Guess Who's Coming To Dinner - Part VII (The Feast)

Posted on Fri Jan 30th, 2026 @ 9:15pm by Captain Robert Burke & Commander Vincent 'Vin' Salvatore & Lieutenant Marques Hunt & Lieutenant Nelar & Lieutenant JG Maël "Gideon" Beauregard & Ensign Shanice Winters

2,465 words; about a 12 minute read

Mission: EPISODE 1: SHAKEDOWN
Location: Great Hall
Timeline: MD036

::ON::

And now the Continuation ...

A table collapsed under the weight of two bodies. It did not appear as though there were any actual grievances or grudges. Someone laughed--high and wild--before being choked-off with a fist to the throat. Bloodwine slicked the floor, dark and smooth, and boots slipped in it.

"Your first... Klingon feast?" he inquired of Burke, tilting his head slightly, baring his teeth.

'My first as a guest,' Burke threw back, 'Z'mtok, Son of Req'naq.' He considered a moment, then said, 'the secondmost fun though, until you came my way.' The man was trying desperately not to show that he was already aching from the glancing hit.

Z'mtok reached without looking, his hand closing around the neck of a flagon abandoned on the edge of the table. He lifted it to his mouth and drank deeply--not breaking eye contact with Burke.

He swallowed greedily. A rivulet of bloodwine escaped the corner of his mouth and followed the scar along his chin. He finished the flagon and lowered it slowly, setting it upright in the same position where he found it.

"I have long wished for this," Z'mtok said, wiping his mouth. "A friendly match against a Starfleet Captain. Show me your warrior's face when you're not hiding behind your treaties and smiles. Show me how you fight when it matters."

Burke nodded, dropped into a Starfleet fighter's stance. He kept on the balls of his feet, arms loose. 'Alright,' he said simply, closing the distance and aiming a punch at the Klingon's guts, swinging as hard as he could.

Z'mtok saw the punch coming and welcomed it.

It drove the air from his lungs in a sharp burst, knuckles sinking into the muscle behind the thin strips of leather. He laughed as he staggered half a step back, the sound being torn out of him intertwining with the noise of the hall. Good, he thought. The human did not pull the blow.

He caught Burke's wrist before it could withdraw, his thick Klingon fingers locking down like a vice. For a moment, they were close enough that Z'mtok could smell him--but he did not smell fear.

"That," Z'mtok said, his teeth bared and his voice low with pleasure, "is better."

He twisted, not to break--this was not that kind of fight--but to unbalance, shoving Burke sideways into a toppled bench. Wood cracked. Somewhere nearby another Klingon roared their approval. Z'mtok followed, preparing to drive a forearm toward Burke's shoulder.

Winded as the table broke his fall and bruised his flank, Burke rolled to one side, and got to his hands and knees as he tried to suck in some breath to his pummeled body. His lizard brain screamed a proximity warning, causing him to drop and roll, kicking out blindly at the Klingon advancing behind him, elbow cocked. Get UP his brain screamed at him. He was as useful as a turtle on the floor.

"Come on, Captain," Z'mtok said, standing over the human, his arms open like an invitation. "If you are going to sit at our table--" he grinned ferally, "--you will learn how we stand."

A few choice curse words ran round his skull as he got to his feet. Gods but his body ached. Burke was sure that he was feeling a pain in a previously-undiscovered muscle in the human mid-back. 'You're very good at talking loudly,' he managed, mustering up a bravado he didn't feel. Putting his hands up, and settling into a boxer's crouch he advanced and began circling the Klingon, before launching into a punch to Z'mtok's midsection.

Gideon had been trying very hard not to get involved.

For a whole ten seconds.

He'd simply remained seated between the two Klingon women who seemed content to continue eating while most of the room erupted into some sort of joyous, half-drunken donnybrook. He had a half-drained flagon in one hand and a slight tilt of worry written across his brow. Captain Burke had disappeared beneath a wave of shouting and flying limbs, then reappeared again.

That was when Gideon's body made a decision before his mind could catch up.

"Oh, hell no," he muttered, setting the goblet down and planting both hands on the table in front of him.

Before anyone could stop him, he vaulted onto the tabletop. His boots skidded through some mysterious gravy, past a dish still smoldering from a heat lamp, over a pile of wriggling gagh that seemed startled to notice him. He caught himself, steadied, and started toward the fray with determination--it was the determination of a Louisiana Gulf Coast boy defending a friend.

"Cap'n!" he yelled, point at Burke like he was the last man alive on a battlefield.

A few Klingons took notice. One paused with a fistful of someone's hair in his hand, squinting as Gideon strode forward like a man demanding satisfaction.

He was halfway across the table--about to launch himself into the air and chaos--when a pair of enormous arms wrapped around him from behind.

"Son of Veronique," came a rumbling female voice, lifting Gideon off the tabletop as though he weighed no more than a small case of ration packs. It was Ursana, a devilish grin on her face as she pulled him.

Ursana hauled him back like a misbehaving puppy, feet dangling and arms flailing. She dragged him back and fell into her chair with a satisfying thud, her armour creaking. Gideon found himself sitting on her lap as though he might whisper into her ear his Christmas wishes.

She grinned at Kh'Vas and licked Gideon's cheek. "I will have him," she declared.

Nelar, ever the stoic Vulcan, had remained calm at her seat carefully assessing the situation until she found a moment to quietly stand and slip through the chaos unnoticed. She had located a relatively clear space in the dining hall to stand just a few meters away from her seat at the table, the vantage point allowing her to more easily duck out of the way of the occasional chair or other blunt objects that were tossed in her direction.

Nelar was also listening carefully for signs of distress among her colleagues. She preferred to avoid violence, but she was aware that she was physically stronger and faster than the Klingons her Human companions were brawling with. She had some difficulty reading the emotions in the room, but it appeared to her that some of her fellow Starfleet officers may have even been enjoying the revelry.

Lieutenant Beauregard's distinct voice caught in her ear and she watched as it appeared he was about to join in the fight when one of the Klingon females had pulled him into her lap.

Gideon tried to sit up straight, which was difficult on account of being held like a prize roast over the holidays. Ursana's arm was a steel bar across his middle. Her breath--hot, wine-thick, with a hint of rot--washed across the side of his face.

"Ma'am," he said, attempting some dignity, "I ain't usually furniture."

Ursana tightened her grip. "You are light," she declared proudly. "Soft like a puppet." She turned her head to Kh'Vas and added, "Humans should come with handles."

Kh'Vas nearly choked on her drink and laughed, pounding the table hard.

Gideon lifted his hands gingerly, palms up, resigned to whatever Gods presided over Klingon courtship rituals. Another chair flew overhead. Someone roared. Someone else roared louder. Someone else laughed heartily. It was like Christmas Eve back home in Louisiana if Christmas involved bloodletting and fewer oysters.

Then Nelar stepped into view, completely unruffled and immaculate. Her expression appeared like a calm a mathematician might wear when considering a complex equation.

Nelar calmly walked over to where the two were sitting, dodging a thrown goblet that narrowly missed striking her shoulder as she approached the table. She bent forward at the waist so that she was at eye level with Gideon.

"Do you require assistance?" She asked.

"Well, doc," Gideon said, blinking once, unsure if she was serious. "Depends entirely on how you define require."

Ursana grinned wolfishly and ran a hand across his chest. "He struggles," she observed with delight. "Perhaps we shall retire to my bedchamber."

Nelar was trying to understand what Gideon had meant when Ursana spoke up and mentioned her bedchamber and it seemed to click.

"Ah, then I shall not interfere," Nelar replied swiftly as she stood to resume her usual posture. "Shall I let the Captain know where to find you?"

Gideon began to push himself out of Ursana's grip, finally coming loose, his feet finally finding solid ground beneath his feet. He took three steps back until he felt his ass touch the stone wall of the hall.

"Apologies, Ursana," he said. "No offense but that ain't the kind of cultural exchange I was lookin' for."

Nelar barely looked in Gideon's direction as he maneuvered away from the female Klingon's grip. She was now focused on the various violent interactions among the crew and their Klingon hosts; however, she felt his presence beside her as pressed himself against the wall.

"Although this was foreseeable, I am uncomfortable with the turn of events," Nelar stated, her expression calm and stoic. "Though, I suppose I should be grateful that these violent antics began before I was expected to eat any of what this race attempts to pass as food."

Gideon straightened his shoulders, dusted off his uniform as best he could, and let out a low whistle.

"Doc," he said, gesturing toward the chaos, "if this is Klingon hospitality, I reckon the welcoming committee don't do finger sandwiches."

Vincent stood up, his hands clenching tightly into fists, as he prepared himself to jump in. However, Dathoth, was quick to stand up with him and grab his arm tightly. The Hecate XO immediately brushed him off and stared daggers into him.

"Do not interfere, Starfleet." Dathoth grinning from ear to ear. "You are likely to hurt yourself and damage your uniform."

Vincent glanced over to Shenas, who rolled her eyes at Dathoth's comment and behavior. The two of them shared a look before he looked back to Dathoth and smirked back. "You're right, Dathoth. It may not be my fight, because... mine is with you!" He shouted as he pulled his head back and headbutted the Klingon, who immediately stumbled back. He placed his hand on his own head as he took a step back. "You think, all this time, I would remember doing that was always regrettable." He said as he looked over to Shenas with a smile.

Shenas gave a slight smile back and, was about to reply, until she noticed Dathoth regaining his composure and charging toward Vincent. "Look out!" Was all she could muster before Vincent was tackled to the floor by the angry Klingon.

What followed was an exchange of heavy blows from each combatant. Dathoth pulling back his arms and striking Vincent repeatedly, changing between his left fist and right, while Salvatore did his best and cover himself with his forearms, only to be met with attacks to his sides. He could feel his ribs getting pummeled by the strikes, as he thought of a way to gain the upper hand. It was going to be quick, but also risky, since timing was everything.

Vincent adjusted himself slightly, before lowering one forearm and pulling it back to land a strike. He then lowered the other, hitting Dathoth on the side again. He was sure his strikes were nothing more than stings to the Klingon, but that wasn't the point. Vincent was aiming to expose his face to lure the angry Dathoth in to strike it, which the Klingon happily obliged.

As the Klingon's fist came down to strike across Vincent's face, he quickly adjusted himself and tilted as far as he could, feeling the strike come down and just graze him. The Starfleet XO quickly began his own attacks, striking as hard and fast as his could at Dathoth's side, before finding the strength to shift his body weight and roll which would place him on top.

He began striking the Klingon back in succession, hitting him hard as he could in a variety of locations, before he was suddenly thrown off by another Klingon. Vincent tumbled slightly before coming to a stop, feeling the weight of what he was securing in his inside pocket lift as it dropped to the ground with a slight klang. What feel was a Klingon d'k tahg which had the emblem of the House of K'egran, the same house Shenas was from.

Dathoth stood with the other Klingon and narrowed his eyes. "Where did you get that?!" He shouted, pointing to the weapon which wasn't something a Starfleet Officer could easily obtain unless taken from a corpse or gifted by a member of the House itself. "Whose blood did you shed for that?"

"He probably didn't she their blood." The other Klingon added. "He likely took it from an already dead warrior. Federation thief!"

Vincent picked up the dagger and stood up with it. He prepared himself as he gripped the handle tightly. "I didn't take it. It was handed to me by one of your own. Commander Rarkot, Son of Moreth." He said firmly as he wiped some of the blood from his lip. "It was given to me for... well... that's none of your business."

Shenas immediately recognized the name as her brothers. She remembered hearing the story of her brother being taken prisoner and a Starfleet Officer helping him escape. Rarkot and the officer worked together to get out of there and eventually went their separate ways. He said he grew to like that man, even trust him, because he didn't have to ensure their escape. He did anyway. Could this Officer be the one who helped her brother?

"Well then... I will gladly take it from you and return it to the House of K'egran with my respect." Dathoth growled as he advanced with the other Klingon.

To be Continued ...

::OFF::

Captain Robert Burke
Commanding Officer
USS Hecate

Commander Vincent Salvatore
Executive & Chief Intelligence Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Kyra sh'Herhrisst
Chief Security Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Nelar
Chief Medical Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Marquis Hunt
Chief Flight Control Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Juno Jones
Chief Engineer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Ryssa Dari
Chief Science Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant Nelar
Chief Medical Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant JG Maël "Gideon" Beauregard
Chief Operations Officer
USS Hecate

Lieutenant JG Gianna De Luca
Chief Counsellor
USS Hecate

Ensign Shanice Winters
Chief Diplomatic Officer
USS Hecate

 

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