“I cannot examine that wound on your thigh while you are wearing your trousers” T’lia told him patiently. “Now, will you please do as I ask?” With a long suffering look at his fellow captain, Krang obeyed. ~~~<>~~~ In the Hegh’Ta’s mess hall, the two captains were leaning over the table, facing each other, grim expressions of concentration on their faces as they each battled to gain supremacy over the other. Hands clasped, each fought to push the other’s arm to the table. The watching officers were laughing and calling out encouragement and Krang was amused to note that it was the Terran they were cheering for. He had removed his gauntlets and spiked gloves to make it a fair contest and they lay on the table, next to the half empty bottle of Romulan ale. He was holding his own easily. Klingons were physically stronger than Terrans and both men knew that Krang would eventually win this match. In the meantime, though, he was having too much fun to allow the competition to end quickly. Captain Mackenzie gave a very Klingon sounding growl as he struggled with his friend. He might not stand a chance of actually winning this match but that didn’t mean he would just give up and allow himself to be easily defeated. His muscles trembled as he put every bit of strength he had into trying to budge the other man’s hand. For a moment it looked as though he might succeed but then Krang pushed back and with a crash, the Terran’s hand hit the table. Captain Mackenzie swore. “Hab SoSlI’ Quch!”
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