[Backsim] JP: KDF Commander Janul & Lt.Cdr. DeVeau - Putrid Drink of Horror Pt1.
Iain Turnbull
((Starbase 118 Ops - Janul’s Quarters))
Christmas had long since passed, but that didn’t stop Alora from getting a gift. Or rather, two gifts. After the Captain turned Commodore’s party, the items she had ordered arrived. Taking care to replicate some wrapping paper, she encased them in the brightly coloured material and topped them with a bow. It was a new year, and she was glad to start it out with a new friend. Taking both packages, one green with a red ribbon, the other red with a green ribbon, she made her way through the corridors to the section of the Habitat sector that housed the prisoner.
It was a shame she couldn’t take him somewhere, but while Alora could visit, she didn’t hold enough rank or clearance to allow him to pass the boundaries that had been set for him. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t take the chance to see him, and pass along her gifts. Smiling at the guards, she stepped took a moment to press the button and announce her arrival, then stepped forward once the doors parted. Her smile immediately focused on the mountainous man who occupied them.
DeVeau: Hello Janul.
Janul was his usual fiery-faced self, the glare thrown at his visitor nothing more than his neutral expression. His previous guests, the Marines Ta’garth and Gazkra had not long since departed. And despite the ever-present appearance of anger, he was rather pleased to have another visitor today. He offered the vague hint of a bow before speaking.
Janul: Commander.
DeVeau: How are you today?
Janul: I am well.
He offered a seat, before deciding to practice what Ta’garth referred to as “small talk”.
Janul: You are also well?
DeVeau: Hanging in there.
He grunted, making his way to the replicator. Never the galaxy’s greatest conversationalist, he was also not the brainless lump of muscle that ninety-nine percent of people assumed. It seemed though, that he had once more stumbled across a member of the one percent.
Janul: I am ::pause.:: glad to hear that.
Alora grinned, her gaze following the man, and at his little admission - or at least an attempt to be polite - her eyes twinkled. It was a bit better of a reception than last
time.
DeVeau: The gifts you gave were wonderful. Sa...the Commodore was very appreciative, I guarantee.
Janul: It is good that they were received well. The Capt- ::He grunted lightly:: Commodore had a grand feast?
Roaring fires, skewered meat and gallons of drink was most likely not the way the evening had gone, but the thought was a good one. Janul would have to arrange a grand event should he ever walk free of his quarters again.
DeVeau: It was a lovely party. ::She paused for a moment, adding a bit more gently.:: I’m sorry I didn’t have the clearance to let you come.
There was a low, volcanic rumble.
His version of a mild chuckle as he nodded slowly.
Janul: I did not expect to attend, Commander. ::He looked at his closed door.:: Starfleet is far too afraid of it’s allies to allow me to wander around the station.
DeVeau: However, I did bring you something. It’s not much, but I hope you like it.
Alora reached down and plucked one of the two boxes from where she’d set them at her feet upon sitting down. First, the red with a green ribbon. She glanced at it, then held it out to the Klingon.
Janul: What is it?
His tone wasn’t one of distrust, not in the real sense of the word. It was more the tone of somebody unused to having anything gifted to them.
Trophies taken, honoured awards received, but never gifts.
DeVeau: I promise it won’t bite. Come on, it’s a gift, just accept it. Open it.
Janul: Very well.
He stepped forth, his footsteps heavy and reached down for the red package.
Alora released the package into his care and folded her hands upon her lap as she watched the man unwrapped the gift. Within was a box, and inside that, a bottle of whiskey, well aged, much like the one she’d gotten Luthas.
As the packaging was removed, and the box opened, light glinted from a bottle of a dark golden-ish liquid. He looked up at his guest.
DeVeau: Terran Whiskey. Not quite bloodwine, but I thought you might like it.
Janul: I see. I- ::He grunted.:: appreciate the gesture. ::He lifted the bottle free, turning it in his massive paw as the light shone through it. A massive fist that could crush a human hand with relative ease placed the bottle back into its box with great care.:: I shall keep this safe. And open it upon a great occasion.
DeVeau: But wait! There’s more!
The second box was then taken from its perch by her feet, this one green with a red ribbon.
Janul: Another gift?
He opened it, switching his gaze from Alora, to the bottle, and back again.
Inside was a bottle of prune juice. Not just prune juice, but fresh prune juice, taken from the source rather than replicated.
DeVeau: That one...that was one was a risk. Hopefully you like it. If not...I’ll just have to try harder next time.
Janul: We shall see.
He stepped to the replicator, returning with two glasses.
DeVeau: Oh, I get a drink?
Not that Alora minded, and he had offered her one the last time she’d been there.
Janul dropped heavily into his armchair, placing the glasses upon the low table.
Janul: It is customary amongst humans to offer drinks to your guests? Is it not?
DeVeau: It is.
What was it? The liquid was dark and sort of a reddish colour, but not nearly as red as bloodwine. It also was a bit thicker.
DeVeau: What’s in the bottle?
Janul: It is prune juice.
Prune juice.
The bane of existence.
The putrid drink of horror.
The liquid that looked and tasted like underripe cud that had been chewed up, spit out, sliced, diced, left out to rot in the sun, turned over in the compost heap and dug out and slapped into a glass.
Prune juice.
She had bought him prune juice because she’d heard Klingons tended to like it.
Alora did not like prune juice.
He nodded, satisfied.
The second bottle was plucked from it’s green packaging and opened.
Janul: Good. As I wish to try this.
DeVeau: Isn’t that what you have here?
Alora lifted her glass, wondering if she could somehow manage to get through the visit without taking a single sip. If she didn’t, would that offend his honour? Would he want
to throw her out of the window? Thankfully, there were very few rooms that
had windows, and Janul’s certainly didn’t. Still, he might want to throw her
through the wall.
She’d just have to be faster than him.
Janul: This one is replicated.
DeVeau: Well, yes, replicated isn’t quite the same, I agree. That ::She motioned to the bottle that she’d procured for him.:: Isn’t replicated.
Janul: It will be saved.
DeVeau: Saved?
Who saved prune juice? Why would anyone save prune juice? Why would anyone want to drink it? Alora had no idea, but some people liked it. She just wasn’t one of them.
DeVeau: For what purpose?
Janul: For next month. The day of my birth!
He poured out two glasses, sliding one across the table and draining the other rapidly.
DeVeau: Really now? When, do tell, is the day of your birth?
Janul: The twelfth day.
DeVeau: Are you going to throw a party?
Janul waved a massive hand dismissively.
Janul: I think not.
DeVeau: Why not?
Janul: I will most likely be a prisoner of the High Council by then. ::He grunted slightly.:: Or dead, by the hand of the High Council.
Well, that certainly made a difference. Frowning, Alora stared down into the murky depths of her glass. The colour was so dull, it didn’t even share her reflection.
DeVeau: You’re going back?
Janul: Should I return home, I will be tried as a traitor to the Empire.
DeVeau: According to whom?
He glared at a Kravzo’ch banner hung on the far wall. It had a long blade slice across it from several months ago.
Janul: General Krala. My mother.
DeVeau: Ah, yes. I read about that.
How hard had that been, to fight against his own mother? Harder than she could even imagine, Alora was certain. To be cut off from family seemed a terrible fate. Even worse,
to have that family betray you in such a manner…
*******
Commander Janul
Klingon Defence Force
Prisoner of the Federation
O239311AM0
&
Lt. Cmdr. Alora DeVeau
First Officer
Starbase 118 Ops