<strong>Navarro Tavern</strong><br/><br/>Primo (http://elliquiy.com/forums/index.php?topic=129448.msg5778369#msg5778369) and his crew of Nausicaans sat at one of the larger tables of the tavern, requiring the extra space for their collective bulk - something impressive given the typical stature of the average Klingon warrior. Skraag, Nagk, and Primo himself were on their feet, each hollering and pounding their chests as they played a game typical of Nausicaans - each over one of them was throwing darts at one another's chest as hard as they could. They had only three darts between them, and so in order to keep the game going they each had to pull the projectile from their own chest to hurl it at another target.<br/><br/>The others drank and laughed as the game progressed, urging their fellows on and generally consuming copious amounts of strong drink. Inebriation was mild thanks to the sturdy nature of the Nausicaan species; they drank down bloodwine like it was water; for them it may as well be. It took a drink like Romulan ale to put a real drunkenness into any of them, but given the enmity between the Klingons and Romulans there would be no finding the beverage in a tavern for general consumption. Perhaps the captain or a senior officer may have seen fit to secure a personal supply . . . but Primo had no idea.<br/><br/>A Klingon walked by and consciously bumped into Primo, who was currently sporting three darts in his chest and a large number of wounds from the bloody game he and his subordinates engaged in. Immediately the merriment stopped, and as one, the Nausicaans grew tense and aggressive, snarling. Those seated had weapons in hand immediately, and the two standing had their hands on holstered disruptor pistols. They waited, however, on their leader's cue before launching into an all-out assault. Other Klingons took note, and were ready to leap into the fray merely upon the basis of supporting a fellow Klingon.<br/><br/>Primo turned, and looked the Klingon up and down with a look of naked disdain. "What? Are you blind, or too cowardly to strike my face?" He said, showing such contempt as to not even speak the Klingon's language. The human snorted, lips becoming a derisive sneer. "And no wonder . . . you look like one hundred kilos of targ dung piled into a janitor's uniform!" He declared, earning a snarl from the Klingon assailant, who immediately drew a Daqtagh. As the Klingon drew his dagger, the two distinctive secondary blades sprung out. Primo smiled, and nodded, which only served to infuriate his assailant further. The augment watched, and knew the course of the blade well in advance, but let the Klingon cut him anyway. The injury was not terribly serious; it looked worse than it was as the dagger cut him across the chest. The Klingon grunted something to the effect that Primo was the progeny of offal and the seed of an impotent specimen of the local fauna, and drew his dagger back intending to plunge the weapon into Primo's heart.<br/><br/>But as the Klingon was drawing his weapon back Primo lunged forward and struck the Klingon with a swift and brutal headbutt, stunning the Klingon who reeled a step backward. Primo followed up with a sharp chop to the inner arm that saw the Klingon disarmed, the dagger clattering as it struck the ground, and then with an uppercut that lifted the Klingon up and off his feet. The Klingon landed in a limp heap, jaw broken. The dark laughter of the Nausicaans followed, and the Klingons who watched turn their gazes away, muttering into their bloodwine that the Klingon who fell was a fool and was rewarded as he deserved for it. Primo thumped his chest with his right hand, giving a bellow of triumph to his soldiers, who echoed his call with their own. The human fell to laughter, and gave the fallen Klingon a kick. When the Klingon failed to rouse, Primo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and carried him - with one hand - to the tavern door and unceremoniously tossed him into the street.<br/><br/>The human returned to his table, and flagged down a waitress. "Get me a plate of octopus and a bottle of kanar - I don't care if you have to replicate it." The Augment said. He enjoyed the Cardassian drink immensely, and he always seemed to crave it after he bled.