Ensign Ragh and 1stLt Samuel Woolheater- Karaoke Night, Klingon Style- Part One

[Ryan Augustyn]

(( Ragh's Quarters - 1800 hours - USS Octavia E. Butler ))

It was 1800 and was a day off for Ragh. He had so far spent it doing nothing. He was in a bit of a slump, though he wouldn't admit it to anyone. It'd been like this for days now. He looked at the bat'leth hanging on his wall. His eyes lingered there. Would Kahless have moped about feeling sorry for himself? Would his father? He was forgetting what it meant to be a Klingon. He had an idea.

Ragh: Computer call: Woolheater, Sam

A few moments passed. He wasn't sure if Sam was busy or even in his quarters but it was worth a shot. Luckily, he very quickly appeared on the screen, the familiar image of the marine.

Woolheater: :: smiles at seeing Ragh:: =/\= Hey doc!, Or should I say, 'Deputy Marshal'.

Sam was referring to the holodeck program that he and Ragh had been invited to by 1stLt. JoNz. 

Ragh: Sam. Are you busy?

Woolheater studied the Klingon’s face for a second. It wasn’t obvious, but something about the way Ragh held himself looked… tight.

Woolheater: Not particularly. What’s up?

Ragh: Get yourself ready. We are going to do karaoke.

Sam blinked once.

Woolheater: …do Karaoke.

He leaned back in the chair, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck as he processed that.

If Ragh was more observant, he might have caught the slightly confused look of his friend at this particular idea, but as it was the Klingon was finally too happy to notice. He would go out and sing and drink and raise his spirits! Today, he thought, the sad act ended.

Woolheater: That some sorta Klingon training exercise? Doc, is it the pain sticks thing?

Ragh: No. We will sing songs loud enough for the glorious dead in Sto-vo-kor to hear!

Sam’s mouth twitched faintly.

Woolheater: Copy that.

He pushed himself up from the chair.

Woolheater: Give me ten minutes.

A beat.

Woolheater: And Ragh?

Ragh: What?

Woolheater: If we get arrested, I’m blaming the

Klingon.

With that, Ragh laughed a deep, almost frightening laugh. Karaoke night!

*An hour or so later*

(( Deep Space 14 ))

A doctor and Marine, off duty, strolled into the main atrium of DS14. Said doctor, Ragh, was wearing what he called ‘peak Klingon fashion’ and was already trying to get Sam to sing a Klingon drinking song as they walked. Whatever foul mood had overtaken him the past few days had quickly been replaced. If any of this was causing a scene or stares, Ragh was completely unaware.

Woolheater: Y'know? Except for the fact that both Karaoke and Klingon both start with the letter 'K'; I didn't think you would be a fan. How did you hear about this place?

Ragh: I was talking to one of the nurses and they told me about this ‘hidden gem of a spot’ called Klaxo’s. She said it was a karaoke bar. 

Ragh looked at Sam seriously, as if to make sure he heard this next part.

Ragh: Karaoke is one of my favorite Earth customs. In Klingon culture, singing while drinking is expected. Before joining Starfleet I would have never thought humans had it in them!

He slaps Sam on the back. 

Ragh: Follow me, my friend. 

Woolheater: You are full of surprises. I have got to see where we go from here Doc.

Ragh: I think I know the way..

He, in fact, did not. The Klingon was not going to let that little detail get in the way of his good times.

Woolheater: They didn't happen to tell you where Klaxo's was did they? We're going to look like such tourists here if we have to go look at a map.

Ragh: Well not in so many words.. 

It wasn't too much later that when they felt like they were "in the neighborhood". The shops were just weird, the "Waffle Iron Repairs Shop". An all night attorney. A place for nails and one of those 24 hour wicker basket stores that we've been hearing about recently. The graffiti was more sketch but the illumination was incredibly bright.  

Woolheater: I think I hear the drunken lyrics of a song.

Ragh: I hear it, too. We must be close!

Sam looks around at the bizarre storefronts.

Woolheater: Yeah. I can feel it too. My survival instincts are screaming.

Sam thought he heard Ragh snort a laugh.

Ragh: What could possibly happen here that would have you on edge?

Woolheater: Says the guy who once recounted how to interrogate a Ferengi with a bat'leth.

Ragh had a comment ready to go..

Then they heard the music.

A loud off-key voice belted something through the door.

Ragh: Klaxo's!

Ragh pointed triumphantly.

The neon sign flickered.

KLAXO'S

Woolheater: That sign looks like it lost a fight with a plasma torch. The world's last surviving neon sign. Funny, I always thought that would be on Risa.

Ragh: I told you I knew the way. 

Woolheater: Well, I'm as shocked as you are.

Sam followed Ragh inside.

The place was, first of all, tiny. No bigger than an ensign’s quarters, but they made use of every available space. Against the back right corner was a small, lit up stage. A small bar ran along the left wall with a couple of occupied stools, and three tables scattered about the remainder of the space. It was dark, and scarcely decorated. On the stage was a Tellarite singing what sounded like some sort of ballad.

Ragh took a moment to take in the space. He nodded his head with solemn approval.

Ragh: This is it. This is what I was looking for. Let's go talk to the bartender.

Woolheater: Oh, yeah. This'll be a memory for sure.

The Klingon walked briskly to the bar, leaving Sam to look at Ragh as if he lost his mind.

Ragh smacked his fist against the bar, and yelled:

Ragh: I am here to sing!

Shockingly, or maybe not so shockingly, no one seemed to pay much mind to the yelling Klingon. The bartender did acknowledge him though. A Rigellian, he looked at Ragh, gave him a small nod and pointed to a monitor in front of the stage.

Ragh: Sam, get us a round of drinks. I will sign us up!

Sam blinked at the unexpected but very welcome confidence in the Klingon doctor.

Woolheater: ::smiling:: Well all right then. Somebody's feeling their wheaties today. ::to the bartender:: One warnog and I'll have a frosty cold one. 

Sam got the drinks and found a table. He looked around at the other patrons. Long haul pilots, some cadets who went out for a night on the town. Sam identified at least three people who probably used the waffle iron store. He returned his attention to Ragh.

The Klingon had returned. Sam watched him take a seat.

Woolheater: So. You're in a mood tonight. What happened, did you…like…perform your 100th baby delivery?  

Ragh: I have not delivered any babies anywhere. No. I let myself get to a state that was not becoming of a Klingon. 

The doctor pauses, clearly thinking about how much he wants to say on that particular matter.

Ragh: What better way to honor the glory of being alive than to sing? 

At this point Ragh was standing up, passionate in his speech. The last song ended, indicating that it was now their turn.

Ragh: Come, it is our turn. I picked a song everyone knows.

Ragh walked confidently to the ‘stage’ with Sam somewhat hesitantly following. Ragh pulled Sam in to whisper:

Ragh: The song is ‘IwlIj jachjaj.

He had said this as if it was well known to all living creatures. Ragh gave Sam an Earth gesture, a ‘thumbs up' as the song began.

Woolheater: ‘IwlIj jachjaj. That's 'may your blood run'? No…'may your blood scream!' Ha ha! OK! We're doing this buddy!

It was a short song, a mere 15 minutes long, whose title is often used as a toast. Ragh sang it loudly and proudly, so that his very voice would ring through to Sto-vo-kor. He was certain that Sam was equally engaged in the song. Truly a triumphant moment!

The music ended and Ragh took a bow. The crowd was lacking any fellow Klingons but he knew that they felt the call of battle just as he did.

Ragh: Well done, friend. Let us celebrate with another round of drinks!

Woolheater: Truly a song for warriors!  

Sam finished his beer.

If Ragh was paying any attention, he would have noticed most of the patrons had left. Obliviously, he walked back to the bar and ordered another round for him and his human compatriot.

Ragh: It is only fitting after such a song.. 

He handed a warm mug to the bewildered marine. It could only be one thing and one thing only.

Ragh: ..that we have a warrior's drink. To Starfleet and the Empire!

He raises his glass of bloodwine.

Woolheater: I'll drink to that. Bloodwine on a night like tonight! Heck yeah! ::drinks:: You realize we just cleared the room, right? Either we were amazing… or we just triggered a tactical retreat.

Ragh: Hm? I guess you're right..

End of Part 1 of 2

An old fashioned Joint Post by:

= = = = 

Ensign Ragh

Medical Officer 

USS Octavia E. Butler 

O240212R13

&

---------------

1stLt Samuel Woolheater

Scout Sniper / Infantry Officer

MARDET, Starfleet Marine Corps

USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850

O240111SW4