<USS Avalon> "A Strom Brews"
- From: "Melanie Redgrave" <melanieredgrave@xxxxxxx>
- To: <avalon@xxxxxxxxxxxxx>
- Date: Mon, 30 Jan 2006 17:00:06 -0500
"A Storm Brews"
The angry roar echoed off the walls of the hybrid's private chambers like an
irate beast trapped in a cave. The young male page took several steps back just
as the padd and tankard of fruit juice went sailing past his head. He gulped as
he looked into the enraged, haunted, eyes of the House's youngest mistress. He
now understood why he had been sent with her morning meal and missive from a
Federation vessel. She might have only been the daughter of a hybrid, less
Klingon biologically then even her half Klingon mother, but in so many other
ways the young mistress of the House of Tarak was more Klingon then the full
blooded servants. No one, not even the master himself dared to cross the child.
"This can not be true!" The young mistress bellowed as more objects from her
table took flight. There was a dusting of red coloring rising in her pale
caramel skin, her voice taking on more of a growl, and her long dark hair
fluttered around her like a raven's wings as she pushed to her feet, advancing
on the page.
"I do not know the quality of the information, Miss." The boy gulped. "I merely
brought you the meal and padd."
The raven haired hybrid snatched the boy by his tunic and pulled him roughly to
her, nearly lifting him from his feet. "I want to know her name. I want to know
everything about this woman. The way she looks, where she goes, what she does.
I need to see her face!"
The boy shook as he nodded. "Yes Miss." Stumbling back when he was released,
the boy fell back landing on his ass with a thud. He sat there and watched wide
eyed as the young mistress floated out of the room in a flurry of soft skinned
skirts. He felt sorry for whom ever she was about to descend upon.
No matter what their ranking was in the House, people moved as the youngest
mistress charged gracefully down the halls of the old stone home of Ambassador
and more importantly yo'aj (General) Tarak. When the child had come home they
were all pleased to see she could still be Klingon despite what the Federation
had done to her. One of the older boys, one who was not yet old enough to be a
warrior but to young to be merely a page, rushed ahead of the young mistress
and opened the wide heavy doors of the master's study for her. The young one
hurried inside without even a glance at the boy.
"puqnI'be'," The old man inside the large, fire warmed, stone room beamed as he
watched his granddaughter enter.
Her facial expression and demeanor had soften just before the boy had opened
the door for her. The young mistress was smiling as she walked over to her
grandfather and kissed his aged and weathered cheek. "I wish to speak with
your, Grandfather."
"And what is it you wish to speak of my pretty little puqnI'be." The elder
Klingon asked as he rose from his seat and poured them each a goblet of
bloodwine.
The young raven haired woman took the drink and smiled brightly at her mother's
father. "I wish to return to duty, Grandfather. I have been here long enough."
The old man, his silver hair long and loss, his eyes the same dark color as the
girl's, lowered his drink and looked at his granddaughter with questioning
eyes. "Do you think your really ready to return, child?"
"I do, Grandfather." The girl answered. "I am tired of doing nothing. I've
recovered enough to return."
"Your doctors think..."
The girl growled. "My doctor's are fools. I am nearly as strong as I was before
the Santa Ana. The rest of my strength will return with time, time I wish to
spending working."
Tarak nodded with approve and yet he added, "It is not the strength of your
body that worries, puqnI'be. It is the strength of mind that..."
"My mind it fine." The girl defended. "And Deanna Troi and the others are a
bunch of crack pots." She huffed and threw herself down into a chair. Sighing a
moment later she reached out and took her grandfather's hand. "What the Vulcan
did to me, to my mind, will always be with me, Grandfather. No amount of time
nor hours of therapy will change the fact that he used a mind meld to
telepathically rape me. Please, Grandfather. I need to return to duty, to my
work. I have been gone far too long."
The old Klingon squeezed the hand of his only daughter's only daughter and
looked deeply into her eyes. Finally after what seemed a life time the master
of the House nodded. "Very well, puqnI'be. I will see that it is done."
The girl leapt to her feet and engulfed her grandfather in a tight hug, her
smile and eyes beaming brightly. "Thank you, Grandfather."
"Where you do you wish to serve? Close to your human R'uustai SoS?"
The girl smiled and once more kissed her grandfather's cheek. "That would be
nice, Grandfather. I'd lover to be close to Joanna, but I wish to be on a ship.
In fact, I wish to be on the USS Avalon."
The old man nodded and returned the kiss to his granddaughter's cheek. "Then so
it shall be my pretty little puqnI'be."
The young raven haired mistress smiled brightly all the way back to her
chambers. Once inside she moved towards her wardrobe flinging it open and
pulling from it the blue Starfleet uniform that identified her as being
medical, it's single pip slightly dulled. She rubbed it with her finger until
the little bit of gold sparkled.
"Beg your pardon, Miss." A slightly older boy then first called out from the
doorway.
The girl spun around. "What is it?"
The boy stood tall and held out a padd. She wasn't all that much older them him
but the young mistress scared the hell outta him. "I have the information you
asked for."
Storming over to the boy in a flutter of skirts and raven hair, the young
mistress of the House Tarak snatched the padd from him and read it over. "I
want to know the name of the o'be'voS who thought she could steal what was
meant to be mine." Skimming the padd quickly she stopped when she reached the
name and snarled. "Be sure to pack my bat'leth."
"Of course, Miss." The boy nodded and left the room, knowing the tone of the
girl's voice meant to get out.
The raven haired hybrid smiled a warrior's smile as she ran her fingers over
the name and picture of the woman who she would be taking her beloved back
from. "Annabelle Garrity will wish she'd never laid clam what is mine."
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