(Untitled)

[a_section_8]

"-ir, I'm telling you. I was there! A bar at the end of the universe! I'm-"

Corporal Klinger stops, does a double take back to the door now closed behind him, and then looks around the bar itself. He straightens the purple straw hat and adjusts the blue flowered dress"Well, if I'm here, I might as well

Comments

[lt_naraht]

Crack Ahoy!

On his way, he will pass what appears to be a large, sparkly boulder beside a table with a three-dimensional chess-game on it.

And, since Naraht is deep in contemplation of this particular chess problem, there is not a hint of motion out of him. You'd think he was just a big rock in a very inconvienent place.

[a_section_8]

"Boy, whoever went and decorated this place went and did a lousy job," Klinger comments to no one in particular upon noticing the large, sparkly boulder next to the table.

He stops walking to study it closer, shaking his head. "That isn't even a real chess board."

[lt_naraht]

"Never played three-dimensional chess I see," a dryly amused voice remarks.

[a_section_8]

:O!

Klinger's eyes go wide and he jumps back, reaching for a rifle that isn't there.

"It talks!"

[lt_naraht]

"That I do," Naraht says with a laugh. "I also do programming, excavation, language lessons and play a mean game of poker."

A bit of the black fringe around his base snakes out as if offering a handshake.

"Lt. Dahai Iohor Naraht, at your service."

[a_section_8]

"And you talk."

He can't seem to get over that one fact. It's not every day you see a shiny boulder talk, after all.

Klinger looks at the black fringe hesitantly for a second or two, but instead of shaking it, he immediately snaps in to a quick salute. "Corporal Maxwell Q. Klinger, sir."

[lt_naraht]

The salute gets a suprised flutter of his fringe. Formal saluting went out well before Starfleet was founded.

"Honored to meet you," he says. "But do call me Naraht." A chuckle. "I hightly doubt we're part of the same organization."

A probability approaching zero given the...uniform.

[a_section_8]

It's about at this point that Klinger has rationalized the presence of a talking rock in the following manner. Clearly, this Lt. Naraht is one of the smart officers, doing his best to get a Section 8 and get out of the army.

A talking rock. Boy, why hadn't he thought of that?

"I see, sir." It's habit. "And boy, can I just commend you on your fine choice of costume? It's bound to get you a Section 8 for sure."

[lt_naraht]

"Costume?"

Hortas have no eyebrows to quirk but his voder tone manages to carry the impression.

"What costume? I'm not one for clothing, I fear." A chuckle which causes a large amount of steam to escape. "My physiology would be kinda rough on most cloth products."

Which then begs the question of just what Starfleet uses for uniform standards. If Horta and Hamalki and Denebians can go naked on a ship, why require uniforms for the humanoids. That seems hardly fair.

[a_section_8]

Blink. Blink, blink.

"Wow, this is good, sir." He laughs, only a little nervous. "I almost believed you there."

And Klinger makes a mental note to look in to the nearest rock costume next time he's on Seoul. Maybe it'll finally get Colonel Blake to give him that Section 8.

[lt_naraht]

"Almost belie..." Naraht gives himself a good shake. "You really think this is all a...what is the term? 'A send-up'? Yes, that's it. You think this..." He indicates his body with his fringe (and that's a hell of a lot of macrocillia there) "...is all a send-up."

[a_section_8]

Klinger makes a disgusted frown at the macrocillia but nods. "And a really good one, too, sir. You wouldn't happen to know any places in Korea where I could get one of my own?"

[lt_naraht]

Poor Naraht is torn. He's not sure which is more entertaining: letting Klinger continue to think he's a human in costume or trying to convince him otherwise.

Either away, he's finding the situation rather hilarious...and he's shaking visibly with the effort of holding in gales of laughter.

"I'm sorry to disillusion you," he says, a little steam escaping with his snicker. "But I am what I appear to be. I'm a Horta. A silicon-based lifeform from a MUCH different planet. And I'm not in the least interested in getting a Section 8. I'm quite happy in Starfleet, thank you very much."

[a_section_8]

Klinger's spent enough time around Hawkeye and Trapper to know when he's being played a joke on.

Except, sometimes, he really can't tell otherwise.

"Really? A silicon-based lifeform? Boy, I've never thought of using that at all."

Mostly because the idea of aliens isn't something he has ever considered much.

[lt_naraht]

At this point, Naraht loses his precarious hold on his laughter.

I say! It's foggy!

"Oh, Mother bless!" he says. "I see you've got your mind made up."

[a_section_8]

"Mother bless who?"

Klinger gives Naraht a confused look. He fails to see what's so funny.