AUTHOR'S DISCLAIMER
The following story was based on my first RP experience as Chirohl. I recently found it, now over a year later, and thought some of you OS-addicts may enjoy it. Unfortunately, due to RL and other commitments, I was not able to continue this character much longer then the 2 weeks I was around. It's a shame, because I really thought that this character would prove to be very interesting. Those that remember him will probably recall him as just some bumbling, odd-speaking oversized Iguana. This story includes some of Chirohl's original background, and will help explain Chirohl's initial mannerisms. I wish I had had more time to develop him for you, but RL cut it way too short. Because of the little time I had on OS, I'm sure you will notice a few discrepencies through-out, relative to the OS-world, such as descriptions, locations, and protocol, etc. In fact, the two main characters I came across that first day, General T'ralthon and Captain Marcus (at least they were at the time), may also be depicted inaccurately. To them I apologize if this is so...I based these characters below upon the brief RP I shared with them. In all, please just consider this as a brief fictional piece, and ignore all of these discrepancies, I apologize for them if they are out of place. Anyhow, enjoy this old story, and happy RP'ing, I miss you all!
Ch-ch-ch-ch-Chia Chirohl, the lovable, huggable Iguana.
This story takes place in the year 2651...
SCCV Versailles
Captain Marcus stumbled backwards a few steps in uncertainty, quickly deciding that dropping into a defensive posture would not help the situation. Rustling began throughout the Versailles' dimly lit main crew berthing as those rudely awoken by the commotion stared in confusion at the scene before them. Gawking up at the Zangali towering above him, Marcus's eyes drifted to the ship personnel locker dangling from the creature's arm.
Recently impaled by the reptiloid's dangerously clawed hands, the steel container was obviously no longer fit for duty. Bent and twisted mooring bolts hung from the locker's base, one inch diameter bulkhead slugs, now rendered useless.
"Damn lizards...command must really hate me" muttered the Captain, extending a straight arm and pointing a finger toward the corridor just outside of the crew berthing in exasperation. "Just set it out there, someone will take care of it."
Chirohl's eyes nictated rapidly, locking both eyes with the man below him briefly before bobbing his bulbous head in acknowledgement and turning for the hatch. The deck shook slightly with each of the creatures' steps, the oversized spacer boots straining to support all 468 pounds of the Zangali. Leaning out slightly into the corridor through the hatch, a few violent shakes of the arm was all it took to set the locker free, crashing to the deck and spooking a passing terran technician.
Joining the black-scaled behemoth at the hatch, Marcus sighed deeply, grasping his hands at the small of his back. Mustering all the control over his anger as he could, he stared up at the Zangali vehemently. "Now...we've solved your berth problem. Considering the standard bunk is in no means capable of supporting you, and the now...", glancing at the locker-less section of deck against the far wall, "...available room, you can sleep on the bare deck, as you requested." Returning his clearly annoyed gaze to meet Chirohl's, he asks, "Is there anything else required?"
The charcoal gray tendrils mohawked along Chirohl's skull line, a long sigh escaping from deep within, resulting in a long hiss as he pondered the question. Cocking his head to the side to examine the blank spot on the floor he would now call home, his eyes nictated a few times. At the impatient sigh of the captain, the black head swung back to the human. "Aye ssssir," hissed the Zangali, "Chirohl requires ssssleeping lamp."
Marcus himself blinked a few times, his face frozen in disbelief. "Recruit Saruth...you are in the Vanguard now, whether I like that fact or not. In addition, by some sick twist of fate, you have been assigned here, the fleet flagship of all places." Sucking in air quickly through his nose, the captain lost control briefly, his hands clutched in fists at his sides. "Versailles crew do not require night-lights!"
Blinking rapidly in confusion, Chirohl ignored the drop of spit on his lower chest, much to the Captain's inward relief. Eyes locked for what seemed to be an eternity, until the Zangali finally blinked again, apparently realizing what a night light is. Doing his best to mimic the common human smile in an attempt to calm the human, his bony lips parted to reveal rows of yellow shards, his lower tongue darting randomly to taste the air. Hissing slightly he replied in his usual guttural tone, "Ree-croot Chirohl no need night light, kap-tin ssssir. Chirohl need heat light for sssleeping."
Marcus, obviously not set at ease by the too close view of a mouth that could snap through a full grown tree as if it was merely plexifoam, stepped back with a wave of his hand, twirling crisply on his heels toward the exit. Setting a well shined boot on the lip of the hatch, he expelled another deep breath and turned back to the confused Zangali. "Fine, whatever you need, just do it, and do it quickly. I expect you to be asleep within the hour. The ship departs at oh-seven-hundred, and you had better be well refreshed for your first day of training...I guarantee it's going to be a long one for you. That is all."
Straightening to full height stiffly, Chirohl swung an enormous black hand to his brow, it's claws still marred in streaks from the locker. With a bellowing "Aye, kap-tin...", he watched in vain as the backside of Marcus disappeared into the corridor, finishing off the statement and salute with a trailing "...sssir." Remaining at attention in confusion for a few moments, he finally took his eyes off the empty hatchway, letting his body slump slightly. With a long low hiss, he turned slowly, making his way to the freshly cleared decking, ignoring the stares from the sleep-dazed crew as he walked by. Collecting his standard issue stuff-pack from against the wall, he opened it, snaking an arm through it in search of something. Hissing in satisfaction, he pulled out a tightly bundled roll of thermal cloth, spreading it out on the deck to its full eight-foot by three-foot area and activating the heating element. I can survive a few days with a simple heat pad. I'm better off ensuring I don't anger the human again tomorrow morning.
Pulling off his boots gratefully with a grunt, Chirohl spread out on the fabric as it slowly warmed up. Closing his dim-violet eyes, he hissed a long sigh as he let his bodily functions slow to sleep-state, thinking over the past day as he succumbed to sleep...
(The day prior)
Vanguard Institute - Mars
Lt. General T'ralthon strolled down the Academy's corridor with his hands in his pockets, a slight spring in his usual bow-legged step, reflecting his rather obvious good mood. Resisting the childlike urge to once again attempt the human ability of whistling, he simply smiled faintly, remembering some of the duty chants he heard as a young recruit within these very walls. Here I am, now C-O of the Academy, and I still can't whistle while I work he mused to himself. Lost in his thoughts, his exceptional vision focused much later than usual on a trio of Instructors further down the corridor. Whispering to each other, they occasionally glanced through a nearby full height window into one of the larger lecture halls. Approaching closer, still unnoticed by the three human women, his ears picked up bits of the conversation. "...how he expects to pass is beyond me..." "...but did you see it's scores on the e and s subgroups?" "...he won't finish in time anyhow, he'll be home by tomorrow this time..." Still a number of paces away, T'ralthon purposely dragged a boot on the deck to make a noise, then continued nonchalantly toward the blue garmented instructors. Having heard, all three women ceased their chatter, straightening at the sight of the C.O.
"Good afternoon General." Acknowledged the senior of the three, an auburn-haired woman in her late thirties.
"Good afternoon to you as well Lieutenant Marx..." replied T'ralthon cheerily. "I missed you over coffee this morning."
"My apologies General, I should have sent notice of my absence. Things are fairly hectic today...monthly recruit exams and all." Turning to the two younger instructors, she said, "Come now ladies, I believe you both have exam results to tally? Would you mind excusing us please." After a chorus of nervous "Aye Ma'am"'s, the two women hurriedly started off down the corridor toward the Recruitment offices. Turning back to the window with a sigh, she nodded her head toward it and commented softly to T'ralthon, "We may have a little situation here, General."
Smiling faintly still, he turned toward the window while replying, "And no need for apologies Valerie, you know that our joint coffee and tea breaks are strictly informal. I value your observations of the Academy's activities more then those of my understaff, who still insist on feeding me eyecandy reports every week..." Trailing off in a tone of confusion, he almost asked why he should be inspecting an empty room as he finally sees the obvious. In the center aisle of one of the upper seating platforms of the lecture hall, a quarter of a Zangali's torso could be seen, hunched over to view something in its lap. Raising a few inches on the toes of his boots and cocking his head to the side, T'ralthon obtained a view of the rest of the enormous creature. Dressed in an oversized maroon robe native of his race, the Zangali sat semi-indian legged on the floor, a portable terminal resting on his lap. Even in that position, a human sitting in one of the nearby fixed terminals would still have been eclipsed by the black-scaled behemoth. The tendrils on the beast's otherwise smooth head stood erect and partially expanded, a sign T'ralthon recognized as mild fear for the race.
"Remind me later to once again make an acquisition for additional multi-race ergonomic equipment would you Valerie? I'm becoming very displeased with the Quartermaster's apparent inability to understand that humans are not the exclusive race in the Vanguard." With a soft sigh, he lowered himself back to his heels and departed from his previous mocking tone to a more grim one. "How much time does he have left?", he asked.
Lt. Marx glanced at her watch before crossing her arms over her chest, her digital clipboard tucked under an elbow. "Half an hour...the last of the other recruits finished this exam almost two hours ago...it's the final exam...language and protocols." Glancing back to T'ralthon, she awaited the expected response with a slightly sympathetic look.
Arching a brow in confusion, T'ralthon opened and closed his mouth twice before actually speaking. "Although rare, there are a number of Zangali in the Vanguard, many of whom I've met and been duly impressed by. I have yet to meet one that has had any trouble understanding our language or communicating effectively, excluding the slight slur, naturally."
Marx bobbed her head in understanding before untucking her clipboard and thumbing through a few screens. "Application for recruitment submitted eight months ago...bumped from submittal until this past month by someone in the local Zangali recruitment office. Full name, and I quote, Chirohl Saruth of Clan Saruth, builder of Grundath." Arching a brow of her own and glancing up at the General at her side, she comments, "I understand that the underground Zangali city of Grundath was just completed a few years ago, but from what I recall, it was started almost 30 years ago. He seems a little young to have built it."
T'ralthon nodded in agreement absentmindedly as his mind quickly compiled the facts. Sudden realization spread acrossed his face as he turned to the Lieutenant with a hairy wagging finger. "Saruth...that explains it. I assume you are very familiar with the clanship of the Zangali. Well, the Saruth are known as master builders and craftsmen. City building specifically. Unfortunately, they are not one of the noble clans. This explains...Cheer-all was it?..." Glancing at the correct spelling on the clipboard quickly presented to him by the Lieutenant, he continued, "...yes, Chirohl...why Chirohl lacks in certain skills naturally granted to the Zangali we customarily encounter. As a sub-clan member, he would not have access to the higher education levels that the noble clans do. In fact, I'm surprised the Zangali even let this application slip by at all, let alone stall it. He is hardly expected to come into contact with any race but his own, and was therefore never taught the common language." Wrapping his burly arms across his own chest, he rocked back and forth slightly in deep thought. "He must have had some kind of help to fill the application out in the first place...or was home educated somewhat..." he mused aloud. After a few more moments of pondering, he returned to address Marx. "You will not find better craftsmen and engineers anywhere in the galaxy than the Saruth. What they can do with the interior of even the hardest of planets is simply...well, beautiful." Nudging her elbow mockingly with his own he added, "You know, if you'd ever stop working so hard and get out of here to see some of the local sites like I always tell you...Grundath in particular, you would understand yourself. Truly remarkable."
Marx snorted softly in irony, not even consulting her clipboard before replying, "That would explain his scores on the other exams. 87% Math...82% History...98% Engineering and Science, highest of this class and any class in the past seven years...perfect physical report, naturally...shows high aptitudes for technical, extremely high for navigational and astronomical concepts, and...get this...command. And we both know the computer evaluations are almost never wrong." Glancing back at the General's usual stoic, yet soft expression, she inwardly pleaded for a reaction yet seen from the humanoid. "I have to admit...in raw intelligence, he's leagues above anything I've seen in years, Zangali or not. He just can't communicate it."
Never wishing to disappoint a long time friend, T'ralthon complied by lifting his eyebrows high on his forehead and quirking a corner of his wide mouth. Doing a quick mental calculation, the long fingers of his left hand wiggled slightly before he answered. "He would require a minimum score of...57...on this exam in order to pass recruitment." With a quick glance at the sorrowed expression on Marx's face, he determined the answer to the question he was to ask next. "Doesn't look good for him I take it."
Marx refrained from answering the obvious, instead hanging her head slightly in a subconscious effort to absorb the shame of the situation. With another sigh, T'ralthon also lowered his head slightly, becoming slightly agitated that a situation such as this could occur, as if he had any control over Zangali social customs whatsoever. Turning on his heels sharply, he headed towards the command center and his office, the previous cheerful mood now gone. "Keep me informed of the results if you would, Valerie."
Lifting her head and addressing his departing back, she offered, "General...if you would like, I have the ability to adjust...", as she is cut off by T'ralthon's rarely heard Command voice. "Negative Lieutenant, you will not falsify the scores for his benefit. "
Continuing on his way, he added more softly, "Regardless of my personal desires or the fact that you are too duty bound in your ways to actually force yourself to do something against protocol."
Once again lowering her head in further shame for actually blurting out something so ridiculous to her nature, she stood patiently, gazing at the Zangali so obviously stressed before her, as she listened to the decreasing footfalls of the General down the corridor.
T'ralthon continued on to the command center, lost in thought even as he was bombarded by his staff with reports, all of which he accepted graciously with the commending attitude he always supports for those around him. Taking the pile into his office, he sealed the door from the activity outside and slumped into his chair. Leafing through the files just presented to him, he slowly absorbed them, picking out as much of the fluff as possible to get to the real facts presented to him.
Seemingly an hour later, a chime activated on the comm panel on his desk. Glancing at the wall clock as he thumbed a button, he noticed that only 16 minutes had passed.
"T'ralthon, go ahead.", he stated out loud.
After a mild hiss, a human female's voice reported from the device: "59 percent...he's in."
T'ralthon closed his eyes, thumb still on the switch, silently praising whatever Zangali deities there may be in the vicinity.
"...Recommendations General?..." called out the semi-concealed cheerful voice.
The General let out a long breath as he pondered the question, his body finally unstiffening after what seemed like ages. "Versailles, Lieutenant...A.S.A.P.... Colonel Cubana is the only one I know of that will realize the gift we're giving the Vanguard today."
"...With pleasure General.", reported the intercom after a small hiss. "I'll see you tomorrow morning sir, but this time, keep that foul smelling fruit-tea of yours away from me."
T'ralthon chuckled softly as many of the humans around him often did, and replied, "Understood Valerie...and thank you. T'ralthon out." Tapping at a button to close the channel, he then leaned back in his chair, tossing the almost pointless reports back onto the desk before twirling his chair around to face the view of the Academy's garden outside the window. The child-like smile creeped back onto his face as he made a mental note to change his schedule for the next afternoon.
SCV Base Citadel.
Chirohl stared at the docking display monitor before him, doing his best to decipher the terran language as quickly as possible.
Glancing at the slip of paper in his hand, he compared the symbols to those on the monitor before him. This should be the last time I will need to resort to this method I've had to teach myself for so long, courtesy of my new gift. Patting one of the undersized pockets of his grossly modified Standard issue Recruit uniform, he inwardly thanked the unusually kind chief instructor from the academy that pulled him aside that morning as he was about to board the shuttle. Slipping him a datapadd filecard, she quickly said: "It's a language tutorial...one of the best and quickest. Good luck Recruit." And then slipped off again after a reassuring smile. Chirohl remembered the strangely fire-colored hair of the human female, but could only decipher the rank of Lieutenant on her nametag before she was gone again. Blinking in confusion, Chirohl had quickly slipped the chip into a pocket before returning back to the shuttle pad, ignoring the strange looks from the other recruits as they waited for boarding call.
Still determining whether the woman's demeanor was the exception or the norm for her race, Chirohl located the symbols he was looking for and deciphered them aloud. "Versssailesss", he hissed softly.
"Versailles?" chirped a sudden voice behind him. Spinning quickly in annoyance at himself for letting his guard down once again, his mind stuttered for a few moments before translating the markings on the uniform before him. Pulling himself together in mild shock, he saluted quickly, nearly clawing his own forehead in the process. "Gener-all...Sssssirrr!" he shouted crisply, stiffening his body to his full height of 8'4 and letting his stuff-sack fall to the deck beside him.
Widening the corners of his mouth as humans often do to show glee in various degrees, the being before him returned the salute slowly, nodding his head briefly before replying, "Easy Recruit...no need to get all nervous...there's never time for that on your first day in the Vanguard...or any day in the Vanguard for that matter."
Dropping his arm to his side, but remaining stiff, Chirohl blinked a few times, glancing at the being cautiously with one eye. The duty uniform hugged the burly humanoid tightly, revealing very little of his skin. What was showing was completely covered in thick hair, all a silvery blanket that parted only for a small area of his face, revealing a flat nose, and wrinkles above the deep set eyes.
"Yesss sssir, Gener-all sssir..." replied Chirohl, silently cursing himself for acting so slowly and carelessly. I must be more careful from now on. If I fail in the Vanguard, it will only shame my Clan further. I will not let that happen, regardless of what obstacle they place before me. But will I ever understand these other beings? This one presents himself as that Lieutenant did earlier. Am I only to be treated poorly by other recruits? Is this the way of these people? "Ssssir, Chirohl sssorriess, sssir. Chirohl not exssspect sssseeing a Gener-all, Gener-all sssssir."
Displaying the contorted mouth again, the being clasped his hands behind the small of his back, leaning his head back slightly to address the Zangali's face. "There are many Generals in the Vanguard, Recruit...expect to see more of them then just me. In fact, it would be wise to now expect seeing just about anything your imagination can come up with..." Leaning deeply to the side to peer past Chirohl's girth, the being examined the docking display and then straightened himself back to vertical after glancing at the small piece of paper clenched in the Zangali's massive clawed hand. "Now...you mentioned the Versailles? I take it you are supposed to report to that vessel?"
Chirohl's eyes nictitated briefly as he once again cursed himself for acting foolishly. "Aye ssssirr. Vanguard tell Chirohl to...", mimicking the General's word and commiting it to memory, "...reeeport to Verssailess." Shifting side to side slightly to transfer weight from one foot to the other rythmically, he did his best to contain his discomfort of the heavily modified spacer boots strapped to his feet. Odd adornments these feet binders are...how am I supposed to maintain any sense of balance if my clawtoes are squeezed together?
T'ralthon continued his nearly hidden smile, a wrinkle on his forehead spasming slightly. Aye...the Versailles. A fine ship that is...our flagship in fact, and our finest crew. You will learn much there, and in time, I think you will come to consider it as home." After a quick, yet deep glance at the Zangali's nictating eyes, he slowly lifted a hand and pointed at a docking gate across the massive hall. "Naturally, the Versailles can always be accessed at dock 3, its reserved gate."
Chirohl cocked his bulbous head to the side, letting one eye focus on the mentioned gate, watching the heavy personnel traffic around it, and committing the information to memory...Always dock three... "Aye ssssir. Dawchk threeee, of courssse, Gener-all, ssssir." Keeping his other eye focused on the being before him, he noted the peculiar shine in the man's eyes. If I didn't know better, I would think this being is expressing amusement. Does he find me that humorous? Or are my mannerisms simply that pathetic to this creature...
Saluting crisply with a gloved hand, Chirohl hissed an acknowledgement. "Ree-croot Chirohl thanks you ssssir, Gener-all, sssir. If the Gener-all excusesss will, Ree-croot Chirohl will ssstop being cause of Gener-all's delay and...reeeeport to duty as ordered, ssssir."Watching curiously as the general acknowledged the salute with his own, and a quick nod of his simian head, Chirohl lowered his arm, stooping low to pick up his stuff sack and hefting it into the nook of his elbow joint, as if carrying a child. Sliding the piece of paper into a pocket on his chest, Chirohl quickly moved toward the previously mentioned docking gate, figuring that the least amount of time with the considerably superior officer would help ensure that he would not embarrass himself any further. Approaching the gate, and dodging many scurrying technicians in the process, he once again pulled out his order slip, presenting it to one of the security officers guarding the entrance. Keeping one eye on the strange expression of the guard as he quickly read the paper and compared it to some file on a DataPadd, Chirohl swiveled his head to the side to let the other eye focus back down the enormous hall to the docking display. Peering over a sea of bobbing heads, he caught a glimpse of the low-stooped General making his way toward the hub. Just as he turned down the corridor, Chirohl caught a glimpse of the white-furred crown and the face hidden within, once again showing that strangely amused expression, but this time the lips and cheeks were puckered slightly as if the being was blowing air in some sort of rythym. A nod from the guard brought his full attention back around, as he was handed back the slip.
Motioning a thumb over his shoulder toward the docking arm to the ship, the security officer began streaming out directions quickly. "Through the arm, to the inner hatch...upon entering the ship, swing a left to fore-ship, then up to the second deck via the first ladder you see, then back to aft-ship. Report to the barracks for berthing assignment, stow yer gear, then report in to the first ship command officer you see on deck one...just don't enter the bridge."Turning back to one of the other officers, he returned back to their apparent previous conversation.
Taking that as a dismissal, Chirohl readjusted the sack cradled in his arm and headed down the docking arm. Inwardly, he thanked the human's subconcious hand signals as he gave the directions, which Chirohl had quickly committed to memory. If it hadn't been for them, Chirohl would have been lost based on the stream of uncomprehending verbal instructions he was given.
Upon entering the vessel, he instantly began to duck his head as he weaved down the corridor around personnel. Keeping one eye focused ahead of him to navigate, he let the other eye wander about, memorizing landmarks and unidentifiable signs as he went. Finding a ladder, he almost stepped into the narrow tube, before pulling his head back out again quickly. Remembering something he had read in the recruit manuals, he waited for a "ladder clear!" yell from within the tube, then stepped in, doing his best to repeat what he had heard once before. "'ad-derrr uph!"he growled loudly, before beginning his ascension. At the next level, he quickly exited the tube, calling back into the tube, "'ad-derrr kuh-leerrr!" A few bystanders glanced at him curiously, but Chirohl simply ignored them, a custom he was slowly becoming used to by now. Proceeding back aft-ship down the once again cramped corridor, he took a little more time analyzing the structure of the ship. Compact and very efficent use of space, even if it means it may be sometime before I can stand up straight again. Simplistic design...nothing elaborate, as expected from a military vessel. Stopping at an exposed section of the bulkhead frame as it travelled up one section of the corridor's wall, he peered at it closely, then tapped at it with a claw.
"Carbon-titanium alloy...with a few special extra ingredients. Some of the strongest stuff in the galaxy, but of course, that's mainly due to the elaborate refining process they use on it...but I wouldn't want to clutter your mind with details you wouldn't understand anyhow, so let's leave it at that."
Chirohl turned quickly to face the source of the voice behind him, once again mentally clawing himself for letting his senses drop and being startled. Glancing at the human, he recognized the duty uniform of a ship's Engineering Technician, a Midshipman according to the patch on his shoulder. Chirohl's eyes nictated a few times as he peered down at the man, pondering whether he should correct the man's explanation of the substance, since the resonance of his claw against the metal had told him otherwise of the metal's composition. He also pondered quickly whether he should explain to the Midshipman that he was fully aware of seamless thermal-extrusion forging methods, and particle-bombing surface treatments. His decision was made for him however, as he realized he wouldn't have been able to translate his words into terran standard, by another sudden voice from further down the corridor, a voice pouring with annoyed authority.
"Recruit...Sar-ooth! We do NOT have time for guided tours. You were expected to report immediately to the barracks upon arriving on ship!"
Swinging his bulbous head in the direction of the voice, his eyes focused on another male human, one poised as though he was a Captain. Naturally, the man was a Captain, it just took Chirohl a few extra precious seconds to translate the markings on the human's uniform. Quickly stepping around the grinning technician, Chirohl strided up to the Captain, his frills erecting slowly as he performed a salute. "Ree-croot Chirohl Saruth, of Clan Saruth, builder of Grundath, ree-porting for duty, Kap-tin sssir!"
Eyeing the Zangali up and down closely with an expression of pure disgust on his face, he nodded slowly, returning the salute with a sense of sloppiness that he rarely used. "No kidding", the man mumbled.
Chirohl lowered his arm crisply, doing his best to stand at attention, regardless of the height restrictions. The result of course, was that of his upper torso bowed foreward, almost directly above the Captain's head as his eyes nictated briefly, waiting for the next command.
The man glanced up, locking his eyes with one of the laterally blinking black/violet eyes directly above before making a prominent step backward. Closing his eyes, he exhaled slowly, his mouth moving slightly as if whispering, at least what Chirohl took as, a countdown of numbers to himself before speaking again. "I am Captain Marcus, and unfortunately, it looks like I have the esteemed duty of orientating you to the ship. So let's make this short and sweet shall we? I have better things I'd like to be doing...such as giving myself an acid bath." Pointing over his shoulder to a nearby hatch, he jerks his head in that direction. "Crew barracks...your new home, slug-breath." Turning in the aforementioned direction, the man quickly stepped through the hatch, waiting a few steps within for Chirohl.
Chirohl quickly followed, not wishing to hesitate and anger the man further, and ducked low as he stepped into the dimly lit room. Making a mental note to look up the terms 'acid-bath' and 'slug' at a later time, he let his eyes nictate once again as he adjusted to the lower lighting level. Scanning the room quickly, he found it to be a long hall, and higher ceilinged then the corridors had been. Letting himself stand up straight once again with relief, he noticed the reason for the extended height of the room. Along both of the long walls ran a row of dual-tiered personnel bunks, squeezed together with just enough room for a pair of wardrobe cabinets in between each bunk unit. A number of the bunks appeared occupied, still forms under light coverings that rose rhythmically to breathing. The occasional guttural inhale could be heard within the room, a significantly /calmer/ version of Zangali snoring. Very few bodies stirred as the Captain spoke again, this time in a remarkable quieter tone, though not at all less venomous.
"You will be assigned to bunk...", pausing his speech suddenly, Marcus blinked in apparent confusion at his DataPadd before slowly turning his gaze to the Zangali next to him, his eyes slowly creeping up the enormous body as his reasoning skills finally caught up to him. "...you have to be kidding me...how do they expect...?" Halting his words, he shook his head and closed his eyes, once again letting his mouth mimic a numeric countdown before readdressing the situation. "Recruit, do you actually require a bunk?"
Chirohl peered at the man intently, then scanned a nearby bunk as the situation finally made itself clear. Hissing slightly, he turned back to the Captain. "Ree-croot Chirohl no ree-kwire bunk, kap-tin sssir. If Ree-croot Chirohl could even fit onto one, he determines bunk no structural enough to allow sssso. Ree-croot Chirohl ree-kwires ground area only, Kap-tin ssssir."
Marcus furrowed his brow in perplexion while Chirohl spoke, bobbing his head slightly as if coaching words from a baby as the Zangali spoke slowly. "I see..." he responded once the Zangali had finished his laborious task. Scratching his chin slightly, he straightened up slightly, an idea quickly forming. Returning quickly to an annoyed expression, he nodded his head slightly and peered at a nearby gap between the last of a row of bunks and the wall. Pointing to the spot, he continues, "...will that do? Naturally, we frown upon such special requests from recruits, but I think I will make an exception in this case. Consider this as me being in a good mood." With a slight twist to the corner of his mouth, he glanced up at the Zangali for a response.
Chirohl glanced at the mentioned spot, his mind only briefly attempting to comprehend the Captain's seemingly ironic tone of voice. Examining the floor, he bobbed his head briefly in acknowledgement, before adding, "Aye, Kap-tin sssir. Such area would be acceptable for Ree-croot Chirohl, if not storage device there."
Captain Marcus glanced at the referred-to wardrobe locker, noticing that it indeed did take up deck surface that would better suit the Zangali. Fingering his chin again in thought, he shrugged. "Good enough then. For tonight this will do. We will have to submit a work order for a maintenance crew to come in tomorrow and remove one of the lockers. Tomorrow if you're lucky that is."
Glancing at the locker speculatively, Chirohl turned back to Marcus, a slight hiss escaping his bony-lipped mouth. "Ree-croot Chirohl not wishes to cause others labor, essspecially the Kap-tin, Kap-tin sssir. This is Ree-croot Chirohl's problem ree-kwest, and will be Chirohl's duty to...ree-moove." With that, Chirohl turned and stepped toward the locker, dropping his stuff-sack to the deck and flexing his off-white-clawed hands. If it had not been for the sudden explosion of sound as twisting metal sonically ripped through the barracks, and his own extreme growls of strain, he may have had heard the Captain's yell...
"W-w-wait! Recruit, NOOOOOOO!..."