MSNPC Boris Malinov: In Deep Tribble (Tag: Aliyah)

[Michael Meir-Wright]

(( The Dungeon | Starbase 118 ))

:: Beneath the breathtaking metropolis of Starbase 118's Commercial District lay an all together different propoistion, charmingly given the nickname of 'The Dungeon'. It was a haven for the seedier aspects of the Federation; theives, smugglers, mad scientists and even the occasional murderer if the stories were to be believed. Starfleet had done it's best to contain whatever trouble brewed in that den of iniquity, but nothing was ever perfect. Urban legends told of the businesses there being smokescreens for backroom deslings, corporate espionage and trafficking- among other nefarious deeds.

It was a world that Boris Vladamir Malinov now found himself in as he sought refuge from the eyes of suspicion that would soon turn towards him after making his hurried exit from the convention dinner. Usually unflappable under pressure, Malinov could feel his nerves beginning to fray as he approached the doorway of Harkins Den, a drinking establishment, lit up with a gaudy neon sign that did little to dissuade the rare passerby that this was a dive. Nor did the obvious signs of disruptor fire that peppered its walls.

At his approach, a burly and hairless Antedean straightened himself out and looked at him with two bulging eyes that made him resemble an albino goldfish with legs and muscles.

Malinov: "I'm Boris Vladamir Malinov and I need to see-"

Bouncer: “I don’t care who you are, unless you’re on the….” ::he paused for a second, resting his finger on his ear before stepping aside:: “Looks like it’s your lucky night, the boss wants to see you.”

 :: Relief, mingled with dread, enveloped his entire being like a crashing ocean wave. The sooner he was inside the sooner he could hide from Starfleet, but there was no telling what Oma-Saan wanted with him. Malinov strongly doubted it was just a chat.

Without another word, Malinov entered Harkins' Den. At the end of the short corridor he could hear the thumping bass of Klingon dance music- a cauterwauling mess of electronic beats and angry Klingons yearning for the glory of battle. When he entered the circular bar, he was shoved roughly by another bouncer, this time a Chalnoth, in the direction of a sauntering green skinned Orion man.

Malinov had met Oma-Saan a handful of times and he was a thoroughly unpleasant man. But he had given considerable amounts of latinum to the cause of Malinov's research, and since Oma-Saan turned a blind eye to the less than ethical methods employed by the tribble breeders' quest for the perfect specimen, so to did Malinov ignore the fact that the former Syndicate enforcer was a murderer and a master extortionist.

Malinov: :: above the noise of the dirge, urgently :: You have to help me!

Oma-Saan: I don't have to do anything.

Malinov: They will be looking for me! It has gone horribly wrong!

Oma-Saan: So? That's nothing to do with me or my people.

Malinov: :: gesticulating wildly :: You promised me assistance from this convention! Results!

Oma-Saan: I said I would see what I could if the coin was right. :: beat :: And guess what pal: It wasn't.

Malinov: Starfleet will come for me. I am NOT going to the gulags! :- he felt foolishly brave :: "I'll take you down with me!"

:: He regretted it instantly as he felt the muzzle of a disruptor pistol touch the back of his head. The Chalnoth body man had obviously been stood behind him. Frozen with fear, he could nothing as Oma-Saan took a step forward and grabbed him roughly by the cheek ::

Oma-Saan: "Nobody talks to me like that in my own place Malinov. Nobody." :: He let go of him and began to turn away. There was no time to appreciate his life being spared as the hulking Orion turned back around and punched him in his jaw. Even above the noise, the Russian heard the crack of his jaw as he hit the floor and felt the spittle against his cheek as Oma-Saan spat on him. ::

Oma-Saan: :: bellowing :: One last chance Malinov! That's all! If you EVER want that funding, don't ever get on the wrong side of me again!

:: And with that he dissapeared into the back of the joint. Getting to his feet Malinov turned around and came face to face with a familiar face. ::

Aliyah: ?

:: Now he was in trouble ::

TAG...

Boris Vladamir Malinov
Tribble Breeder/Scumbag

as simmed by:

Lieutenant  Commander Theo Whittaker
Executive Officer
Starbase 118/ USS Albion
C239203TW0