General Shras's Perspective:
He sat, reclined to a point almost horizontal in its laxation. His stance, if it could be defined as such, was melted into black cushion, body draped inert over leather.
The eyes, the white ovals contrasting with blue skin, did not move. Not even a twitch could be solicited from their empty vigil.
The entirety of his face was tilted, as if in deep thought. And yet, to look closer one might discover that intelligence, true or perceived, posed looks nigh the same.
A ringing most obscene in its pitch sounded through the room. The effect was to spoil an imperious stance, irritation evident on the General's face, his body tensed, halting the flow of sentient gel that had but moments ago inhabited his chair.
A smooth motion brought down his hand on the silver button, abruptly exchanging rings for words.
"-o General Shras, priority one message, respond immediately".
The monitor by his left side, sleek and black with little to no edging on borders, was situated so that even it appeared torpid, (for an inanimate object no less) tilted back and angled unnecessarily that its presence was an insult to propriety itself.
With a flick of his wrist, the Empiric symbol upon the screen was replaced by the visage of-, Commander Tarah, he believed, yes-, yes indeed it was.
She must have a report of their encounter with those bastard Vulcans.
"General Sir!"
He shook his head, silently bubbling with mirth. The protocols, the seriousness of these military types, his position might be designated general, but even he knew it was purely a title, and nothing more.
"Commander" he acknowledged, nothing further as she continued staring at him, lips still closed.
Shras got the feeling that he was being assessed, a smirk almost made it to his face as he considered all the beings who had (more likely than not) quailed under those eyes. But while he might not have earned his position, he certainly knew how to hold it.
And so he did not puff out his chest, and he didn't continue the conversation. Shras simply returned her gaze, waiting, until her patience eventually ran out.
"General" she began again, "I have urgent news concerning our assignment."
At this Shras did not hesitate to jump in, having had already won their battle of wills, after all. "As I recall, you were ordered to intercept the T'khut."
His tone, to the casual observer, appeared to simply state facts. However there was no question as to whose career depended on those orders.
"I am assuming, based on our conversation, that you were successful?" For not the first time he was left wondering why it wasn't Shran talking to him.
He's probably too drunk to know what a report is, after that victory of theirs.
"We were not successful, General".
At that he tensed, attention brought solely to the woman on his monitor as his mind concocted all sorts of explanations, none of them in the least bit positive.
"Elaborate" he snapped, the word lashing from his mouth.
"Our fight with the Vulcan ship was interrupted by an alien vessel, they claim their race is "Human"."
Damn her, how difficult can it be to continues speaking?! At this rate it would be tomorrow before he had the vaguest idea of what had happened.
"It might be effective to keep talking, Commander." The thinly veiled threat brought a glint of anger to Tarah's eye.
"They disabled both the Kumari and the T'khut, permitting neither side victory. They claim they want to establish a treaty between both Vulcan and Andor, however-" her voice trailed off.
"However what Commander"
She took a light breath, almost unnoticeable, but not quite.
"They are weak, Sir, and not worthy of an alliance with the Empire."
Shras heard the pride in her voice, the very same patriotism to be found in the billions of their proud race, and in his opinion, a bit too proud.
"Well they obviously weren't if they disabled both ships, yours included, Commander." It was practically a snarl, the way those words came out. Filled to the brim with contempt and irritation dripping from every syllable.
He could see her posture stiffen, antenna curled forward in an unmasked display of anger, despite her face's neutrality. "Yes Sir, their technological abilities are far beyond our own."
"How far?" The General's fists clenched outside view of the screen, barely keeping himself from letting loose a tirade.
"I do not believe that information is necessary, Sir." The rank was added, as if an afterthought. In fact, the sarcasm laced through that word was not reassuring, most definitely not. That in itself was worrying, extremely so, Tarah had always been disrespectful, insubordinate even. But the unknown meaning Shras could detect in that word, trouble was brewing, that you could be assured of.
"Commander, you will continue your report immediately! With no information withheld!" It had happened, he could feel the burning freedom of outrage coursing through his veins.
I am the general!
And he wouldn't hesitate to make her life a living hell if she didn't start giving him the respect that demanded.
She was smirking now, observing her superior with amused eyes, pupils formed of malice. "I'm afraid you no longer have jurisdiction over this fleet, General, the Council Members themselves have taken a direct interest in these events. A fleet of Andorian battle cruisers is inbound to our position, to assist us in the destruction of the Human vessel. I assure you that further information will be released when the time is deemed appropriate." With that her visage disappeared, leaving once again the Empire's symbol in the center of his tilted screen.
Confusion and anger, extreme anger blinding in its intensity, clouded his mind. The explosion that had built up, seemingly contained, finally, in its rage, burst through any self-control a sentient being could possibly raise.
With a snarl blue hand descended on the nearest object, a vase was sent flying before it promptly shattered against the opposing wall, damaging the green paint ever so slightly.
His eyes, piercing in their rage, searched the vicinity. Franticly his gaze swept the room, anything upon which he could vent as his body leapt from its seat.
The mayhem that was his mind rioted through body and soul, its very own structure to do with as it pleased. One could not reason with the General's mind, not even himself in this condition. He was merely a voice, a small, insignificant whisper among the tyrants of chaos who ruled.
Pain, pain helps.
With a speed born of desperation legs carried him to the other side of the room, dropping to his knees and his fist, quivering, as if in fear of its own fate, before Shras drove it into the shards.
Again and again he punched the sharpened remains, his once prized vase finding a home in the blue skin that attacked it.
His screams grew louder, continuing in melody with the sobs that wracked his frame, alternating, sometimes mixing, combining to form such foul concoctions.
The agony brought, in some semblance, clarity. The very same clarity of which he had sought, what he continued to seek as his fist connected brutally with the glass.
As the haze was partially lifted, a need filled his mind, conquered it, devoured it in exigency.
Must, have it!
Clutching the damaged hand to his chest, Shras attached himself to the plain green wall. His good arm, without shards of glass embedded inside, scraped its way up the surface, tainting the simple color with the blue stain of his leaking blood.
As his life essence oozed to the floor, the general was to be found stumbling, grabbing a hold of anything in his path, strength depleted to the point of his own inability to stand.
So close!
Yes, he was nearing that which he sought, what he craved, what he needed!
The next pattern of mismatched steps, finally arriving at the small portrait, where he flung it off the wall in his staggering manner, barely keeping balance as the shaking limbs threw it to the side.
And yet despite the quivering of his entire self, the digits were steady as they punched in his security code. As they finished, and the metal frame slid open Shras reached his hand inside, grasping one of the hypo-sprays loaded with enough illegal drugs to put him in a brig for life.
But nothing else besides the salvation in his palm mattered to the crazed General, and so he raised it to his neck while tears flowed down the blue face, dripping softly onto the metal container.
As it emptied its contents into his bloodstream, a sigh of pure bliss accompanied him, on his slumped journey to the floor…