The Last Performance of Voka'ra

 Episode Name:  The Last Performance of Voka'ra

   Written By:  Jatila and Grey

         Cast:  Beraq, Bor'ta, Dane, Foster, Goodwin, Grey, K'net-mauri, Kirkpatrick, Kogh, Kran'dok, Moulin, 
                Mulwray, O'Rielly, Randal, Strell, Ueno and Voka'ra.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Grey

     Aired On:  Thu Jul 07 22:05:47 2005

     Stardate:  55098.5

Time: Thu Jul 07 19:08:11 2005

Stardate: 55098.2

Separating this 'room' from the rest of the lower part of the mall is just a tall hedge. On this side of the hedge, willowy trees spring out from under the deck itself, their roots obscured by a ringed grating. Planters of varying heights house a wide variety of colorful alien flora. The area is dimly lit with track lighting high above in order to give the best possible view. The entire external wall of this part of the station is made of transparent aluminum, its thickness doubled from the other windows of the station because of the sheer size of the window. Despite the thickness, it offers no distortion to the viewer of a breathtaking vista of the stars - and when the station turns in the right direction - the anomaly itself. A few benches are set around the planters.

The support crew of 419-Upsilon has once again done a fine job in preparing the Observation Garden for an event that doesn't involve sniffing flowers. Neat rows of seats have been laid out in a neat triangle, its apex enveloping the dark stage near the viewports. Little light shows- just enough to keep people from bumping into each other or trees.

. o O Strell thinks, "How very like the Klingons -- the performance was due to begin eleven minutes ago."

Kran'dok comes into the garden through the hedge.

Kran'dok has arrived.

Goodwin comes into the garden through the hedge.

Goodwin has arrived.

. o O Kogh thinks, "Human females make concentration difficult."

Moulin comes into the garden through the hedge.

Moulin has arrived.

O'Rielly comes into the garden through the hedge.

O'Rielly has arrived.

Strell comes into the garden through the hedge.

Strell has arrived.

Kogh comes into the garden through the hedge.

Kogh has arrived.

Kirkpatrick comes into the garden through the hedge.

Kirkpatrick has arrived.

Kran'dok strides through the doors wearing a long formal Romulan Robe. This is likely the first time anyone has seen him out of uniform since he has arrived. He seems quite at home in the clothes as he calmly surveys the scene. After a few moments by the door, he effortlessly glides towards one of his seats.

Bor'ta comes into the garden through the hedge.

Bor'ta has arrived.

Goodwin enters with Moulin, and shakes his head. "Good thing I'm actually putting you to work instead of shuffling papers and making nasty comments to me," he reflects. "Make you earn your credits." Grumble, then he finally assumes a more professional demeanor. "Mister Ambassador, would you like to join me and Ensign Moulin for the performance?"

Voka'ra stands near the viewports, unmoving, her spine straight and proud. Staring at the stars, she smiles out at them, a rather awful expression, before tilting her head at the sound of footsteps.

Kirkpatrick enters the Observation Garden wearing his dress uniform, his hands behind his back. He moves past the curtain and takes his seat behind Kran'dok.

Strell turns once he enters the garden, locating a seat about halfway up on the right hand side and settling into it in silence.

"If shuffling papers isn't work, how is it--" Isabeau curbs her tongue as Goodwin calls out to the Klingon Ambassador, putting on a smile. "Please do, Ambassador. You're most welcome."

Kogh creaks his way through the gap in the hedge, pausing to look around carefully. Goodwin's words catch his attention, and, a small smile curves his lips. "Why, that would be most fitting, Commander," he returns, his eyes and gaze flickering towards Voka'ra. "Ensign," he greets, the small smile quirking slightly.

Voka'ra turns her head a little more, then her entire body, to stride toward those entering, rather casually.

Goodwin finds a section of three seats for himself, his staffer, and the Klingon ambassador, letting both of them sit before he does. "It should be a fine performance," he remarks to the two of them.

Kran'dok picks a seat near the back of the room. His attention is on the front, but he keeps glancing back at the entry as each new person arrives. Almost as if he is expecting some one. He gives the crowd one last glance and decides it is best to sit alone.

Kirkpatrick sits back in his chair near the back, taking up conversation with a Bolian who sits next to him. He leans back rather casually, awaiting until the program begins.

Ensign Moulin sits between the Ambassador and her CO. "My Klingon," she admits, "is not what it should be, I'm afraid. Would it distract terribly from your enjoyment of the performance to act as librettist, Ambassador?"

O'Rielly steps in and finds a seat near the back of the crowd, though perhaps not surprisingly he stays back from his superiors in the audience.

Strell folds his hands and waits.

Kogh grunts as he seats himself. "It will be glorious," he declares, very quietly, but with obvious decisiveness. No question for him: it -will- be. He blinks rapidly, peering at Moulin with a small degree of confusion. "Librettist?"

. o O Strell thinks, "The performance has now been delayed by twenty-seven minutes. Perhaps her manager is not in possession of an accurate chronometer?"

. o O Strell is, of course, not irritated. He's calm, and somewhat curious.

"You do not have a translator, Ensign?" Voka'ra questions, surprised, as she halts near Goodwin's little group. Looking around a bit, she laughs softly. "Talk! Enjoy the dark mood of the Garden. There is time." Then her gaze returns to her fellow Klingon. "Ambassador Kogh, I presume."

Kirkpatrick gets up to stretch his legs, overhearing Kogh's question. "Pardon me for cutting in - a libretto is an Earth opera term, referring to the text of the opera." He states with a nod, giving a small smile to Goodwin and Moulin.

Goodwin chuckles and rises slightly at the approach of Voka'ra. "Ms. Kogara. It is an honor to be present at your final performance. I am only saddened I have not seen you in person before this, and none shall be graced with your voice after."

Kogh retakes his feet, without a grumble. Except from his armour. "It is so," he rumbles in reply, "and it is my regret that I have not had the honour of meeting such a luminous presence as that of the great Voka'ra before this moment," he concludes with a small, nontheless respectful tilting of his head. He gives Kirkpatrick an amused glance, with good humour, "Ah. My gratitude."

Kran'dok turns half way around in his seat to observe the exchange and learn just a little bit about opera. His gaze still drifts towards the doorway, but his attention is on the converstations.

"Alors!" Moulin scrunches her nose in a kittenish expression of consternation. "Forgive me, Ambassador. It means an interpreter of the lyrics--" she smiles at Kirkpatrick, and nods as he elaborates better than she. "Just so."."
For her part, Ensign Moulin looks positively delighted, well-nigh starstruck, as Voka'ra greets the trio. "Madame," she greets the diva. "I am afraid a translator, however 'universal', can do only so much. There are context, inflection, a thousand nuances, especially in song, a machine could never render."

"No problem," the red-headed Kirkpatrick says with a grin. "I think it's an Italian word, though something tells me we aren't going to be hearing any Puccini or Handel today." A long silence is given as he adjusts his jacket, "I'm not too fond of Puccini. Though Handel I like."

Voka'ra glances toward Goodwin, good humor in her eyes. "Ever the flatterer, Commander," she teases lightly. "But I thank your for your words." Back to Kogh. "My cousin told me that you were looking forward to this performance. It is indeed an honor to have one of your caliber attend." And Moulin gets a rather surprised, pleased look. "You are perceptive, child."

O'Rielly just looks around as he sits down. He grabs out a PADD and starts to enter something onto it as he waits.

Ueno comes into the garden through the hedge.

Ueno has arrived.

Ensign Moulin blushes with sincere pleasure at the compliment from the renowned performer. She lowers her gaze modestly, and demurs, "You do me great honor to say so, Madame. Thank you."
To Kirkpatrick, offering a reassuring smile, she offers up, "Probably not Handel or Puccini, no. Selections from the works of Keedera, I'd think? "Aktuh and Melota", "Shevok'tah gish", or perhaps "Gav'ot toh'va"."

Kogh appears too surprised at the compliment to respond immediately. It's not a jaw-gaping surprise, or anything instantly obvious to those who don't look closely; but his eyes widen slightly, and his forehead makes a minor dip forward. After a moment, "With great anticipation," he confirms, fitting the sentence politely into a gap. He simply nods to Kirkpatrick.

Goodwin allows the others to speak, nodding his head once towards the opera star, watching as she greets and speaks to the others in his group.

Ueno walks in with quiet steps, blinking as she adjusts to the soft lighting. She walks closer to the triangle of seats, peering around for an empty one, or even better, a friendly face.

. o O Kogh feels surprised, cheerful. But with a faint whiff of annoyance lurking there, above the stormy aggression that is so effectively weighed down with humour.

Kran'dok glances up again at the new arrival. With a faint look of disappointment he turns his attention back to the front. He is not wearing his uniform tonight, instead having opted for dress robes. He sits very near the back on the left side.

. o O Kogh thinks, "Such a beautiful location, this place. Yet I would not say that aloud! Ha, the eternal amusements of being Klingon."

Bor'ta has settled in, standing, near the back. He seems to be waiting and watching quietly for the moment.

Kirkpatrick chuckles to Moulin, "I'd rather hear something from Aktuh and Melota instead of something from Madame Butterfly, that's for sure."

"Good," Voka'ra smiles firmly, showing just the tips of her teeth. Casually she settles into a stance near Commander and Ambassador. "Do you have any particular favorite operas, Ambassador? I know that Commander Goodwin does," she chuckles.

. o O Kran'dok thinks, "I was afraid she would not be able to make it. That is fine though, only a minor disappointment compared to the rest of this week."

"I will have you know," Goodwin defends himself. "That your cousin has been kind enough to send me the collection of your recordings, and I have been listening to them with great enthusiasm."

Kogh chuckles faintly, shaking his head slowly. "I claim no favourites. Each and all music has its place and time - almost all, at any rate. I once heard such horrors-" He glances at Moulin and Goodwin, chuckling faintly again. "But now is not the place to voice such thoughts, I suspect."

Ueno looks over at Bor'ta. She walks closer to him and bows her head. "Qap'la. I haven't missed the performance, have I?" she asks, her question simple and direct in true Klingon fashion.

. o O Kogh thinks, "The horrors of some Earth music should perhaps not be spoken of at any time or place."

Moulin laughs aloud, settling a grin on the sciences officer--apparently not much of a Puccini fan herself. "I entirely agree. Though as a man who favours Handel, I'd guess you're a fan of more melodic strains? Something you go home humming to yourself?"

Voka'ra laughs softly. "Be at ease, Commander! I like you. And I tend to tease those I like." That bluntly stated, she nods toward Kogh. "I can only hope that this is the right place and time for tonight's music."

Strell just unclasps and reclasps his hands, still waiting.

Kirkpatrick licks his lips, narrowing his eyes in merriment. "I like music from the Baroque period. The more complicated, the better."

Bor'ta shakes his head to Ueno. "No, you haven't. Voka'ra is simply speaking with her fans for the moment. She will begin her performance soon."

O'Rielly continues looking down at his PADD as he waits for the performance to start. He remains very quiet.

Kogh smiles at Voka'ra, teeth showing cheerfully. His hands are clasped loosely behind his back, but they are still, as is the rest of him, perhaps faintly reminiscent of a large, branchless tree amongst the shrouded greenery of the Garden. "Of course; I must congratulate you," he rumbles in agreement, "on the selection of such an excellent locale."

Goodwin nods his head slightly. "Of course," he says, duly chastened by the comments from the opera star. He then allows the others to pick up the conversational strands.

Kran'dok tries to smile pleasently as he listens to the various conversations, not really paying attention to any of them.

Moulin's eyebrows lift a fraction in reassessment of the red-haired man. "How interesting. I had you pegged for a Rogers and Hammerstein fellow. I stand most humbly corrected."

Ueno sighs, seeming relieved. "Oh, good. I sort of lost track of the time. I had to hurry to finish dinner and make it here now. I'm Ensign Ueno, Engineering...and you?" she asks, offering the Klingon man a hand.

Randal comes into the garden through the hedge.

Randal has arrived.

. o O Kogh thinks, "Wasn't there a Romulan in the crowd outside? Perhaps..."

Chastened? Voka'ra shakes her head- she'll never understand humans. Turning back to Kogh, she does give a look of supreme satisfaction around the Garden. "It's fitting," she agrees. "The Anomaly itself with light this evening. One wonder complementing the other." The Klingon woman shifts, glancing toward her cousin.

Kirkpatrick shakes his head at Moulin, placing his hands behind his back. "No. I'm just a parrot head from Hawaii who happens to like Baroque. "

"I am Bor'ta, of the House of Koraga and cousin to Voka'ra," replies Bor'ta to the question. "A pleasure to meet you Ensign," he adds, eyes lifting to Voka'ra.

"Indeed. I hope that the Operations staff has done everything that you have required to make this a most memorable performance?" Goodwin asks politely. "It is too bad that Mister Takamura cannot be here to see what his crews have done."

Ueno draws her hand back with a small nod. "And a pleasure to meet you, Bor'ta. I'm pretty fond of Klingon culture myself...I had a childhood friend who helped me to learn a lot." she says with a smile.

Parrot head? Now there's a turn of phrase that doesn't translate into her native French. Moulin bites the inside of her cheek, presses her lips together firmly, but finally gives into another trill of laughter. "A what?"

Kogh nods, slowly, to Voka'ra. "Indeed," he agrees. His head tilts to one side, curiously. Thoughtfully, even. Then he smiles broadly again, and leans forwards slightly: "I believe there is someone I wish you to meet. Please excuse me for one moment." With that, he moves off briskly, wandering around the edge of the triangle, eyes searching for someone. And he pauses behind that someone, leaning down. And no doubt to the surprise of many, he who he speaks to is Kran'dok, "Do you wish to have the honour of meeting the star of tonight's show?"

Randal steps around the hedge. He's apparantly decided to dress up for the evening, having put on a formal black suit and bound his long, trailing hair into a neat pony tail. He walks toward the gathering of people, hanging near the periphery for the time being.

Voka'ra starts to lift a hand in signal to Bor'ta, only to turn and send a curious look after Kogh. Still, manners make her reply to Goodwin. "Your people have been more helpful than I would have expected even from my own," she says graciously. "I could not have asked for better preparations."

Goodwin nods his head once. "Then I shall let you go on to meet others, but I shall be certain to pass your praise on to Mister Takamura and his department," he tells her.

O'Rielly just shakes his head as he finishes whatever he's typing and puts his PADD away, now sitting back and just looking aruond the garden.

Kran'dok stirs from his quiet contemplations and looks up at the Klingon. He stands to politely address the man on level. The Romulan's voice is low as not to let too many others hear. "Thank you sir. I apreciate the kindness of your gesture, but the two of us have already met. She and I seemed to get off on the wrong foot. If knowing that you would still care to have us speak, I would be pleased to accompany you," he says with an uneasy grin.

Kirkpatrick smiles at Moulin, giving an explaination. "A parrot head. A term for someone who has proclivities towards music influenced by carrbean or Pacific island tunes...Reggae, et cetera."

Bor'ta smiles again to Ueno and nods. "That is good to hear. I shall have to excuse myself now, as my cousin begins her final preparations for the performance. I hope you enjoy this evening."

"Good." Voka'ra gives a strong nod. "I still hope to converse with the Lieutenant myself, but if I cannot, I do appreciate your conveying my appreciation, Commander." Discovering Kogh's target, her eyes start to gleam with humor.

Ueno smiles at Bor'ta and turns away, looking back over her shoulder. "I'm sure I will. Thank you." she says, and walks over to the chairs, picking a seat up close to the right side of the stage. She sits down and gives one shoulder of her uniform a small brush, as though clearing a bit of lint away, and looks around, to see who else is closeby.

Kogh nods, slowly. "Regardless, it would please me," he observes. "And that is sad to hear. Yet such a glorious setting is perhaps the best place for friendly words to rectify what may have been said or done in error in the past." With that, he swivels smartly on his heel and strides back towards Voka'ra. Wait - not only did the Klingon speak politely to a Romulan, but now he's turned his back on one. Curiouser and curiouser, no doubt.

. o O Kogh thinks, "That was not easy, but to make the Romulan uneasy in such a way - ah! I will laugh much, later, at this wonderous occasion."

Ensign Moulin tilts her head to the side, curiously, and she frowns in thought as she rummages through her mental index of cultural bric-a-brac. "Pacific Island music..." her lips purse, and then her face lights up. Eureka! "Ah! Like the man who sings about the cheeseburger in heaven? Jimmy Banquet?"

Kran'dok chuckles slightly as he looks over at the star, catching the gleam in her eye. He makes to follow after the Ambassador. "Well after an eloquent speech such as that, I could hardly say no." His grin shifts to one with almost an imish quality as he hurries to catch up with the Klingon and walk beside him. "Good evening," he says politely inclining his head to Voka'ra and her company. The Romulan stands proud and tall despite is words of misgiving.

Strell turns his gaze to the stars beyond the viewport, brow arching once more.

Kirkpatrick laughs a loud, nearly causing him to snort, "I think you mean Jimmy Buffett. And the song is 'Cheeseburger in Paradise.' But you were close," he says, making an indication with his index finger.

Voka'ra grins at the Romulan. "Qapla, my good friend! I am pleased you were able to make it. Though," she glances over her shoulder, "I /must/ beg your pardon, and yours, Ambassador. It is nearly time, and I must prepare."

Goodwin smiles slightly at his staffer and the science officer she speaks to. "Ah, and on the other hand, I hail from Rigel IV, where, well, we have some very interesting slave dance rhythms."

Randal glances here and there among the crowd of persons, but seems content to hover at the edge of the gathering for now and passively observe the other conversations in progress. He fidgets briefly with the color of his suit.

. o O Voka'ra thinks, "It's so fun playing with what passes as Romulan heads."

Ueno just sits quietly, and smiles as she overhears Voka'ra declare that it's nearly time. Shelooks back towards Randal, seeing him playing wallflower, and offers him a wave.

"I crave but a moment to say this," Kogh says with a sharp nod. "For it is too grand a display of how music brings all peoples together," Kogh grins to Kran'dok, Voka'ra, and Goodwin, "when three cultures whom have all fought wars against one another stand here, on this station, together in appreciation of one single commonality: the wonder of the ability of the voice of a singing sentient to bring cheer to our hearts."

Dane comes into the garden through the hedge.

Dane has arrived.

. o O Kogh thinks, "And a grand display of things to come that a Klingon sets a Romulan ill-at-ease with careful diplomacy. Ha! A shame it could not have been one with more rank; but I wager this will not be forgotten quickly."

Not at all above seeing the comedy in her own error, Isabeau giggles helplessly once the matter's clarified by her new friend the parrot head. "Alors. Heaven, paradise. Banquet, buffet. What difference, really?" Goodwin's offering to the conversation of musical diversity nets a look of bright eyed interest. She seems about to ask more about Rigelian dance music, but defers to the Klingon Ambassador's speech.

Kran'dok chuckles as he seems to be but a tool to make the man's point, though not a bad one. "Well put Ambassador." He looks back at Voka'ra as she goes. "I said I would be here and I am always true to my word. I look forwards to the performance." He grins politely and makes his way back towards the rear of the seats, looking up towards the door one last time as it seems the performance is about to start.

"Slight difference, but differences can be important," Kirkpatrick adds with a wistful grin. "Enjoy the performance," he adds, taking his seat.

Goodwin goes to retake his seat with his officers, and then nods his head towards them. "I admit it wasn't my thing," he tells Moulin. "Me? I was more Big Band. Swing."

Voka'ra's eyebrows lift slightly at the Ambassador's speech. She glances briefly toward Kran'dok, before commenting, "Very good point, Ambassador." It's the gracious tone of one silently gritting her teeth and trying to be polite about it. "Uhlan..." But he moves before she can speak, and she shrugs. "Gentlemen. My time to converse is up." With a smile, she drifts off to disappear behind the stage.

Randal notices Ueno's wave. Smiling back, he offers a brief wave of his own in return. He glances toward the chairs as people begin to filter over to sit down, and moves to claim one himself, seeking out a seat in the middle of one of the sections.

Dane slips into the Gradens quietly, you wouldn't believe she's just ran it up here in her bare feet and slipped on her shoes at the last moment. With a deep breath, she calms down from the run and looks around. How Beauitful everything looks, the staff of 419 have out done themselves yet again. Soothing down her dress she walks a little more into the room.

O'Rielly continues to watch, and to wait. Seems he's currently in observing mode.

. o O Voka'ra thinks, "Who gives a damn? This night is about /me/, not diplomacy."

Ueno watches the others filter along, finding seats, and rests her hands on her knees as she waits. She watches as Voka'ra goes backstage, and her smile widens a bit in anticipation.

The Ambassador doesn't miss the point, and inclines his head in a silent but clearly pleased "Thank-you," to Voka'ra, prior to her departure. With the none-too-subtle creaking of his armour announcing his return, he folds back into his seat.

Kran'dok finally sees what he has been apparently looking towards the door for. He grins broadly and waves the Trill woman over to the saved seat next to him.

As Voka'ra s;ips off Bor'ta steps forward to the center of the performing area. He waits quietly, looking slowly over those gathered, no doubt waiting on silence.

Goodwin quiets down when Bor'ta takes to the center of the performing area, turning his head politely towards the Klingon...producer? Manager? Whatever.

Settling gracefully into her seat, her reply to Kirkpatrick simply a warm smile. "Ah, now that I am more familiar with," she says to Goodwin, her voice low in anticipation of the performance's begining. And, as Bor'ta takes centre stage, she falls silent, giving the Klingon her unduvuded attention.

Dane sees the Romulan wave and gives a little waves, she makes her ways towards him trying not to disturb anyone as she does. She's small and can easily thread her way through the chairs, but she's a little wobbly tonight. Weary perhaps and as if something is still bothering her.

Strell turns his attention to Bor'ta as he takes up his position, his brow remaining arched.

. o O Strell thinks, "One hour, twenty-six minutes, and the performance is only now getting underway. I will never understand the need for other races to conduct 'small talk', as the Terrans describe it."

Kirkpatrick takes his seat near Ueno, stetching out his feet. He pulls out a sterling silver flask, decorated with the Starfleet Academy insignia with his class year etched into it. He takes a small nip from it and places it in his dress jacket.

Kran'dok seems relieved as the Doctor makes her way over to him. He gives her another smile before turning his attention towards teh front of the room where the performance seems to be getting under way.

Dane quickly takes her seat, not saying anything but simply nodding to him. She cam apologies later for being late right now the show looks to be starting.

Her gaze remaining on the stage, Moulin leans in close to Goodwin, her murmuring some barely audible, last minute observation or question.

Ueno looks over at Kirkpatrick and nods her head to him, "Lieutenant." she says softly by way of greeting, and shifts in her seat, feeling a bit underdressed next to someone in full dress uniform.

. o O Kran'dok thinks, "I am glad she was able to make it. At least we will be able to enjoy a nice evening out."

. o O Kran'dok feels relieved and content, though there are still some lingering negative emotions.

Kogh relaxes (to a degree) in the chair, folding his arms across his chest, no doubt mostly for lack of anywhere else to put them. He, too, waits in silence.

Kirkpatrick smacks his lips, giving a nod as he pats the place where his jacket holds his flask, "Evenin' Ensign."

Bor'ta, who has even changed from his normal rough and tumble appearance into formal Klingon robes and armor, makes his was to the front, his back to the transparent aluminum port that looks out towards space. "Welcome honored guests. This will be both the last and the greatest performance of Voka'ra, of the House of Koraga. After tonight she will be retiring and never performing again. You will witness a historic event, an event that you can tell your children and grandchildren about. Tonight will the first performance of her masterpiece, 'The Honor of S'rnaek' and as she is retiring the only performance. May you all enjoy it and remember it." As he finishes he steps to the side and quietly makes his way to the back of the room and the enlisted Operations officer and recording gear there. He double checks the gear, likely making sure its ready, before turning to cross his arms over his chest and watch the stage.

The already dim lights in the Garden gradually darken, signalling the imminent start of the finale performance by Voka'ra of House Koraga. Soon only a bare flicker of light remains, just enough that one's neighbors in the audience are vague outlines to human eyes, at least at first. Those with more perceptive vision may detect a tall figure moving to occupy center stage.

After a few moments, the first faint stirrings of music can be heard, slowly gaining volume. The deep, golden tones of a bass woodwind herald the tiny speck of light that shines on the stage-borne figure. As sound and brightness grow together, a strong soprano begins to sing of the rising dawn and the battle to come that day, and Voka'ra can be clearly seen.

O'Rielly turns to pay attention to the opera now that it's starting

Goodwin turns slightly and raises his eyebrow at Moulin. But yet he says nothing, but nod, turning back towards the performance when it begins.

Kran'dok reaches down and takes the Trill's hand into his, looking over at her, thankfulness written all across his face. He grins slightly and turns his attention back to the front of the stage as the music begins to drift into his ears.

Dane slides her finger into Kran'doks and lets them interlock before letting them rest on his knee. She looks towards the stage, taking a little breath and relaxes she's never been to an opera before never mind a Klingon one.

Randal folds his hands as he turns his attention to the main stage to watch the show.

Ueno turns from Kirkpatrick and listens quietly, eyes on Voka'ra as she begins. She shifts in her seat and leans forward a bit.

The unnerving wail of strings introduces the warlord Kallor, sings Voka'ra, sharpening his blade in his darkened quarters. He knows no fear- the mounting joy of battle soon-to-be is white-hot flame, consuming his heart before overwhelming the remainder of his bulky frame. Today is the pivot; the wheel of destiny turns the last fraction of its arc. Today will spell everlasting glory or extinction for his House S'rnaek. Power and honor, or sewers of shame. The only life worth living, or death. He speaks of these things to his young son Kal'daQ, and as he rises to leave for the battle, he intones, "It is a good day to die."

Kirkpatrick listens intensely to the performance, observing the stage with his china blue eyes.

Kogh smiles a faint little smile, eyes opening and closing every now and then, as if he can't quite decide whether to watch, or simply listen. He tries to keep as still as possible, but his blood is stirred by the performance, and his body moves in tight, controlled little... twitch-like things.

Goodwin raises his eyebrows slightly at the plot line, but then shakes his head, closing his eyes for a moment. He murmurs something to himself, and just relaxes.

Moulin shuts her eyes, in thrall--though her head remains held high and her posture finishing-school perfect. Her pulse is visible in her slender throat, a flutter that seems to match speed to the music's crescendo and pitch.

The tempo builds, and solid thudding drumbeats as well, as Voka'ra's voice roughens with growing excitement. S'rnaek and Truega stare at each other across the barren battlefield, their warriors poised, the only movement on the plain a few strands of long hair wisping in the whistling wind. no signal is seen, yet both armies suddenly roar and charge. Bat'leths cross with the crash of cymbals; long wails of brass accompany each spray of bright blood. The warriors are bathed in it, S'rnaek taking the quick upper hand... But something is wrong, and the battle-hardened men waver as discordant chords sound. Those of House Truega move preternaturally, always blocking where Kallor's plans call for a strike before he gives the cue to move. It's not tactical skill on his enemy's part- Kallor can sense that. -The enemy has his battleplans-, and the head of House S'rnaek tastes the bitter ash of doom. S'rnaek... weakens...

Dane doesn't really listen to the words, she lets the song and the influctions of the tone and volume run through her body. She wants to hmm along with it but holds herself back because that would be rude instead she just lets herself be caught up in the moment imaging she's the one ready for battle.

Ueno also seems enraptured by the plot, and shivers slightly at the 'good day to die' line. Something she's heard many times before. She covers a gasp at the suddenness of the battle's beginning, and watches intently as it carries on.

K'net-mauri comes into the garden through the hedge.

K'net-mauri has arrived.

Kogh steals a quick glance around, curious as to the reaction of the assortment of species present. At the sight of Moulin's pulse fluttering, his lips draw back and bear his teeth in rather obvious Klingon pleasure, his brief growl lost in the sound of the performance... but his head snaps back to continue to watch the performance there, hands twitching as if in sympathy with the bat'leth's wielded by the warriors of song.

O'Rielly just smirks at the plotline as the opera continues.

. o O Kogh thinks, "The heart of a Klingon surely beats in that one; such delicate, tempered steel!"

Kran'dok seems pleasently surprised as the piece opens. He finds himself getting caught up in the feeling of the music and the subject matter. It is far more enjoyable than he anticipated. The Romulan sits towards the back, beside Mir, wearing not his usual uniform, but a fine robe for the occasion.

... and withers, and dies. All too soon, the battle is over, and Truega deliver coups de grace to those few of their enemy still weakly moving. All but two- young Kal'daQ has found his dying father, the sire's face slashed by a vicious blade. "Avenge your House, my son... find the traitor..."
By the light of triple moons, Kal'daQ stares down at camp Truega, distant, drunken celebratory songs grating against his heart. A solemn vow is born.

And the music quiets to an interlude, promising more to come.

Randal watches the opera in progress with a relatively passive expression, although since it keeps its full attention, it might just be that Randal's used to keeping up a poker face.

Ueno lets out a long breath as the interlude begins, and dabs at one eye with a fingertip. She sniffs quietly and presses her lips together, then draws herself up a bit straighter.

Goodwin is must less enraptured by the music than his associate next to him, but he quietly listens, pleased by the quality of her voice nonetheless which is formidable by Klingon opera standards.

. o O Randal's emotions resonate slightly when the opera expresses the theme of vengeance.

K'net-mauri comes in, appearantly late. He moves to the back of the audience, and no further.

Strell's brow remains arched through the entirety of the performance thus far, but that is his only reaction.

Dane is as touched bu the scenen as Moulin is and a single tears drips down her face as she can see imagin the son's love a sorrow for his father's death. She finds herself urgeing the son to do his father's wishs and revenge his house.

The drums soften into feather-light rolls, thunder on the dark horizon. Young Kal'daQ steals toward the fortress of House Traega. how vile, to sneak like a thief in the dead of night, but necessary. House S'rnaek lies in ruins, smashed from within by a venomous serpent held close to its very bosom, a serpent for whose blood Kal'daQ's dagger thirsts. The answers, the keys to vengeance, lie within the fortress, yet the man-child regrets the deaths of the guards he must pass. They die with honor, cursing him with their last gore-spattered breaths, fighting even as they fall to the ground with the last of their spilled lifeblood. Kal'daQ accepts the curses stoically; he does not hesitate in his quest. The boy passes into the stronghold Traega.

Kran'dok grins as he enjoys the theatrics of the combat. The tempo of the music seems to go nicely with his mental image of combat. He leans forwards slightly as this seems to be the exciting part.

It's not easy for a young Klingon to sneak, but Kal'daQ is inspired. He ignores the raucous laughter that emanates from the gathering hall, moving deeper into the heart of the fortress itself in his search for answers. A quiet corridor is promising- plain, unadorned. And it matches the few facts Kal'daQ has been able to learn in the last few months. Here, this door, this is the one- the boy does not hesitate to open it, or to step past the threshold into staggering pain and darkness. A trap...

Kirkpatrick quietly listens, his hand over his mouth, rubbing his chin and upper lip as theperformance goes the battle.

Ueno finds herself leaning forward a bit as Kal'daQ makes his way along the corridors, and licks her dry lips as she watches to see what happens next.

Kogh's eyes squeeze shut tighter, in sympathy with tightening of his hands and jaw. His lips are now a tight line of concentration, of attentiveness, pulled up at the corners into a grim grin of enjoyment.

The pain has not abated when he awakens, and Kal'doQ laughs, bravely, bitterly. Bound to a dank wall, his weapon gone, he has failed. And soon, he thinks, he will die. The young man, barely of age to claim the title 'warrior', lifts himself proudly, for the sake of his honor and his fallen House, softly singing his death song until they join him in the cell. Two guards. Then PoDjatIh, head of House Traega, accompanied by... Kal'doQ's heart screams in agony within his chest, behind his stoic mask.

Dane glances towards the Romulan next to her and lifts the corner of her mouth up slightly in amusement. The warrior it seems is enjoying the good part. Mir is still relaxed sitting back and letting the music swirl around her.

Moulin breathes in deeply, eyes fluttering open for a moment, then sliding shut again. Her throat works in a visible swallow, as though her mouth has gone dry, and she hugs her arms to herself. The trap sprung on the opera's young hero startles her--and her lip curls in feral expression for just an instant, something resembling a snarl.

Kran'dok leans back a little durring the sneaking portion, but grins with some secret amusement. He waits anxiously to see just who the traitor is and how the rest of the story unfolds.

K'net-mauri stands, listening with silent interest.

O'Rielly watches the opera carefully, curiously.

Goodwin is more polite, glancing over briefly at Moulin next to him, and then looks back towards the front, raising his eyebrow slightly, politely, waiting for the next.

Kogh bites down hard on his bottom lip, presumably to keep from emitting some sound induced by the passion of the music. Fury finds its place upon his face, hands curled into tight fists. Releasing his lip and keeping from letting out anything but a rush of air, he glances over towards Moulin again, apparently unable to keep from his clear curiousity. Again the growl, absorbed by the exquisite wails of the singer, eyes not drifting from the reaction of the Starfleet ensign.

"Brother, you should not have come here." Yanik's voice is filled with anguish, but she does not leave PoDjatIh's side, and even young Kal'doQ can see that she loves this enemy. There is no doubt who betrayed House S'rnaek. She begs her lover for but a moment alone with her kinsman, even as Traega draws his dagger to rid himself of this child he knows must be sworn to vengeance. And, Kal'doQ sees, PoDjatIh loves her too, for he acquiesces and withdraws with his warriors. Yanik tells her brother, quietly, that he will be remembered with honor, and starts to keen... And Kal'doQ slips his hands free of manacles not quite small enough for his young wrists, and startles her with an embrace. "My most beloved sister... No, do not take alarm... I only do what must be done." She opens her mouth to scream for her lover, and the sound dies a-borning- her brother takes her dirk and gently slides it between her ribs.

Ueno watches the murder with wide eyes, unable to tear her attention away. She swallows hard, emotion clear in her eyes and the tension of the moment apparent in her posture.

Brother and sister entwined. That is how PoDjatIh finds their bodies, for the young heir of S'rnaek knows there is no escape. And Kal'doQ smiles at his enemy even as he feels his last breath slip away, dying as a man, a warrior, the honor of his House gleaming anew.

The strong swell of music and voice ends abruptly, the lights extinguishing. The final performance of Voka'ra Koraga is complete.

Foster comes into the garden through the hedge.

Foster has arrived.

Ueno is about to start applauding when her PADD chimes softly at her. She curses quietly in Japanese and takes it from her pocket, and looks at the screen. She rolls her eyes as she rises from her seat, and heads out of the garden, The Firt Rule of Being An Engineer: If it's not one thing, it's three.

Ueno goes home.

Ueno has left.

Foster enters, in the process of affixing the gold-rimmed black pip to his collar even as he arrives. Thankfully, at least, his decorations are, at least, put-together properly.

Beraq comes into the garden through the hedge.

Beraq has arrived.

Dane pauses for a few moments her throat feels like it has a lump in it, she misses her own brother and the scene seems to touch her heart as they embrace. A slow smiles crosses her lips at the thoughts of Falon.

Strell remains silent as the performance comes to an end, then crosses his arms -- and that, apparently, is that.

. o O Strell thinks, "Acceptable."

At the back of the room, from where he still stands, Bor'ta uncrosses his arms and begins to clap loudly. Given the look on his face it would seem he's restraining himself from cheering.

There is, of course, applause and heated applause, from Goodwin. He did enjoy the performance, if not on the visceral level that some of the others did. He rises, then to his feet, to perhaps lead a standing ovation for her.

Kirkpatrick offers applause, though it would appear that he had a good experience listening to this particular work, it is not his cup of tea.

O'Rielly stands up and starts to clap as well.

Kran'dok finds the last scenes to be quite interesting. He never expected this level of depth to the opera. Far less brutish and more dutifull than he had anticipated. The Romulan gives the Trill's hand a gentle squeeze as the scene plays out. He stands and appluads at the end. It seems he is genuinely pleased and entertained by the performance.

Beraq comes slipping into the Observation Garden just as the clapping begins. It is clear from the look of regret on Beraq's face that she is disappointed to have missed the show.

Foster blinks a couple of times at the reactions to his arrival, or at least, so his smirk might indicate. He looks disappointed, but his mobile face doesn't stay that way. You take things as they go.

The lights come back up after a moment, thankfully gradually, so as not to blind anybody. Voka'ra of House Koraga stands straight and tall and almost stoic. Almost.

Randal joins in the applause as well, smiling a sad little smile to himself as he does.

. o O Foster thinks, "I wonder what the reaction would be if I bowed and went, 'Thank you, thank you very much.' Naaaaaaah."

Bor'ta can't seem to restrain himself very well, for after a moment he lets out a loud and feral cheer, his clapping getting louder with it.

"Brava!" cries Josh from the close row where he sits. It's borrowed from human opera, perhaps, the term, but yet it seems appropriate nonetheless. "Brava!"

Ensign Moulin stands, finally, adding her applause to the growing din. Her smile is dazzlingly bright, despite the tracks of tears on her cheeks. "BRAVO! Bravo, Madame!" She seems in the grip of an emotional maelstrom, almost laughing. "C'est triumphe!"

Voka'ra finally smiles. How can she not be pleased at such reception of her performance? She even gets the general gist of Isabeau Moulin's shout, laughing in sheer joy.

Strell glances around him, then stands and folds his hands behind his back. When in Rome, do as the Romans do -- as far as Vulcan propriety will allow, at least.

Foster joins in on the clapping almost immediately, his training cutting in.

. o O Foster thinks, "I can get a copy of it later, see what went on."

Kran'dok continues appluading past the normal alotment of time. The Romulan grins broadly as the performance was quite good and leaves him with much to think about.

Beraq joins in the clapping as well, her apparently disappointed replaced for her joy that Voka'ra's performance was so well received by the non-Klingons.

Voka'ra lets out a grin, and turns to head down from the stage in her dignified, elated way.

Strell stands for a moment more, then turns for the break in the hedge -- still as silent as when he arrived.

Kirkpatrick stands, taking his exit as the clapping subsides, making his way out of the garden quietly.

Kirkpatrick passes through the hedge into the mall.

Kirkpatrick has left.

Goodwin however, remains, clapping and cheering for the performer until the bitter end, even as those less enthralled make their way for the exit.

Bor'ta makes his way towards the front, having let his clapping and cheering die off, but not the large Klingon grin on his face. "Glorious, cousin, glorious!"

Moulin drops back into her seat, quite as though her legs were in danger of relinquishing their support. She remains sitting, shutting her eyes once more, basking quietly, possibly as elated as the diva herself.

Voka'ra actually gives Bor'ta a big hug, beaming. "Yes, it was!" And she looks around, starry-eyed. "And made so even more by such people to witness."

Randal claps for a while longer, then lets his clapping die down as the applause runs its course. He smiles as he watches the opera star make her way off-stage, but remains seated for the moment.

Mulwray comes into the garden through the hedge.

Mulwray has arrived.

Foster steps to one side to allow others to pass, finally lowering his hands, ones slightly reddened from multiple impacts.

O'Rielly continues his applause until the rest of the current audience slows its clapping.

"An acceptable performance," Strell remarks to Voka'ra as he passes. Not waiting for a response, he continues through the hedge and out.

Strell passes through the hedge into the mall.

Strell has left.

Goodwin quirks a brow at the passing Vulcan, before he turns back towards the stage, smiling slightly as the applause slowly begins to die down. He looks down at Moulin. "You okay?"

Well, Hell. Some people drift in late for the party. This would apparently be Jim Mulwray, who has just rounded the hedge in a swirl of mass and sufficient personal gravity to make gargoyles throw themselves from their rooftops in despair. Well. You get the idea.

The enormous man pauses at the threshold, blinking faintly - stepping back once, in the event he's missed the performance or simply caught it between arias.

Voka'ra blinks after Strell, and softly laughs. "I suppose that counts as high praise." Her gaze slews around, and drops like a brick on Foster. "You came!" she crows. "What did you think of the performance?"

Beraq stands off to the side with arms folded as the well-wishers greet one of the Empire's greatest treasures. Consul Beraq will give polite nods to those that approach her but otherwise keeps to herself.

Kran'dok remains standing at the back and watches quietly as the post-performance scene unfolds.

Moulin nods, pulling herself together as her CO's query draws her back to reality. Still beaming, she wipes her eyes and stands. "Je'suis tres bien, M'sieu. Merci."

Bor'ta remains near Voka'ra, but off to the side. He lets her mingle uninterrupted with her fans while continuing to grin proudly.

O'Rielly finally decides his time is done and he turns to head out.

O'Rielly passes through the hedge into the mall.

O'Rielly has left.

Randal stands up. He attempts to make eye contact with Voka'ra long enough to offer her an earnest smile of appreciation (and also, to ensure that his presence here is noted), and then glances toward the path around the hedge, apparently deciding he will leave thereafter.

Goodwin nods his head once to Moulin in her seat with a small smile touching at his lips. "Of course, Ensign," he tells her. "My, I get my credit's worth on my translator with you."

And of course, Jim makes way. Mulwray steps to the left, which is a bit like a smaller hedge made of meat animating itself, and quietly waits for the traffic to file out. After all, it'll be empty in here soon. Quiet'd be good too.

Foster is caught like a deer in headlights, but only for a few moments. And it's not like he's going to lie to the woman. But when he speaks, it's in formal Klingonaase, the better to pay proper honor. He says in Klingon, "I regret to say that I only caught the last few words as I arrived. I much regret missing the performance of a Basai Master such as yourself. But... I am sure I can get a recording and watch it from there."

Voka'ra does look a little disappointed, for all of a few seconds. "Indeed!" she enthuses. "Bor'ta should have recordings available quite soon. I shall even sign one for Anastasia." There is, admittedly, a bit of exhaustion around her gleaming eyes- one doesn't sing like that without getting tired- and she settles gracefully into the nearest seat.

Randal maneuvers through the row of seating, then makes his exit past the hedge.

Randal passes through the hedge into the mall.

Randal has left.

Moulin chuckles, nodding. "Mais oui, M'sieu. I would hate to put those who fashion such marvels out of business. And besides... there are some things that are better said en Francais."
Having said that, she drifts over to where the diva sits, waits for a break in which to do her own fawning and, when such opportunity arises, kneels to grasp the Klingon female's hands.

Foster nods, "The important thing, of course, is that you feel that the performance was worthy of you." He's returned to Federation Standard, for the benefit of those without Universal Translators. "And, from all appearances, you seem to think so, neh?"

Kran'dok looks back down at the Trill beside him, grining slightly as he reads her reaction. It seems he is as glad for the company as he was for the performance. He looks back at Voka'ra, but does not approach, letting her friends and fans greet her.

For his part, Jim is concent to find a seat for himself - to perch on a bench not far from the gathering, but enough to let him sit around like a proper boulder without much interference from nondeliberate passers-by. That air, man. That grimness, it doesn't so much as fade as the man produces a PADD from his uniform pocket and proceed to dial it through.

"But of course, Caleb Foster," Voka'ra cries. "But it is not /my/ opinion that matters here." She stops short, surprised at Moulin's motions.

"Madame, there are no words," Ensign Moulin intones softly, her smile aglow. "I grieve that this was your final performance, and rejoice that I was witness to it. Merci. Thank you. You bring as much honour to your people as any warrior in battle."