General Chang

[Here is a woman with the most perfect of postures. She's Irving Braxton's wife but keeps her name as 'Chang'. She is not full of the Christmas spirit, though no one should expect this from her.] I would like to remind our esteemed neighbours that we are expected to continue living in our homes after the Christmas season and thus it is ill advised that we destroy it in the interim. [She's looking at you, Hoffman.]

[Private to Braxton.]

You will present yourself at dinner. I have a dish I wish you to try.

[ooc: Don't worry about replying, Farrah, if you're not up to it.]

[Instead of dinosaurs, Chang's object of interest is this, if a little more scuffed up. He holds it to the camera, holding it at various angles. His voice appears from behind the camera.] It is the month of Merruthj.

[He finds that funny. It is the Klingon for 'retreat'. The camera's focus goes to him.] It is the second time we have arrived at a world that humanity's grasp exceeded wisdom. All this... scientific progress, to be packaged and sold.

[His jaw tightens and he flings the box aside.]

Warden, I wish for the CES.

[People Chang's cool with]

Which one of you will join me on a hunt?

[Chang has been brooding in his room, feeling increasingly unsatisfied. The ever-creeping feeling that he's just accepting what's being dealt his way, missing a battle-port and realising how meekly he waits for each one doesn't sit well with him.

So today he's made a decision.

He switches on the camera and looks at it, his jaw set, completely serious.] The Death Toll. Few of us here have not experience it. We are told what it is when we first arrive. The Admiral brings us back at the behest of our warden.

To a human, this is undoubtedly a blessing. The sting of death has a cure. Oh, like all venom, it is not pleasant, nor should a 'right-thinking' individual inflict themselves to it, for mere sport, but a cure exists, another enhancement in medical science. [Can you taste the contempt?]

But I am not human. And this Admiral, in being merciful or vindictive, however your minds view this, has robbed me of my most sacred rite. [Feel free to misinterpret this to mean 'right'.] Death. He has placed it lower, to mere 'battle wound'. Very well.

Why should you care, fellow mates of the barge, hmm? Because I, Chang, issue a challenge, help me earn the wounds of battle. We will no longer spar, but fight to the death.

I will accept volunteers for this only, and responses will be public. I will not kill you behind your warden's back, I am not your assassin. I am merely a warrior, attempting to find meaning in this hollow barge.

[OOC: No, Chang hasn't been affected by nanomites or anything like that, just wants a challenge. He means what he says though, so no filtering please. He'll also simply not respond to anyone who doesn't at least show that they respect where he's coming from. Death = bad or trolling won't receive responses, guys.]

[Those with in earshot of level 2, room 18 will hear the melodic sounds of a Klingon trashing his room, in the mess Chang's communicator gets knocked and active.

It's on its side and you can catch the odd glimpse of him pacing back and forth, muttering.

Then he spots the device, he charges forth and flings the communicator as hard as he can to the opposite wall. You can hear one word clearly growled before it fritzes out.]

!

[To those of you who understand Klingon, which actually pretty much amounts to: Data, that means 'revenge'.]