>Tr'Lawsh's ears grew flat and her tail flicked irritatedly. She had not
>sat down, and moved slowly closer to the big male. "Sshe asssked forrr
>yourrr name, you flea-infesssted sssack of gutsss," she growled, teeth
>bared. Her claws flexed as though she wanted to do a lot more than just
>growl. Tr'Lawsh was not Starfleet, and was not bound by Starfleet
>regulations about the treatment of prisoners. To add to that, she had
>been assigned under Klingon command, and their rules about questioning
>were very different from those of the Federation. Some physical
>interaction was not out of the question.
>
>The Vet was unmoved. He had been through more than a few interrogations
in his lifetime, and this one was turning out to be about the same as the
others. The only difference was that a food item was in the room for the
questioning as well as a brother felinid. {OOC or would that be sister...
;) }
>
>"Know yourrr place, *pet*. Yourrr prrrimate keeperrr may get crrross with
you.", he answered. He had clearly had time to talk with the first
'interviewee', and thought that the Commander was the shop boss.
"It seems you know yourrr place prrretty well, ssslave," she retorted. "My
uncle rrraisssess wintharrrss forrr rrracing. You rrremind me of them.
Brrred forrr one purrrpossse, yourrr fate sssealed frrrom the moment you
werrre conceived, to do yourrr masterrr'ss will until you die. At leassst
the wintharrrss arrre too ssstupid to know they'rrre nothing morrre than
prrroperrrty. What'sss yourrr excusse?"
(resp?)
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