Post by Deleted on Jul 14, 2012 12:00:30 GMT -8
Why was it that every single time the Talon docked at the starbase that he found himself wandering it's corridors, Diran wondered to himself despite knowing the answer fine well. He had once been described by a human colleague as 'having ants in his pants', an expression that the Zaldan really didn't wish to contemplate the origin of. It was certainly true that he couldn't stay in one place for too long, except for when on duty when if need be he was more than capable of standing rigid for several hours. Recovering from a rather bad injury didn't deter him as he made his way through the retail zone of the station.
Rolling his shoulders, he frowned as he realised that his right arm was still rather stiff. The medical team aboard the Talon had done a great job of rebuilding the arm but it would be a short while longer before he had full use of it again. He only hoped that it really would be a short while as he really wanted to return to duty.
Looking around the various stalls, which seemed far more numerous in comparison to his last visit, he noticed that he was getting a few odd looks and that people were whispering. He'd overheard a few people mentioning some kind of trouble with some Zaldan visitors, but he didn't know the exact details. It seemed that some of the population held a level of distrust and suspicion of him as an unfamiliar Zaldan hanging around. What didn't help was that he had chosen not to wear his uniform, pulling on a sweatshirt and pants instead. He had yet to be fully cleared again for duty, so he supposed that he may have gained a slight reprimand if he had donned his uniform anyway.
Ignoring the looks and whispers for now, as thankfully Starfleet training had negated his desire for aggressiveness considerably, he stopped at a stall selling a myriad of different kinds of weapon. Not phasers or anything modern like that, but old weapons, perhaps more for ornamental purposes than actual use. The range went from daggers to a Klingon bat'leth, although most he assumed to be replicas. A security officer hovered around the elaborately dressed Ferangi's stall, and he assumed that they weren't there to buy anything. In fact, as a fellow officer in the security track he supposed that he should be doing the same but then he relaxed again. He wasn't even on duty, never mind assigned to this place so let them worry about it, he thought.
Browsing the stall, a long, curved blade caught his eye and he moved in for a closer look. There was a strange sense of familiarity about the style of the scimitar as it...hang on, how did he know what it was called anyway, he realised?
Tag: Any
Rolling his shoulders, he frowned as he realised that his right arm was still rather stiff. The medical team aboard the Talon had done a great job of rebuilding the arm but it would be a short while longer before he had full use of it again. He only hoped that it really would be a short while as he really wanted to return to duty.
Looking around the various stalls, which seemed far more numerous in comparison to his last visit, he noticed that he was getting a few odd looks and that people were whispering. He'd overheard a few people mentioning some kind of trouble with some Zaldan visitors, but he didn't know the exact details. It seemed that some of the population held a level of distrust and suspicion of him as an unfamiliar Zaldan hanging around. What didn't help was that he had chosen not to wear his uniform, pulling on a sweatshirt and pants instead. He had yet to be fully cleared again for duty, so he supposed that he may have gained a slight reprimand if he had donned his uniform anyway.
Ignoring the looks and whispers for now, as thankfully Starfleet training had negated his desire for aggressiveness considerably, he stopped at a stall selling a myriad of different kinds of weapon. Not phasers or anything modern like that, but old weapons, perhaps more for ornamental purposes than actual use. The range went from daggers to a Klingon bat'leth, although most he assumed to be replicas. A security officer hovered around the elaborately dressed Ferangi's stall, and he assumed that they weren't there to buy anything. In fact, as a fellow officer in the security track he supposed that he should be doing the same but then he relaxed again. He wasn't even on duty, never mind assigned to this place so let them worry about it, he thought.
Browsing the stall, a long, curved blade caught his eye and he moved in for a closer look. There was a strange sense of familiarity about the style of the scimitar as it...hang on, how did he know what it was called anyway, he realised?
Tag: Any