hastily replied, pitched low for her companion as not to interrupt the present tale ahead.

Donavon whispers to Harris, "How about the tale of triumphing over a bulkhead or standing up to the stubborn Irish lass and dumping her in the infirmary? Though, a story about the various uses of a couch could intrigue others."

In response to Turtledove's demurral, he notes, "/That/ sounded like a challenge, to me." He peers around the hall and raises his voice, "Who feels like answering it?" He winks in Turtledove's direction.

Turtledove's mouth curves ever upward, as she turns to face the hall, anticipating a challenger.

Harris coughs as he starts to move toward the back of the hall. "Maybe later," is all he says in reply to Meg.

Javits shoots a sidelong glance in Cristobal's direction, then turns his attention to the hall, awaiting a response.

There's really only one thing worse than having gagh make you nauseous. And that would have to be liking gagh. As if Stewart really needed another way to repel his fellow human beings. But, he downs the rest of his mouthful and waits to see if anyone will spring forward to challenge Tera.

The sound of an amused laugh barely raises above the crowd's voices. Donavon follows suit in gaining a seat at the back end of the room so that they both can observe the challenge while sitting. "Or corridors for that matter," she adds, grinning to Harris.

"Shrewd," Gr'laH replies to Turtledove, his gaze shifting aside to Cristobal, then to Harris, then back to Turtledove with a slow lick of his lips. He lifts his hand from the chair arm only to slam it forecefully down again in order to propel his massive girth from his chair. The hall begins roaring approval as their Captain takes to his feet, no doubt anticipating a rather showy display. Sweeping his meal from the table before him, Gr'lah settles his hand onto the table and vaults his body over it to drop to the lower ground opposite with a massive thump of metal boots on hollow deckplates, striding the short distance towards Turtledove. "Tell me a story, little girl. I am tired and wish for bed." The hall takes to roaring their approval at this turn of events.

"Maybe later," Harris repeats as he waits for the story to commence, eyeing Donavon with a grin.

Churas, like the rest of the warriors of her house, takes to roaring with wordless delight and encouragement as her father vaults the table with a grace belied by his age and mass; she pounds her fist on the table and looks aside at Cristobal. /This/ ought to be /good./ Dad vs. a member of the RRT elite.

Javits sits up rather suddenly as his eyes go wide at the ambassador's sudden and dramatic actions. Recovering , he looks about the hall, then joins in as best he can, beating a fist upon the table in a slowly growing rhythm, even causing his plate to jump a bit.

Cristobal grins back at Churas, nodding in agreement with her silent assessment of the situation. Cristobal whispers to Churas, "Care to bet on the outcome, with the wager to be determined later?"

Donavon gently clips a foot towards Harris' ankle, then pounds a fist like the rest at the expecting 'story.'

Turtledove's grin widens ear-to-ear, tilting just so, and vaguely predatory, as she turns to face the surprisingly springy Gr'laH. She loosens her stance, fighter-ready. "If you are lucky, you shall find yourself ready for bed, in short order." She stands ready but does not strike yet.

. o O Javits thinks "I suppose my Klingon immersion theory is working well. This is fun!"

Harris goes Out of Character.

Harris has left.

"As if I would wager against my father?" Churas rumbles in response to Cristobal, again not bothering to whisper. "Would you?" She leans her elbows on the table and leans forward, watching this match with keen interest. Oh yes.

Cristobal replies, "You couldn't expect me to bet against my fellow officer, could you?" a grin on his face. "Besides, given the nature of the wager I had in mind, I wouldn't exactly be sore if I lost." A pause, "Well ok, I probably /would/, but I wouldn't be angry." Too much information, table one. Too much information, table one.

The boastful words of the human female are met in a proper Klingon fashion. Roars of approval mingled with winced growls of sympathy. For whom remains to be seen. Gr'laH's single milky eye grows momentarily bright with delight at the response. Firey. She'll do. His single hand reaches up to pluck away the eye patch he wears, flicking it aside in deference to the Warrior before him. Off come the robes of the Ambassador, leaving only the armor of the warrior. This, too, brings the crowd to a thunder. "If I am less fortunate, woman, I shall be long aggrieved before I am asleep." He addresses the next to the crowd. "A pity we fight with flesh, woman, you would fit to eat spitted to the hilt, eyes wide in shock." Bawdy? Yes. Such is the way. When he looks back to Turtledove, it is to strike. His single hand shooting out for her throat in a knife edge. Viper quick.

GAME: Gr'laH spends a courage point.

GAME: Turtledove spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill vs Turtledove's Unarmed Combat (Starfleet Martial Arts) skill and Fails!

Javits leans forward in earnest, literally on the edge of his seat. Such is his concentration on the contest at hand that he's completely abandoned any attempt at making his plate dance.

/Well./ Churas laughs aloud at her father's joke, but all the same, she shifts slightly, and her laugh is not /entirely/ comfortable. Ha. Haha. She leans back, now, grumbling uncomfortably. Stupid sitting forward is annoying now.

. o O Churas thinks "Is he hitting on her?"

Cerene walks on set.

Cerene has arrived.

Turtledove's experience serves her well, her body shifting with Gr'laH's hand, chest back and around, as her arm sweeps up, blocking the blow, and attempts to draw him in and wedge her leg between his, to try to bring him down. Her eyes are alight with the thrill of combat as she moves, with all swiftness.

<CONTEST> Turtledove contests her Unarmed Combat (Starfleet Martial Arts) skill vs Gr'laH's Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill and Succeeds!

Stewart wonders aloud, "Anyone know what the proper protocol is in the event I need to back up my friend up there? If there even is such a thing? Scream and charge, charge and scream, it's all so complicated." He gives a staged sigh, and then directs his attention back to the fight itself.

<CONTEST> Gr'laH contests his Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill vs Turtledove's Unarmed Combat (Starfleet Martial Arts) skill and Succeeds!

Cristobal arches a brow at Stewart's comment, until he notices the most recent arrival to the hall. "Legate!" he calls from his positio besides Churas at the main table, "join us!"

Gr'laH was surprised, certainly, when his strike missed. That, in and of itself, is surprise enough. But whe the diminutive Turtledove steps in closer and catches him behind his knee, his eye widens in profound bemusement. The bigger they are, the harder they fall it is said. And this holds true for Gr'laH. The speed and skill of his opponent throws him off balance and sends him teetering thunderously to the deck. Gr'laH, however, is a veteran warrior and has done more than his fair share of combat in such predicaments. So it is that his hand closes roughly on Turtledove's arm and his boot catches her stomach as they both take to tumbling. The old Klingon's leg then extends as he slams to the floor, shoving Turtledove over, off, and away some arbitrary distance to land however she might. "I am on my back, woman, but I do not slumber!" Roars. Yes. Lots and lots of roars.

Javits settles back a bit in his chair, recovering from his initial excitement. He still watches intently from the heads table, alternately wincing and pounding a fist on the table, though it's not all too apparent who he's rooting for, maybe both combatants.

Aliana strides into the hall with a small smirk on her lips, and raises her hand in greeting to Cristobal and Churas as she starts over in that direction.

Turtledove lands well, all things considered, tumbling backwards, and finding her footing, takes a crouched position. Standing, she replies, with a darkish smile, "You will find your rest soon enough, old man. This is just the introduction to the bedtime story. Unless you haven't the strength to get up and continue?" She moves closer, waiting, and smiling.

"ALI!" Churas's shout is exultant. She's enjoying the fight! She's glad her friend is here! She's eating good food! She's using up a month's worth of exclamation points all in one pose! Wow! "Come! Join us!" One of her massive hands pounds on the table, and she roars toward one of the servers, "Bring the Legate bloodwine!"

Javits shoots a wide-eyed look in Churas' direction, peering at her for a second or two before returning his attention to the combat in progress.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Get him Tera!"

Gr'laH rolls over onto his stomach, swinging his stump flush to his side as he performs a one handed pushup with his toes resting on the spikes of his boots. Good enough answer for you? He settles onto his knees and finishes his rise, crawling back to his feet in a rather ponderous fashion. One arm and a lot of weight makes for slow going. Once upright, Gr'laH eyes the crowd, then the woman, snorting his amusement. "I am old, woman, I am not yet dead. I have the strength to continue if you have the desire." The laughter of the hall explodes once more, as this truly is a sight to see. "Another option is, of course, admitting that your story would lack a desireable end, close the book, and join us at the table. Your modesty is word is matched by your boast in deed. You are, indeed, a skillfull storyteller. Come. Sit with me."

Javits goes home.

Javits has left.

Turtledove straightens up, returning to a typical military poise. "I would be honoured." Her thanks, actually, and surprised awe at Gr'laH's praise are in her eyes for all to see, even if they are not spoken.

Cristobal peers to the side and asks his wife, "So who wins the bet?"

. o O Cristobal's emotions are, behind the seeming innocence of that last sentence, rife with ribald undertones.

Cerene grins wryly as she heads over, approaching the cheerful Cristobal and the boisterous Churas. "Good to see the both of you," she says fondly as she draws near. "Sorry I'm late, but... well, you know. Meridian's back. So. Yeah."

"We both do, and you know it," Churas replies aside to Cristobal before cheering as her father begins to return to the table, Turtledove as well. "Ali! I can only guess at your predicament. Not everyone can work for an Ambassador who actually knows how to effectively /do/ his job." Cue feral grin. "Sit, drink!" And then toward her father she calls, "Father! Look whose overbearing taskmaster actually allowed her to come!"

Now that everything has quieted down, Stewart speaks up to call out to Turtledove, "Hey Tera. Try the gagh." Gagh being one of those foods that's even more fun to watch someone else try for the first time.

Gr'laH circles the table this time around, rising back up into his throne and falling into it with a grunt. The robes of his office are left where they lie. No sense in ruining a good sweat with officiousness. "Aliana Cerene," Gr'laH greets as an aside, "there is a matter we must discuss." Churas and Cristobal receive a glance, the former a faint grin for her jests. Or. Barbs, as it might be said. "I will allow Nathan to explain. If I do so, I may kill a man." To call Gr'laH's current level of self-control somewhat threadbare is an understatement. He looks, in truth, just slightly this side of wild-eyed.

Cerene seats herself as she gives a smirk to Churas. "I know. And trust me. It's damnably frustrating. I was hoping they'd forget to send him back," she winks, before turning to Churas. "I do not doubt it, Ambassador..." And she turns to Cristobal, listening attentively.

Cristobal grins, socking Churas's arm playfully before inclining his head to Gr'laH. He says, "Sorry to trouble you with work in the midst of this rather enjoyable situation, but our trouble is this. We, by which I mean the Federation, have refused to allow Iliara expatriate status. Thus, with the return of the other fosterlings, we are told that Iliara will be taken from us. I'm not entirely sure which department has oversight here, but apparently Ambassador Meridian has been of little help." There is apparently more, but he pauses, in case Cerene wishes to reply at this point.

Turtledove looks at Stewart, giving him a different kind of unspoken look, meanwhile, as she joins the head table, sitting next to the other RRT officer. "Gagh." She looks intrigued. "I've always wanted to try that."

Cerene closes her eyes and brings her hand to her face. "Lovely. *Lovely*. Just what the child needs. She finally finds a loving home and, oh, look, time to rip her away again. Sometimes, I..." She exhales sharply in frustration, and takes a deep breath. "So where are they intending to send her?"

"Away from me," Gr'laH replies despite his own advice, "to some other. It does not matter whom. She will not leave. Not while I live." Gr'laH shifts his gaze down the table to the conversing trio, then back to the hall of otherwise celebrating warriors. (And Stewart.)

. o O Turtledove feels genuinely intrigued, energized, and somewhat thrilled, with a sense of success and accomplishment.

Stewart slides the larger bowl of the stuff over towards Turtledove. "It's actually surprisingly good. Or rather, it's good, which is pretty surprising when you factor the whole live worms thing into the equation." Pause. "How're you?"

Churas lapses into a sort of sour silence. Where is her good mood? Oh. Right. ... not here. Not anymore. Gone. She slumps back into her chair, reaches for her goblet, and finds it gone, as she threw it earlier in a fit of pique. "WATER!" she bellows, sinking further down into her chair and folding her hands over her stomach.

. o O Churas is suddenly miserable. Thinking of the loss of her adopted sister and all that this would entail makes her both murderously angry and terribly broody.

Cristobal nods and says, "Exactly. Betazed, I suppose. A month or two on a ship just to get there, and then asking a planet still coping with devastation to take in another child." He's calmer about it than the Klingons, but still clearly angered. "Anyway, since /I/ am a Federation citizen, and there's no obstacle in this regard, I am attempting to adopt Iliara myself. Since my wife is Klingon, Iliara would, by our law, have dual citizenship. Her legal guardians, Churas and myself, would thusly be within our rights to transfer guardianship to Gr'laH."

Turtledove gives Stewart a wide grin, conveying a sense of energy, the thrill of combat still bright in her eyes and skin, as she extracts a polite amount of the gagh Following Churas' movements and then the cup with mellow eyes, she eventually looks back to Stewart, her smile somewhat subdued, sensing a mood shift. "I'm... better now. You?" Meanwhile, she stabs one of the little suckers, and brings it up closer to her eyes for a summary examination, before eating.

Cerene frowns as she leans back into her chair. "That makes sense, I suppose... Deities, why do the stupid bureaucrats always have to make everything so complicated... so, you two can adopt her without any troubles, and then have Gr'laH take guardianship again? That's a damned difficult way to do something that's so.. I mean, it shouldn't *be* so difficult."

Gr'laH closes his fist around his goblet, the gnarled and scarred hand straining until his hand turns nearly black from the force of his blood. The whole of it takes to shivering until the goblet gives out in a groan, the metal bending and snapping inwards as the Klingon simply crushes it like tin. The ruined goblet is flung out across the hall with a roar prior to Gr'laH bolting upright from his seat, upending his headtable with his hand and stepping over the spilled remnants of food, drink, and so on to drop once more to the floor of the hall. He tramples the robes of his office into the spilled slurry that is Klingon cuisine and draws his d'k tagh on his way down the center aisle of his hall. The celebrations in the hall grow, for the moment, rather subdued as their Captain stalks for the exit.

Stewart thumbs towards the departing Gr'laH, "Things like that make me really, really glad I'm off duty. And given that he's a diplomat, I feel safe in the assumption that he's not actually likely to kill himself. Possibly get up to some vandalism. I hope." He looks over to Turtledove, "What do you think? Can we file that under 'not my problem' for the moment?"

Stewart adds, "Assuming he's heading off the ship. If not, definitely not my problem."

"Given that he is on his own ship, Ensign, I do not think it could be any less your problem at the given moment," Churas rumbles, letting out a heavy, gusting sigh at her father's actions. Not that she did not, actually, expect something like this to happen. No. In fact, she so /didn't/ expect something like that to happen that her only real reaction is to rise from her chair and move down to pick up her father's Ambassadorial robes. Oh, the less-than-glamorous details of Ambassadorial Aiding, especially when your boss is your dad.

Cristobal, like most in the hall, is silent in the face of Gr'laH's rage. Stewart's comments elicit a rather penetrating stare directed in the RRT officer's direction.

. o O Churas thinks "TEST PLEASE EDIT OUT OF LOG"

. o O Churas thinks "TEST PLEASE EDIT OUT OF LOG"

Turtledove lowers her fork a tad, watching Gr'laH depart over top of the squirming gagh. Her grin fades out. "As Churas says, it's his ship."

Cerene watches Gr'laH go with a small frown, before turning back to Cristobal. "Go on," she says softly.

"At any rate, I think I'm rapidly wearing out my welcome here." Of course, Stewart doesn't actually get up, yet. He turns back to face Turtledove more directly, "Better now, you said? What were you before?"

Turtledove looks at Stewart, still dangling the skewered worm, showing no mercy for the animated morsel. She speaks in low tones. "I was trying to be something I wasn't." She winks at Stewart, but refrains from smiling. "As to wearing out your welcome, I wouldn't worry about that yet, James. I get the feeling that, when you wear out your welcome here, it's much more obvious."

The elder Klingon disappears out the doors of the great hall, onto the main barracks galley, heading rather directly for the lift on the opposite end. The massive doors begin to slide shut in his wake, slamming closed with a hollow clang that reverberates for quite some time. Nobodoy dies today. At least not /here/.

Cristobal observes the departing of Gr'laH before shrugging to Cerene, "That's what there is to it. The counselors will hopefully verify what I've always suspected, that I'm wholly sane. They'll see how attached the child is to my family, and grant my request. Where you can help is by getting your inaccurately-termed superior to submit some paperwork smoothing the process over."

Cerene watches the doors slam closed before turning back to Cristobal. "I'll do what I can. Although I'm not sure the man will listen to me any more than he'll listen to you. What, exactly, will he need to fill out?"

Cristobal says, "I'm uncertain, but I believe the crucial thing he'll need to do is to authorize Iliara's expatriation so she can officially become a citizen of the Empire."

Churas slumps back into her chair, draping Gr'laH's soiled robes across the back of his chair. It's a weirdly fitting image, that. She rubs her hand over her face and stares after the door through which her father exited rather broodily. "Indeed."

. o O Cristobal thinks "I wonder if Stewart's going to do anything that would require me to injure him?"

Another hollow clang reverberates the hull as a hum briefly overtakes the air. The starfield begins to move without the viewports. The Gharas, it would appear, is leaving dock. None of the Starfleet personnel have shifts in the morning, one hopes.

. o O Churas thinks "DAD!"

. o O Churas thinks "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

. o O Cristobal thinks "Ok, now I'm wondering the same thing about Gr'laH..."

Stewart just nods to Turtledove, and says, "Normally, I prefer to leave before I get the polite knife in the kidneys. After that, they get vicious." Looking up, and noticing that, hey, they're headed off to space, Stewart says, "But I think we can safely take that to mean that we're invited to stay a little while longer."

Turtledove quirks a brow, blinking in disbelief at the movement in the viewports. "That's not good."

"Well, alright, then. I'll see what I can do. If I have to, I'll write up the forms myself," Aliana responds, "and just pass them on to him. I think the man signs stuff all the time without ev--" And then the ship starts to move. "Oh, dear."

Cristobal rubs the bridge of his nose, sighing rather loudly. He's about to tap his compin when he realizes he's not patched into the ship's comm system. He stands and walks briskly towards a comm system, slapping the button irritatedly. He says in Klingon, "Cristobal to Fleet Captain Gr'laH."

There is an irritated growl that answers the hail. Similarly in Klingon comes the reply, "What."

Churas does no more than raises a hand to cover her face with it. This is her 'Oh /DAD./' expression. Mark it well. Apparently Cristobal -- shock and surprise -- has already done what she might have otherwise.

Turtledove watches Cristobal with a quirked eyebrow. The gagh, meanwhile, is still dangling on her fork, although with a bit less spunk.

Stewart shrugs to Turtledove, "At any rate, I have a really, really good excuse for missing exercises tommorow. Kidnapped by Klingon wedding party usually works. Course, knowing Golden, he'll want to know why we didn't fight our way out of here. Better hang on to that gagh fork, might need a backup weapon." This is said humorously, and quietly. There are a lot of Klingons, and probably not the best idea to make too much trouble, at this point.

Cristobal says in Klingon, "May I ask where we are going?"

Turtledove shifts an amused glance to Stewart, the kind that comes with a sardonic twist of the mouth, incidentally, before turning her attention back to Cristobal and the comm system.

"You may," comes Gr'laH's reply. And yes, he waits for Cristobal to ask.

Churas sits exactly as she was before. She'll just be over here, face covered by her hand, looking not really at all surprised by any of this. Nope. Not. One. Bit.

Cristobal shoots Churas a look and mouths, 'At least he's making bad jokes' silently. He turns back to the comm panel. He says in Klingon, "Where are we going?"

Cerene just... facepalms.

Stewart waits intently for the answer to just where, oh where, this ship is headed.

Churas doesn't see the mouthed phrases. She's got her elbow propped on the arm of her chair and her hand covering her face. Oh -- as usual -- dear.

"I thought I might debark from the station, engage my cloak, come to weapons range, drop cloak, and blast 419 from the void while its shields were lowered. I thought I might rapidly decompress everyone on this miserable duranium coffin that had ever chanced to offend me, shovel me stump-deep in scorn, or otherwise give me cause for displeasure. I thought about flying to Teirra to blast the Rynkans from the skies above. I considered joining with Krotar's fleet and throwing ourselves at the Ferengi Marauders, perhaps taking West's blockade along with us to slake the river of blood. I gave thought to shoving my blade between the fourth an fifth rib of one of my guests and turning my blade until his heart popped out whole before his eyes. Which is why we are debarking to one parsec to await a calmer mindset. I trust you do not mind what I do with the flagship of the House to which you do not belong, Nathan, and of which I am Elder." Troubling, in that Gr'laH sounds sincere.

. o O Churas thinks "Yep. That's my dad."

"I'm afraid I do mind, Gr'laH," Cristobal says, his lips a thin line, "You currently have four Federation citizens aboard, none of whom were aware of your intent to depart the Station when they accepted your invitation to the celebration. If you /did/ intend to take the four of us prisoner, and this hostile act /was/ House Gr'laH's declaration of war with the Federation, so be it. If, on the other hand, this was not your intention, I suggest you return..." Cristobal pauses here, glancing in the direction of Churas, "the other three individuals to the station at once."

Cerene raises an eyebrow and murmurs softly, "Um, Nathan, I'm not exactly in a hurry to go anywhere right now, especially if this will help him relax a bit."

Cristobal adds, "Legate Cerene is requesting to stay aboard."

. o O Cristobal thinks "I thought you might. But I couldn't speak for you."

Stewart calls out, "And if it helps, I would greatly like to not be at war with these friendly gentlemen, here, at this present time." He indicates the assembled Klingons with a wave of an arm. "Because we're such good friends, you see." And not because they're all armed with pointy things, and probably drunk.

Cristobal looks over at Stewart and rather clearly mouths the words 'Shut. Up.' at him.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Idiot"

. o O Cristobal thinks "Christ Gr'laH...we're going to hang on to her. Yes /I'll/ be doing it for you...that's what family is for. Don't do anything stupid..."

Turtledove regards Cristobal plainly, speaking with dutiful reluctance. "In all honesty, our CO will take exception to us not arriving for morning training exercises in 4 hours or so. Although sleep is nice, that's our touring window."

"You presume rather much on my patience, Son of Eduardo, and on my intents. I have a full shuttlebay and you know how to fly them. Until such a time as you and the rest of my guests are pepared to debark aboard one of them, I strongly suggest you cease your posturing. For I am out of practice with site-to-site transport. And when I attempt to expediently move you into my brig for defiance of my authority, I may inadvertently land you in the vacuum of space. Do not provoke me further. If I wished you prisoner, I advise you note the Hall of Warriors in which you currently reside and consider the fact that they are not, at present, detaining you. Would you like to anger me further, Nathan, or will you mind your place aboard my ship?" Gr'laH sounds less than pleased, a fact punctuated by the rippling of the cloak outside of the viewports.

Churas simply keeps her face covered with her hand.

Cerene does too.

<CONTEST> Cristobal contests his Presence (Willpower) skill vs a difficulty of Moderate and Succeeds!

Hey, is that gagh? Stewart does indeed shut up, but only so he can presume upon the generosity of the host once more. And hey, he won't mind, he's off in his room. And it is a feast, and all.

Cristobal bites off the host of responses he could have barked out and slaps the comm panel, closing the channel. He walks back to his chair and sits down heavily, crossing his arms and staring forward stonily. The resemblance in expression between Nathan now and Gr'laH when the celebration began (minus forehead ridges, plus a limb and an eye) is uncanny. "It seems we are to wait until your father finishes his tantrum," he says, his stare focusing on a random spot of wall across the room and not moving.

GAME: Churas spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Churas (claiming advantage) contests her Unarmed Combat (Mok'bara) skill vs Cristobal's Unarmed Combat (Starfleet Martial Arts) skill (given disadvantage) and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Churas contests her Fitness (Strength) skill vs Cristobal's Fitness (Vitality) skill and Succeeds!

The fact that his stare -- and therefore his head -- is focused on a random spot of wall makes his head a /perfect/ target for Churas's fist. Lest Cristobal forget how lethal his bride actually /is,/ he's about to be reminded of how hard she hits when there are no holodeck safeties between her fist and his head. The thrown punch is accompanied by a growled, "NATHAN!" after which Churas finds herself rather surprisingly quickly on her feet, considering her mass. "Are you being held prisoner? Are you being removed further than you can reasonably return? Are you actually being /inconvenienced/ in ANY CONSIDERABLE WAY? NO? THEN SHUT YOUR MOUTH AND STOP PROVOKING MY FATHER /AND/ ME. I would say that I cannot believe what you are saying, but I have seen it too many times, you IMPOSSIBLE CREATURE." Throwing up a hand, she points down at him and snarls, "/YOU/ will sleep ALONE tonight," before storming toward the doors.

Stewart notes, as an aside to Turtledove, "From the Big Book of the Bloody Obvious: Never, ever complain about being stuck with the wife/girlfriend/significant other. If I were him, I'd be counting my blessings that he at least gets to sleep tonight, as opposed to just floating out an airlock."

The force of the blow knocks Cristobal off of his chair, sending him face-first to the floor in a rather undignified heap. He slowly pushes himself up and fixes Churas with a /look/, more hurt than angry. Standing, he glances at Cerene and the RRT officers and says in a bland, neutral tone of voice, "I'll be returning to the station now. Anyone who wishes to do so as well, may." Without stopping to see if anyone follows, he walks towards a different pair of doors, the ones leading to the aft shuttlebay.

. o O Cristobal thinks "Hormones. Had to be."

. o O Cristobal thinks "I wonder if I'm legally able to kill Stewart, given that this is a Klingon vessel...Christ, I think that was serious. Need to get off this ship..."

. o O Churas is /furious./ 'Could cause permanent damage to relationships' angry. Yes, it's partially hormonal, but she's /really/ angry.

Turtledove had been casually swapping her old gagh for a newer, spritlier gagh, but the spirited altercation between the guests of honour draws her attention and so she watches Churas with well-mannered curiousity, then shifts her attentive glance to Cristobal. Who is leaving. She stands, and looks at Stewart. "I guess the party's over." A brief smile, and she turns and follows Cristobal towards the aft shuttlebay.

. o O Churas thinks "Impossible. All of them are entirely impossible creatures. Males. Every single one of them ruled by their impulses, and here I am, smoothing them over, trying to get Nathan to get along with Gr'laH and my father not to suicide himself over a situation that can perfectly well be handled much better by a simple adoption by Nathan and was it too much to hope that this would not end in disaster? I suppose not. BAH!"

Stewart rises from his seat as well, "That would certainly seem to be the case. But hey, free shuttle ride home. Saves Starfleet the money it'd cost to book us passage from Qo'noS, or wherever we might have ended up." So he follows along, third member in this ducks-in-a-row line.

Cerene rolls her eyes. "You're doing it again, Nathan," she mutters, nearly under her breath. But not quite.

. o O Cristobal thinks "I don't believe she wishes to speak to me this time. More to the point, I do not wish to speak to her. And I really /DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT/..."

Churas just keeps on going. Where? Out the doors. Possibly to the Bridge. Possibly not. She upends another platter of meat on her way out, just for emphasis. Just in case you missed it, I'm /angry/ over here. And then? She's gone, off into the innards of the Gharas.

. o O Churas thinks "MALES!"

Cristobal's frown very briefly transforms into a mask of rage as he stalks out of the Hall. Only briefly, however, and he continues on to the shuttlebay.

Shaft has arrived.

GAME: Shaft is joining this location.