As she walked down the row of cells the prisioners went toe to force field in
their cells. They were sizing up the new cat in town.
The "officer" was in a cell with a few others. They acted much the same way
as the others, except that they purposefully stood infront of their officer.
Keeping him from direct view.
The voulme of the room got steadily rose as she reached the last cell... with
the officer.
They stood there for a long moment staring at her cocking their heads to the
sides. Trying to get a wif of her. The sterile air handling systems and the
force field doors prevented such a luxury.
The two were parted by the officer with a paw like hand on their shoulders.
He stood a step back from them, but stared squarely back at her.
As they locked gazes, the croud grew more anxious. They were definately
showing a pack mentality. Raising up their voices- nothing that would qualify
as words- in support of their leader.
She gazed at him coolly, sizing him up as he was doing to her. She sensed
they wanted a fight, and he was considered their champion. Perhaps this was
how they settled disputes, as Klingons did. Her background would come in very
handy. But this was not what she wanted just then.
<[Are you going to come out peacefully so we can talk, or do I have to have
your people stunned to remove you?]> she asked above the din. Part of her
wanted to fight him, to make him pay for the deaths he and his people had
caused, but she was wearing a Starfleet uniform, and that was something she
could not do.
He did not answer right away, but decided to come out peacably. At least this
time.
<[Enough! I will speak with this one. Know your place.]> he growled in his
native tounge. While she could understand him, the exact dialect sounded more
like a very ancient Caitian language than anything else.
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