Posted by Lieutenant Do’trahk of House Kholl (Chief Medical Officer) in CNS Office - Attn. Lt. Do’trahk

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Roux Delarosa (Counselor) in CNS Office - Attn. Lt. Do’trahk

Posted by Lieutenant Junior Grade Roux Delarosa (Counselor) in CNS Office - Attn. Lt. Do’trahk
Posted by… suppressed (5) by the Post Ghost! 👻

Snip

: As the doors closed, the Counselor would find herself in what appeared to be an ancient stone fort. Fairly small, with one gateway to the north and stone steps leading to stone battlements not far above her. The breeze that would ruffle her hair and the scent it carried would reveal an ocean close by, and the sounds of waves breaking against a cliff face sounded from far below her and to the west, past the wall. The sky above was dark and red, cloudless but seeming stormy nevertheless, and the area was lit by flaming torches set several paces apart on the battlements and stairs, with one larger bonfire that seemed to be roasting some kind of large animal in the center.

:

: To the East and South the walls continued unbroken to reveal no keep in this fort, it was purely battlements. The reason was shown not far to Delarosa’s left as a small earthen mound that contained metal double doors was visible and obviously led down and into the ground, the doors themselves being emblazoned by the image of two oddly shaped Klingon Daggers crossed and over a background of flames. It was an image that matched the engraving on Do-trahks eye piece. To her immediate right was a rack of weapons, a selection from what appeared to be many different species and all designed for hand to hand combat. All of them looked large, heavy and decidedly vicious.

:

: That point was provided by a number of what appeared to be bodies lying motionless on the ground, all of them Klingon, and all dressed in traditional looking Klingon battle armor, with their weapons lying close to them. The sound of footsteps sounded on the stairs behind her, as Do’trahk descended the steps one by one, his heavy armored boots sounding loud on the stone. “Counselor” he said, his voice loud and strong, “Welcome to my home, and more specifically the seventh Battle of Qo’vorth. It is unfortunate that you arrived between the assaults of my Houses enemies, you are missing out on the thrill of battle.” As he stepped off the last step and to the ground, his hand motioned to a table that he began to head toward. “Will you drink with me Counselor? To Victory in battle and honor.”

:

: Lieutenant Do’trahk

: CMO

Delarosa could not ignore the fascination that creased against her mind, specifically in the modes of imagination and curiosity. It was interesting to see what exactly was going on within the stone-made establishment, apparently carved by the Klingons, or so she could only assume. Noticing the artificers and objects specific to the warish culture, she found that her assumptions were sound and proven. After all, it had not been the most difficult to come upon, especially when noting the apparent planet and species, which the good doctor apparently hailed from. Well, it was all a matter of assumption, not fact. Roux studied her surroundings, noting upon the details of the innerworks of this holosim. The weapons caught her eye, eliciting a quite response, to make certain there was no impending danger from their placement within the fort. What surprised her more, however, was the indication of their origin. It was clear that these weapons were not all from the blacksmiths of the Klingon empire. For the fact that weaponry from opposing civilizations was being utilized in this battle sim, or so it seemed, was enough room for questions to pop into her attentive mind. Her gaze leisurely fell to the bodies of the Klingons, who were seemingly dead, likely slain by the man who had programmed and completely this sim. She found it curious, the hostility of the Klingons, regardless of where they were assigned or happened to reside. She did not judge them, however. As she knew, quite well, the flaws of her own idiosyncratic culture. It would only be throwing bricks at glass houses, if she were to ever form an opinion on this matter, for the same reason a Klingon night judge her own occupations. With her attention successfully diverted to the immense creature, Delarosa paid close attention to his words. At his explanation of what this place was, her eyebrows rose, minutely, in further inquiry. She wanted to know more about the reason for this battle, or even the story behind it. However, she was not there for pleasantries or to learn about culture. Instead, she had come to focus her questions on the CMO; even if she Now was slightly bummed out by her own job. “A rather curious event, Lieutenant.” She remarked, restraining herself from asking anything regarding it. “I cannot deny whether or not I am missing out, but it appears it was quite the battle. Making her way over to the table, after giving a nod of agreement to him, she lowered herself to it, crossing her legs under it, her hands resting against the hard surface of the holographic projection. “Certainly, Doctor.” She agreed, simply. Delarosa CNS

OOC: I loved that post :) well written.
OOC: That was written during a state of sheer drowsiness, lol! Thank you, though. :D
I’m not sure whether Do’trahk seems incredibly intimidating or as if there is more than meets the surface. Perhaps a bit of both? Haha.

IC: Do’trahk nodded in agreement, his grin wide, breathing still deep after the exertions of the fight just finished, but still controlled as he let his body relax and prepare for the next round. Seating himself, the big Klingon took one of two large metal carafe’s that were sitting in the centre of the table and poured two goblets of drink, at the same time the man helped himself to a small selection of various meats and fruits that were in a number of bowls on the table. Notably, most of the portions were not wholly Klingon in nature, the staple fairs of Gagh and wild looking meats not being present, instead examples of staple foods from Earth and a small number of other Federation planets could be identified, and as Do’trahk placed the Goblet in front of the Counselor the aroma of Bloodwine was noticeably absent. Instead, it was Prune Juice. The other carafe held Ice Tea.

Roux was not exactly known to have a stationary gaze. It trailed the interior of the Sim, tracing every detail, every line that was apparent to her, debatably blind, eyes. Unlike the Vulcans, Roux has no capability to multitask, finding herself to be distracted by the sights around her. Perhaps this was why she had chosen the route of a counselor, as opposed to security of tactical; she would have been far too curious of the land, to recall her purpose of protection. In many ways, such a trait could be described as damning or even infantile, but sometimes the mind of an inquisitive child, was the mind of the successful.

“Help yourself to anything you desire” the big man stated as he removed his spiked gauntlets, laying them to one side, the simple motions seeming almost awkward to him, even a very slight sneer creasing his lip as he reached forward to pick up what looked to be a knife and fork, then pausing and looking at her with a serious expression, although the glint in his eye betrayed something like, humor, perhaps. “We will not speak of this outside of this holo-deck Counselor” he stated, switching the knife and fork between hands a few times and then settling on the wrong combination. “You wanted to speak to me, to assess whether I was of sound mind to work among Humans and other Federations, I believe.”

Lt Do’trahk
CMO

The programmed aromas within the air caught her attention. They were overwhelming, to begin with, flooding her senses to the point where she had a faint difficulty in determining which scent was which. It was uncommon to find so many cultures, upon a single plate. In some ways, it amused her. Do’trahk has not stricken her as the type to be open towards the cuisine of anything beyond Klingon, in such regards, she was pleasantly surprised. “Of course not, Doctor. Our meetings are highly confidential.” A faint glimmer of entertainment passed through her features. She picked up the cup, having previously expressed understandable gratitude for it, taking a sip of the prune juice. Which, unlike other humans, she found to be tolerable. Well, that was, until it wasn’t.

Helping herself to some of the gathered dishes, she gave a slight nod towards the Doctor’s question. “Affirmative,” She remarked. “I have no doubt that you are of a competent state of mind. So, before you chase me away like I am some kind of rabid dog, just know that it is a requirement. I will try to make it as painless, as possible.” It was hard to decipher whether or not the latter part of the statement was just as humor intended as the former.

Delarosa was on the wire of whether or not these meetings were truly effective. Of course, there was ethics behind them, but their purpose seemed null and void, depending on the situation. Shaking her head, she crossed one leg over the other, waiting to see his response. She had not a thought in her mind, that he didn’t have anything better to do than be, essentially, harassed by someone he could probably just flick and would go flying across the room. However, she knew regulation deemed it proper, and she hoped that he was understanding towards that fact.

Lt. Delarosa
CNS

Examining the odd utensils for a moment, Do’trahk simply settled for stabbing what looked to be a whole baked potato on his fork and and picked it up to look at it critically. “Counselor” he said simply, his voice deep and confident, “pain is not a bad thing to a Klingon” and his own lips turned upwards in an instant in what was so far the most obvious sign of humor, but almost as quickly disappeared as he continued speaking. “If I had need of chasing you away like a rabid dog, you never would have received a reply to your request for an audience in the first place” he turned the potato around on his fork, left and right, and sniffed it as if it was some kind of dangerous fungi.

“I suppose that is true,” Delarosa chuckled, softly. She observed as the Doctor seemed to study the food as if it were poisonous, or had some kind of stench that happened to be displeasent. The sight was rather entertaining, not that she could actively show that, without risking a rather unsatisfied remark from the Doctor, albeit hints of the amusement were painting the pale nature of her gaze.

“I am aware however” he continued, “That a Klingon like myself is not a common sight among vessels in the Federation. Many may be surprised to know that I am not an uneducated, what do you people call it, barbarian?” He reached out with his knife and speared a large piece of butter that sat in a bowl between them, sliding that off his knife with his teeth and chewing, and making a face at the sickly texture and sweet taste of it. “By Kahless’ dirty girdle, that is disgusting, how do you people eat that?”

He shuddered and shook his head slightly to clear the taste. “I know that many may be uneasy at my presence on board, especially with my position being that of Chief Medical Officer” as he spoke those words, he very slightly sneered, and obviously the position, or the term, or the rank or something, was distasteful to him, but not as bad as the butter. “So, in an attempt to, blend in, I am familiarizing myself with the foods that your different species eat.” Do’trahk dropped the knife on his plate with a clatter and reached forward, taking his own cup of prune juice and taking a mouthful to wash away the taste of the butter, then shoving the potato on the fork towards the counselor. It was a good potato, baked crisp and filled with bacon and spring onions, and topped with melted cheese and sour cream. “What is this?”

Lt Do’trahk
CMO

“There are select incredibly educated Klingon people; it is rather imbecilic to assume that all Klingons are of a barabaric and dumb state, simply by assumption as to how they appear.” Roux shook her head, finding it odd, the labels soceity seemed necessary to place upon everyone and everything. Of course, there certainly were those of the Klingon Empire who did exhibit these barbaric mannerisms and unintelligent qualities, but one could not damn an entire species for a single group of people. Just as it would not be fair to deem all humans lazy or unhelpful, judging by those who have no intentions of assisting those around them. It was simply being hypocritical.

“What do you mean how we appear?” the big Klingon, dressed in ancient battle armor, metal eye patch and with smatterings of blood here and there on him from the battles already been in that day asked, feigning a look of hurt that was betrayed by the humor in his eye. He was about to continue, then decided to take a bite out of the potato. He simply bit off a large chunk from the fork speared vegetable then kept speaking, around his chewing.

“Human brains have a fascinating way of connecting the dots of one’s appearance, to their personality.” Roux began, considering for a moment, as if determining what would be better to say in the face of this open query. “If you are dressed in bearskins, stone knives hanging from your belt, greasy hair pulled back, a human might assume you are from an underdeveloped culture. If you are dressed in the dress of the Gods, skin clear and untainted, a human might determine you are of luxurious status. Or, if dressed in the makings of protective armor, bearing scars of a past long gone, a human might find you are a barbarian.” She paused. “Humans are incredibly perceptive creatures, believing what they choose to, rather than what they need to.”

Tapping his chest to indicate himself, he then held both his hands wide apart as if to invite scrutiny, one of course still holding the fork that held the captive and bitten baked potato hostage. “Do I look barbaric and uneducated to you?” and without waiting, he registered the taste of the food and glanced at the thing on his fork, bringing it closer to him again as he inspected it and looked at Delarosa, raising an eyebrow. “It tastes kind of like card board” he said, “mushy cardboard, but this on top is nice, interesting.”

Biting the inside of her lip, as to impede laughter, she took a second to shake it away, before even bothering to reply. “The potato? It is a pleasant source of protein, as well as starch. Both of which are things the human body requires,” She remarked, “I trust you already understand why,” She have a somewhat teasing smile, taking a sip of her drink. “You don’t need to try and blend in, that will only make you seem even more disconnected with these people. Of course, familiarizing yourself with the culture of those working with and around you, is wise. However, you don’t need to start acting human as a method of ‘fitting in’ with the general public. Not to mention.. humans are incredibly boring.”

“I’ve noticed” he said, the look on his face completely straight now, “and they seem to be offended easily. I have found a need to temper my, honesty, around them.” Now the smirk returned, and the impression would of been that he was half joking. “Computer, give me a plate of Targ Heart” he said, and moments later a plate appeared before them, the large heart on the dish had been carefully broiled and seasoned in the Klingon way, and served on a bed of coarse, almost spiky looking greens. The aroma was pungent and highly noticeable.

“It is true. Anyone, even other humans, might find themselves walking on eggshells around each other, as if every word is a blade awaiting penetration of the skin.” Roux was entirely human, but it was not difficult to find that she did not seem as those of her species generally did. Simply by her albino midget stance, she was an outsider, a square peg in a round hole. In that sense, she was an alien amongst her own kind, allowing her to see things from different perspectives. “What an interesting stench that heart has,” Roux remarked, her body indecisive as to whether or not it wished to gag.

“I am no kindly monk whom people do not look twice at” Do’trahk explained, “I can appear as myself, big, dangerous and ready to do battle, even in a blue Starfleet uniform, and I can sit at the table and devour the bloody and offensive remains of this animal” he said, pulling the potato off the fork and then jabbing the heart with the fork a few times to move it around, “and despite Starfleets, acceptance of other cultures, their desire to explore new worlds and find new life, these people will be wary, frightened, and will believe I am the barbarian I appear to be. That is, how do you say, only Human. Not all with think that, I am pleased you do not seem to, but enough will that I believe to, blend in, and be accepted a little more, I must in some way assimilate myself into their culture to earn their trust as their doctor.”

“People, as a whole, will always assume what they don’t know, fear what they don’t understand. It is one of the many flaws that bathe the human race in the painful light of segregation, between species and their own. It is truly unfortunate, that perception is so often the basis of all assumption, as opposed to the facts that lie beneath. But, as you’ve said: it’s only ‘human.’” Roux acknowledged his latter remark, muling over it before she decided to make something of his words. “And what about their trust, as a person? A doctor is not only the medical blues they wear on their chest.”

Reaching forward, Do’trahk took a cube of butter and smeared it over the Heart lightly before dropping it on the plate beside it, then he grinned. “There, now that dish is truly terrifying.” He picked up the potato again, this time with his fingers and took another bite. Then raised an eyebrow and pushed it forward at the counselor again slightly. “Potato?” he asked, clarifying her earlier name of the vegetable. And these bits? he asked, pointing at the collection of mixed stuffing in the middle and topping on top.

“What you tasted, is butter. Quite salty, really. It isn’t meant to be eaten solo.” Pulling herself back, minutely, when the potato was shoved at her, she chuckled, softly. “That is a baked potato. The crispy pieces, are the skin; the green are likely green or spring onions; the brown pieces of meat are pork, better known as Bacon; and the things on top are sour cream and shredded cheese, both dairy products.” She explained, from what she could tell of the rather loaded baked potato.

“You have never had human cuisine before, have you?”

Lt. (JG) Delarosa
CNS

OOC: Hey Trin, so sorry I haven’t been around!

OOC: It is all right!

IC: “No” he said, “Can you tell?” he picked off a small piece of bacon from the top and tried it, after a moment, his face lit up. “Bahkon” he said, attempting the pronunciation. Then he took his cup and another drink of the prune juice before setting it down and looking at her, he waved his hand over the array of plates in front of them. “I find the flavors to be, soft. Gentle and sweet mostly. There is some bitter food but it has not enough bite as to what I am used to, eating human food is, easy” he grinned, then picked up a small green ball. It looked like a mini cabbage and appeared to have been steamed. “The computer tells me this is, ‘B’rusell Sprot’” he said, It is strong and bitter, this, I like.”

Amusement glittered like sunlight on the Kenyan waves within her pale, almost freakish eyes. It was no less than obvious to the fact that this doctor had abolsutely no idea what the pronunciation of thes peculiar words happened to be. Part of her could not bring herself to correct him, as he would likely figure it out, on his own. Not to mention, it was incredibly amusing to find him attemtpting to say these common words, with that Klingon tongue avoiding every proper pronunciation of it.

“You are one of the few who actually like Brussels. Most people find they don’t have enough flavor to make much of them; hence why they are generally grilled or even braised in some type of marinade, to bring out the inner flavor of the vegetable.” She curled her fingers around the base of the glass, bringing it to her lips. Taking a sip of the liquid, she set it down, “As for the bacon, welcome to the world of humans, where bacon is as much of an omnipotent creature as the gods we swear by.” There was facetious sarcasm upon her voice.

He placed it down again and looked at the small woman. “I have been ordered to serve on this ship by the High Chancellor, I chafe at the duty, true. But it is my duty, not only to serve, but to make my placement here work. To do any less would be dishonor. Besides, I am a doctor before a Klingon Captain if all is put on the table, and the opportunity to learn here is, significant to me.”

Lt Do’trahk, CMO

“Lives before politics,” Roux remarked, possessing the same mentality as any doctor would. While she was not a woman who found herself healing the body, she did assist in the assistance of the mind, which contributed to that of their physical wounds. In a way, Do’trahk we’re both doctors, simply of different ends of the spectrum. He was the physicality of the practice, she was the mentality. “A Captain? Were you in command of a vessel prior to your assignment to the Angel?”

“It isn’t often you find people who wish to learn more than anything else,” Roux remarked, appreciative of the fact the good doctor seemed to have an ear for inquiry. “Then again, it seems sort of difficult to find a doctor who isn’t about ready to talk your ear off about questions they have, or answers they recently discovered to those queries. Amusing, albeit occasionally exhausting.”

“Anyways,” Delarosa shook her head, as if alleviating her thoughts by the force of her movements. “Is serving as a Doctor on a Starfleet vessel anything like that of a Klingon? Or are they as vastly antithesis as the people themselves?” She did not wish to overstep her boundaries as to make the man uncomfortable, so she chose her words careful, as if keeping them neutral and balanced. It was nature of her to be an unsung diplomat, simply to maintain peace about any and all predicaments she found herself within, if she can.

Delarosa
CNS