Joint Personal Log - Capt Ivanova, Lt Cmdr Waterhouse & Cmdr PontBrillant - "Why Have A Ballroom With No Balls?" - II/II

Posted on Sat Sep 13th, 2014 @ 12:01am by Commander Amelia Waterhouse & Admiral Rochelle Ivanova
Edited on on Thu Jan 8th, 2015 @ 11:24pm

2,546 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Are You Touched?

=/\= Continued from Part I =/\=

Vlimar had observed the action and waited until the moment Rochelle struck to make any attempt at assisting. Although he followed the two women with the objective of providing security, he didn't want to become overprotective. However, now that it had come to blows it was another thing entirely. Even if he didn't doubt Rochelle's ability to defend herself, he didn't think that this situation was honorable - a definition bearing quite loose.

The Frenchman broke the circle and immediately began to walk towards Rochelle, passing in front of Amelia, almost like a monk in its abbey. His constant, calm walk lasted a few seconds until he reached the other side of the bar from where Rochelle and the bartender were exchanging pleasantries.

It was only then than he aggressively pushed two bystanders, a move starkly contrasting his previous demeanor as he lowered his cloak, looking at the bartender.

"Hey, bIHnuch, how about taking on someone your own size?" he asked, obvious aiming at striking the Klingon's honor, rather than commenting about Rochelle's size.

Rochelle's hold on the Klingon only seemed to tighten the more he struggled to break free. Having him by the face left him powerless and forced him to release her wrist. Several bloodied crescents were left in the wake of his actions and the little Phoenix nearly flinched at the sight of them.

A voice broke through. Strong. Masculine. French.

Vlimar.

She sucked in a breath knowing he'd once again followed her from the resort, proving once again that he'd given himself the role of knight opposite her warrior queen. "The crazy bitch has me, not the other way around!" The Klingon snarled and attempted to grab for her from his awkward position only to have his hand slapped loudly by the redhead.

Vlimar would have to wait, "Didn't your mother ever teach you anything about honor and women, Klingon?" She seethed, her blood boiling. She may have been small, but Rochelle Ivanova was fierce. The laughter of the Klingon rabble behind her spoke volumes about how they received the sight of such a tiny female subduing such a large stag all by her lonesome. No one, however, noticed two scowling faces skulking out the back door.

Vlimar stood back slightly, pushing another Klingon away from him. The look on his face clearly stated 'don't mess with me' and the coming Klingon judged that it was best not to interfere, yet. It was hard to keep as a grin crept over his face as he watched Rochelle.

Amelia finally shoved past the other Klingons. She didn't even notice Vlimar as she brushed past him, the bar was too noisy to have heard his voice and he'd been turned away when he finally lowered the hood. From khaless knows where, she produced her d'k tahg, and held it at the ready. Weapons were usually not allowed in a 'friendly' Klingon bar fight, but clearly something was wrong, Rochelle was not having fun.

"You got this, or should I skin him to make a belt?" Amelia asked Rochelle, meeting the bar tender's eyes. His eyes flashed, and he tried to jerk himself upward to respond, only to be reminded of Rochelle's firm grip and fire filled eyes. She then switched back to Klingon to speak to the bar tender, "You'll be lucky if she lets me handle you, I don't think you'll have balls when she's done if she does."

Hauling down to control her writhing prey, Rochelle felt the Klingon's beard beginning to give way in her hand. "Put it away, Waterhouse. I think we're reaching an understanding. Aren't we?" She replied, nodding slowly as if to emphasize the point that she was in control and there was only one answer he could give. The weapon promised nothing but further violence, something the little fire bird was in need of destroying and coming away from. With war came diplomacy, Andrea had always said, and to learn both was a task that had taken her many years to fully master -- even if she slipped from time to time. Bustling through the crowd came the big bull Klingon that had warned her about her drink, his presence only served to make her antsy, promising the beginning of a battle far worse if she wasn't successful in her attempts to wrangle the creature at hand.

"You have no honor!" The bastard under her control yelled, bringing a far different sort of smile to the Starfleet Captain's lips. It was sardonic and triumphant, filled with a flame that had all but been extinguished by recent events. She was alive.

"On the contrary, I'm not the one who tried to sneak poison into a lady's drink." She replied, plucking the stag against the ridges between his eyes. "Still want to talk about honor?"

Where Amelia tucked her knife away when Rochelle chastised her, not even the most observant could dare guess. She glanced over as her dance partner approached, bristling in anticipation of the resumption of their fight. When he showed no indication of such, her eyes turned back to Rochelle... Drifting across Vlimar on their way. What was he doing here? Did he just watch her in her fight? That wasn't something a proper lady did, and he made her want to be a proper lady. The fiery XO suddenly found herself blushing, torn between meeting his eyes and avoiding them. She didn't have time for either.

With a chuckle, the informant slapped Amelia on her posterior before slipping in front of her. "Pity we weren't allowed a little more fun." He leered at her as he passed, shoving her sideways roughly as he did. "You lose, Ch'Gret." He bellowed, holding his hands up to silence the crowd. The Klingon held captive by Rochelle didn't have a chance to respond to her about honor, shock and anger burning in his eyes as he turned them to the informant. "Captain Ivanova of the USS Vindicator and her crew are our allies and yet you work to disgrace us with Ferengi interests! Why is it always the house of Duras can't keep themselves clean?!" The crowd hissed and growled in between hushed talking and jeers. These were warriors, people putting their lives on the line for honor, courage and freedom -- and they'd been betrayed by one of their own. "Traitor!" He jeered, coming to rest beside Rochelle.

She looked between the two, her weight shifting away from her informant and the stench of alcohol from where she'd sloshed him earlier. "You can release him now, little one. You're a true credit to your race, fearless. You bring honor to your people and to Starfleet." He grinned at her, bringing his hands over the one holding Ch'Gret hostage. She hesitantly released the bull, wiggling her fingers to be free of the loosened hairs that came away with her.

"Thank you..." She paused, looking to him for a name as she stepped away and closer to Vlimar knowing Amelia would regroup with them.

"Krogoth. House of Ch'Krang at your service." He answered, the crowd muttering back and forth something about the high council, the house of the chancellor himself. Words of loyalty to Starfleet came to filter in as arms folded and postures were set.

Rochelle nodded, her own arms folding just as soon as she'd plucked the last of Ch'Gret's hairs from between her reddened fingers. "I appreciate what you've done for us today." She said, truly thankful as she bowed her head to the massive Klingon, wanting nothing more than to be back on her ship. Never again would she allow Amelia to pick their vacation spots.

Amelia's reaction to the ass slap had been one of surprise, her eyes widening for a split second, and she danced aside — not fast enough, as he still jostled her as he moved past. As her dance partner spoke, she eyed him suspiciously. When he revealed who he was, Amelia's eyes widened again, though she was quick to narrow them again. Part of her was proud of herself for having engaged in friendly sparring with someone of such an honorable house, though the context made her wonder if he might have been simply toying with her, though she didn't think he'd actually been.

After Rochelle had found her way to Vlimar's side, Amelia had no excuse to not do the same. She came to stand next to him on the opposite side form the Captain, giving him a sly sideways glance. All she could figure is it was he who'd followed them from the resort.

Vlimar looked at both, and nodded to the approaching Klingon, as Rochelle was thanking him. His eyes kept scanning to room, trying to notice any further attacks, should they come, even if the situation had been under control. When Klingon lose their honor, what's there to stop them?

"Our pleasure. Now go home little one, no one will bother you on your way." Krogoth chuckled to her and with lightning fast reflexes grabbed the bartender by his throat as he made move for something behind the bar. "hab sosli' Quch, Ch'Gret!" He snarled much to the awe of the crowd as he drug the smaller Klingon over the bar top. The insult about his mother's forehead was one not made lightly, it meant a fight -- and not a friendly one.

The customs of Qo'noS would always be too rich for her blood, too barbaric even for the little warrior herself to ever feel comfortable in. Klingons were a strange sort, unpredictable and liable to flip your family's table at Christmas simply because it felt like the thing to do when they didn't get first shot at the dinner rolls. Rochelle said nothing more to Krogoth, instead allowed him to handle the business end of Klingon culture. Her hands found Vlimar and Amelia behind her, one hand grabbing hold of Vlimar's cloak and Amelia's shirt respectively to give a tug in motion for them to follow her.

"Having fun yet?" She sneered into the darkness as they slipped from the bar and into the darkness. The sound of breaking glass and the roar of Klingon laughter was soon drowned out by the closing door. Never again would she do something as rash as going to a Klingon bar during the middle of a war. She was shaking with adrenaline pumping through her dilated veins, drowning in the hormone as it had come to a boil in preparation for the fight that hadn't come.

Amelia stumbled along behind Rochelle, disappointed. That had the making of being a glorious fight and she wanted to watch. She walked backwards out of the bar, only turning around to watch where she was going once outside. "I would have brought Cecil along if I thought you'd need a taster," Amelia couldn't stop herself from quipping. She thought about expanding the quip to reference Rochelle actually being a queen, and maybe Cecil should start tasting all her food, but thought better of it. She pouted as the realization struck that the events that just occurred probably meant she wasn't going back to the bar again this leave, even without Rochelle.

As the trio stepped outside the bar, he turned and face the door, stopping dead in his tracks. He was basically offering a curtain of protection if anyone would have had the magnificent idea of following them and offered the two women their privacy back. In reality, Vlimar knew he'd interfered and wanted to just disappear back into the shadows.

"Aren't you coming back with us?" Amelia asked when she noticed Vlimar fall behind. She turned around to walk backwards, not wanting to leave Rochelle alone, but was tempted by the songs of bar fights serenaded her from behind the silhouette of the handsome Frenchman, singing of temptation, blood wine, and exhilarating fights.

Vlimar shook his head. "I will join you later." he replied. He moved slightly to the side of the entrance, leaning his back against the wall and crossed his arms, after putting the hood back on. He was ready, if needs be. "But, you are not going back in." he almost ordered Amelia.

Amelia bristled, her instinct was to prove him wrong, to get back into the bar... but that would leave Rochelle headed back to the resort alone. She couldn't do that, not after what just happened. Still, the siren song called, the taste from her partial mug of blood wine still lingered on her lower lip as she bit at it in thought. There wasn't a way to spin this in her favor. Not worth the fight, not worth alienating him.

"Of course I'm not, I'm walking Rochelle back to the resort," she responded, intending to sound like that's what she'd intended all along. She sighed softly as she turned back around.

"Have a good night." replied Vlimar, as the murmur of the bar kept getting louder. He expected to have someone come bursting out of the door at any moment looking for the two women leaving.

"Vlimar..." Rochelle called, stopping in her tracks and looking between the two and their budding battle of wits. It wasn't safe for any of them. "I don't need an escort." She all but spat, the hurt of being flanked like a child, and guarded as if we were a precious crystal vase, biting at her heart. The fire burned behind her eyes as she watched them both. "Either come back to the resort with me, or go back to the ship. Those are your choices. Standing here and waiting for the boogie man to come eat me isn't one."

The Commander remained still for a moment, thinking about what he heard. {{Vlimar...}}, not Commander, not PontBrillant, but Vlimar. It was a win, to be celebrated. After a few seconds of thoughts, the man suddenly pushed himself from the wall and walked towards the women. "Alright, let's go." he stated, leading the way.

The Captain heaved a heavy sigh and shook her head, trudging along after the man and keeping close watch on Amelia. From her position she knew she had ultimate control, she could guide him if need be and stop her if she chose to turn about and decide the bar was worth more than her commission -- or some other crazy Klingon cultural nonsense. She bitter, cold, angry and above all, she was the Commanding Officer of the most powerful ship in Starfleet. That night had been the first time she'd been given cause to flex that power and the first time since her near miss with death that she'd truly felt those fires burn.

Vlimar opened the march, often looking back at the two women, clearly still scanning the area. His instinct kept forcing him to watch, to ensure the security of the two women, none withstanding the orders that the Captain just issued him.

Amelia marched along in silence, mourning the loss of a glorious dance and good blood wine.

---

Captain Rochelle Ivanova
Commanding Officer
USS VINDICATOR

Lt Commander Amelia Waterhouse
Executive Officer
USS Vindicator

Commander Vlimar PontBrillant
Strategic Operations Commander
USS Vindicator

 

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