Lt. Jg. Ryden Tarus Kel - Sharp Angles & Brutalist Arches

[Ryden Kel]

((Transit to the Qo'noS District))

The transport car slid onto a new track with barely a sound, the view
beyond the tinted windows smearing into light and shadow as the
Ohmallera District fell away. Ryden let the quiet settle for a moment,
the faint hum of the car giving him space to breathe. Being
here...between districts, between conversations... felt oddly
appropriate.

Kel: So… if I embarrass myself by not knowing when to applaud, you’re
allowed to laugh. Just… maybe warn me afterward.

Voss: ::grinning:: If you clap in the wrong place, I’ll just start
clapping too, and we’ll bring the whole audience with us. What actor
doesn’t want more applause?

The image that sparked in his mind—an entire Klingon opera house
erupting because of one mistimed clap—was enough to ease some of the
tension he hadn’t realized he was carrying.

Kel: That feels… dangerously generous of you. I appreciate the
solidarity, even if it gets us quietly judged by every Klingon in the
room.

Voss:: It’s usually pretty obvious anyway. Klingon arias love a big
finish. And “Gav'ot toH'va” has some of the most ambitious tenor solos
in the canon. I’m kind of morbidly fascinated to see how well their
Pa’Vash pulls them off. Regional productions always have trouble
finding decent tenors.

Ryden blinked once, the cascade of names and technical specifics
washing over him. He didn’t miss the enthusiasm, though... how alive
the subject made her sound.

Kel: I’ll defer entirely to your expertise there. I don’t think I’ve
ever used the phrase “ambitious tenor” in a sentence before today, but
I’m open to learning.

Voss: ::laughing and shaking her head:: I’m sorry, that was maybe one
of the snobbiest things I’ve ever said. But… it is kind of true. Good
tenors are hard to come by.

Kel: If it helps, I didn’t hear snob. I heard someone who really loves
the thing they’re talking about. I’m not sure Klingons would consider
that a flaw.

Voss: What about your favorite kind of music? What do you like to listen to?

The question caught him gently off guard. Ryden took a second, sorting
through a lifetime of half-adopted tastes... Trill rhythms from his
childhood, Betazoid soundscapes he’d only encountered later,
Starfleet-standard everything in between.

Kel: Honestly? I’m eclectic to the point of indecision. Trill ambient
compositions, some Betazoid choral work... mostly instrumental, since
I didn’t grow up fluent in the telepathic nuances. And… old Earth
music. Strings. Piano. Things that feel like they’re thinking out
loud.

Voss: Scale of one to ten, how snobby are you about it though? And if
it’s low on that scale, you have to tell me something else you’re
snobby about. ::grinning:: You can’t let me be the only snob.

He considered that, a faint smile tugging at his mouth as the
transport slowed slightly, signaling another junction ahead.

Kel: Music snobbery? Maybe a three. I care, but I don’t judge. ::A
beat, then a quiet admission.:: Medical diagnostics, though? Solid
eight. If someone misreads a scan or skips a differential, I have to
physically stop myself from correcting them out loud.

The car hummed on toward the Qo’noS District, carrying them closer to
war songs, soaring voices, and... unexpectedly... a shared
understanding that passion, in any form, was nothing to apologize for.

((Timeskip - Qo'noS District))

The transport doors slid open and Ryden stepped out into the Qo'noS
District, the change in atmosphere immediate and unmistakable. The air
felt heavier here... warmer, thick with the scent of roasted targ,
spiced bloodwine, and something metallic that clung to the back of his
throat. Jagged Klingon architecture rose around them in dark stone and
burnished metal, all sharp angles and brutalist arches, banners
hanging from iron brackets and catching the light of flickering
braziers. The low rumble of distant voices and percussion carried
through the streets, less background noise than a constant, living
pulse.

For a moment, Ryden simply took it in. He was acutely aware of the
contrast... Ohmallera’s soft gardens and memorial stones replaced by a
district that felt unapologetically alive, loud, and demanding. There
was something grounding about it. Honest. Nothing here pretended to be
gentle.

Kel: I always forget how different this place feels. It’s like the
station decided to grow a spine.

Voss: ?

He glanced toward the looming façade of the opera house ahead, its
entrance framed by massive reliefs depicting Klingon heroes
mid-battle, mouths open in silent roars. Even from here, he could feel
the promise of sound waiting inside... voices meant to fill a hall,
not merely be heard.

Kel: I’ve never actually been inside for a performance. Just… walked
past it a lot, told myself I’d go “someday.”

Voss: ?

The path toward the opera house cut through a broad promenade, the
stone beneath his boots worn smooth by generations of traffic. Ryden
found his attention drifting... not to the crowds, but to the way this
felt different from Trill, from Betazed, from anywhere he’d grown up.
There was no expectation of restraint here. No quiet pressure to be
exceptional in the right way.

Kel: If Klingon opera is anything like the district, I’m guessing
subtlety isn’t really the goal.

Voss: ?

He allowed a faint, self-aware breath to escape him.

Kel: I think I could use something that doesn’t ask me to be careful
with myself for a couple of hours.

As the opera house grew closer, its shadow stretching across the
promenade, Ryden shifted his focus back to Lyra, leaving space for her
to fill the moment in her own way.

Voss: ?


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Lieutenant JG Ryden Tarus Kel
Medical Officer
StarBase 118 Ops
O240109RK1