Major Tatash - The Arena (Tag: Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Taybrim/Vro’che/Alora/Xalmuz)
Daniel Eastham
((OOC: Apologies for the delay <3))
((Kl’tath Judicial Holding Area))
Guard Za’kon: I regret to inform you the prisoner transport is delayed, please wait in the area you are secured in for prisoner arrival.
Tatash watched the guards motions carefully, any tension could betray some sort of mistake or accident that had befallen their comrades, but there was nothing. It was an honest admission. If they were held up, it was simply to throw them off kilter.
DeVeau: They’re doing this purposefully.
Tatash: It does seem rather convenient a delay.
Li’otha: Of course they are doing it on purpose. They prefer to keep you off balance and preoccupied.
Taybrim: I don’t like this. ::He shook his head, settling himself into a calm, solid stance.:: I’m worried they are injured.
DeVeau: I know they are. Klingons are not known for being gentle with their prisoners.
Tatash: But they would want to keep them alive.
A brutal truth. Battered, bruised, broken but breathing. Even with their penchant for brutality the Klingons found honour in what they would call due process. Their crewmen would arrive in one piece even if those pieces were all kinds of sore and sorry.
Li’otha: Alright, I have three aides that might fit your previous query. ::She passed the PADD over towards Sal.:: Do any of these look familiar.
DeVeau: What’s wrong?
Taybrim: I’m fine. His name is Kelemkor.
Tatash looked between the two. The name didn’t mean anything to him but it seemed to spark some sort of interest in the Commodore and Commander.
DeVeau: I know him.
Tatash looked down as the PADD was lifted for him to get a proper look at the chap on the screen. He was handsome, ludicrously handsome, some sort of chiselled adonis that radiated beauty and grace even through the tiny screen.
Tatash: Not my type.
He joked, before offering a shrug and returning his attention to examining (subtley) the room they were in.
Li’otha: He is still registered as a Klingon citizen. ::She frowned as she tried to dig up more information.::
Taybrim: He is half Rodulan.
DeVeau: Which means he very well be the one behind what you sense.
Tatash just looked between the two, before his attention shifted rapidly to the shimmering lights of a transporter beam, watching as a group of figures appeared. It was like seeing two beaten sausages forced into Starfleet uniforms, he couldn’t help but feel some sympathy for the scuff marks and colourful bruises the pair of them were sporting.
Vro’che: It’s a *parade* from Starfleet these days.
DeVeau: We should have access to them, and they need medical attention.
Tatash’s eyes looked around at the heavy amount of security in the room. How fast could he cross it and grab that guard, how fast could the no doubt hidden turrets gun him down, and how much of a shield was a Klingon body against a disrupter blast.
It terrified him that he knew the answers to all those questions. It saddened him that it was ‘Not fast enough’.
Taybrim/Li’otha: ?
Vro’che: I was ordered to *transport* them. So here they are. ::his eyes narrowing:: For their *trial*. Not to hand them over to *you* lot.
Tatash: We are not asking for their release. We are here to confirm they are accounted for and well.
Taybrim/Li’otha: ?
DeVeau: At the very least, we should be able to have access to them. Again, they have a right to medical care.
Vro’che: They’re in one piece. ::He grinned, quite content with himself, his focus mostly on Sal.:: For the most part. ::pausing:: If *only* they hadn’t *resisted.*
Servo’s whined in the Gorns arm as he tensed it, clenching those metal fingers together before forcing himself to relax. It wouldn’t do them any good to get into a fight or worse, get his arm confiscated with the precious evidence still locked inside.
DeVeau: Regardless of whether they resisted or not, such treatment is unacceptable.
Tatash: This -will- be recorded and formally objected to. This risks a diplomatic incident.
Taybrim/Li’otha: ?
Vro’che: My men wanted to eat the beast. Consider yourself lucky we weren’t hungry.
The Guards should consider themselves even more fortunate that they were buried deep in their fortress, because Gorns could get very hungry indeed.
Vro'che: ::gruffly:: You will have to *leave* when their Advocate arrives.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell Taybrim/Vro’che: ?
DeVeau: They have the right not only to representation but proper medical care. We will invoke that right.
Tatash gave Maxwell a small thumbs up, the best he could offer given the circumstances. You’re fine buddy, you’re safe now, was the meaning he tried to convey.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Taybrim/Vro’che: ?
DeVeau: If you deny that request, you will be in violation of the Khitomer accords. Action can and will be taken.
Tatash: The embassy will hear of this. You can expect a stern, and I mean a really very cross, condemnation publicly of your actions.
Not that it mattered. The real Tatash didn’t care for words, he didn’t care for finger wagging and big mean letters saying how naughty some third party had been.
Tatash wanted more direct action, every part of him wanted to stride across the room and dash that smug, smirking face into the bulkhead so hard and so often that every cranial ridge was polished into a smooth finish.
But this strange version of him cared deeply about such softly gentle things like ‘Diplomatic objections’. His cover needed to remain until it was absolutely needed to vanish.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Taybrim/Vro’che: ?
DeVeau: And where is Janul?
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Tatash/Taybrim/Vro’che: ?
Tatash: You’ve not seen him? Not at all?
Tatash looked across as another bully came into the room, all swagger and pomposity.
Before he’d came here Tatash had quite a high opinion of Klingons, but every single one he was meeting today was gradually lowering that position from fairly respected, to common thug, faster by the minute.
Xalmuz: The prisoners are to be moved. The trial is about to begin.
Tatash: The prisoners are still awaiting a medical assessment.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Taybrim/Vro’che/Xalmuz/Alora: ?
Tatash growled, the PADD clutched in his hand cracking slightly under his fingers as he was once more talked down to like some common mutt, but once more he bit his tongue. They were goading him, because the Gorn was in a position where he had no other course of action but to take the goading.
Tatash: All of this is being recorded you know.
He offered it almost as a pithy comment, but sure enough every name and face was being pushed into his memory and carefully filed. He’d remember these goading faces, and he’d enjoy watching them on the receiving end when the Cult was finally revealed and it’s friends and members rounded up.
They would be in a far worse shape than his colleagues by the end of it.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Taybrim/Vro’che/Alora/Xalmuz: ?
Tatash fell into line behind the group as they were moved through the facility, down corridors lined with cells full of people in various states. Some howled their innocence; others quietly contemplated their fate while others begged for help. The dregs of the Klingon judicial system, the wretched and damned of the authoritarian regime that governed above.
Tatash: Ah, I think we are almost there. Thankfully.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Taybrim/Vro’che/Alora/Xalmuz: ?
((Qo’nos – High Court Chamber))
The group found themselves thrust into an almost arena like structure, a single plinth raised in the middle bathed in a pillar of cold light that pushed down upon them, while dark columns rose up around them in the vaguely hexagonal chamber.
It was easily six stories high, if not more, voices came down from above shrouded in shadow as the light kept them safely at bay. Some goaded, some laughed amongst themselves echoing around the chamber with non-descript words.
They all stopped when a loud metal clanging sound rang across the room, a shower of sparks lifting up from the gavel that had been struck against the thick metal plate at what he assumed was some sort of judges seat. The only thing he could see was the dark hand clutching it.
Bailey/Li’otha/Maxwell/Alora/Taybrim/Vro’che/Xalmuz: ?
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Major Tatash
Marine Intelligence (Charlie Company)
Starbase 118 Ops
C239108T10