Lt JG Braya - Take it Outside

[Braya of Clan Ralnek]

((Chang’s Revenge, Arinol City | Bolarus IX))

The smell of blood hung thick in the air of Chang’s Revenge, and it wasn’t just the wine. The tang of it had built over years, worked into the wood, lacquered over with alcohol and sweat. Mixed in with the metallic aroma was burning incense, the reek of dirty money, and the halitosis of some two dozen drunkards. 

With her feet kicked up on a table, leaned back in her chair and balanced on its two back legs, Braya fit in well enough. Her jacket was pulled tight around her shoulders, its leather, once black, worn to dark grey over years of use. It was pockmarked with holes and tears, each stitched and repaired with an emblem of her clan, or a trophy taken off an enemy. The rest of her clothes looked much the same; charcoal pants and chunky leather boots made supple with oils and mileage. 

The blue tattoos on her face sucked in the red light of the bar, and looked almost black. In one hand, dangling at her side, was a classic ribbed stein; a Klingon favorite. In the other, clamped between two fingers, was a thick cigar. She put it to her lips, sucked, and watched the embers at its tip flare before blowing out a plume of curling smoke. 

Nothing about her shone, and nothing about her was clean, save for the pin peeking out just behind the lapel of her coat, the comm badge even Braya wasn’t fool enough to discard. 

A long pull from the cup proved insufficient to help her forget why she’d come. So she tipped it back again, draining its contents, making her throat burn. Clo-Q. The cloak. The hostages and their screams. The encounter with the terrorist. The chewing out from her XO. The desperate fight on Alomia. She tried, and failed, to put it all behind her. Some mix of intoxicants here, Braya was sure, would help ease her into that state of being. And it was a lot less painful than another counselling session.

As she made to rise from her seat and find another drink, or something stronger still, something she’d never find at Zogi’s, a deck of cards landed on her table, followed by a trio of men, all looking to play and in need of a fourth. Sinking back into her chair, Braya took up the game. 

Some time later, with latinum slips piling before her, the Klingon in full warrior regalia bared his teeth and curled one hand on his cards, the other on his d’k tahg. 

Klingon: ::Snarling:: You cheat. 

There was a long pause as Braya drew on her cigar, and let the smoke billow out over her lips lazily, shrouding her inked face like a veil. 

Braya: ::Flatly:: I win. 

She offered no denial of the accusation, and instead dismissively glanced away to tap her cigar, knocking ashes onto the floor. The other two sharing the game looked back and forth between her and her accuser, their expressions taut as bowstrings. 

The warrior’s grip on his hilt tightened. 

Klingon: ::Voice rising:: You think me a joke? 

Braya: ::Finishing another glass, setting it down with a clunk:: Not a joke. Just a loser. You. An’ yer buddies. 

The Klingon leaped to his feet, and Braya kicked the table. Hard. Driving it into the man’s guts and knocking wind from his lungs. The lump of remaining cigar tumbled from her fingers as she came out of her chair, putting her hand into a fist around his collar and driving her forehead into his nose. There was a wet crack of broken cartilage. 

Like a volcano, the room erupted. 

((Time skip…some moments later))

Catching hold of his armor, wrenching the warrior sideways, Braya shouted as she used his momentum against him, and heaved him gracelessly. Glass exploded, and there was a rush of new air that diluted the foul stink of the bar. The Klingon landed at the feet of Hesan, Tensjal, and Tanner, the latter of which Braya was somewhat stunned to recognize as she stood there, framed by the broken window. 

Braya: ::With a startled smile:: Jacks?! What are you doin’ ‘ere?

Blood seeped from a gash across her brow, a fresh bruise was bluing her left eye, and all the room around her was swirling with fists. 

Hesan / Tensjal / Tanner: Response?

Before she could answer, the noise of the fight returned to her ears, and she was dragged backward into the melee. She didn’t resist, but spun and dove forward, anger and frustration driving her fists in a brawl she could not hope to win. At least…not on her own. 

Hesan / Tensjal / Tanner: Response?   

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Lt. JG Braya of Clan Ralnek

HCO

USS Eagle

E240205B13