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Cptn Corizon

Captain's Prerogative

It had been a long morning, and a longer afternoon. Doing his best to avoid contact with any person on the ship, Corizon made his way towards his quarters, content to blow off anyone who approached him -- not like they expect the Captain to be sociable.

 

At last the home stretch... deck two. His quarters were almost in reach, and then he could unwind with a bottle of merlot or Saurian Brandy... or hell anything else in his liquor cabinet. That was when he noticed the door beeping that someone had used a security override. Son of a ... those little twerps were searching his quarters.

 

Mark stood at the door making a final check just to make sure nothing fell out. Four swords and three knives after entering Captain Corizon's quarters, he could feel the weight. The knives were all contained in a case, but the unwieldy swords proved more troublesome. Two of them he had managed to sheath and tie on somewhere to him, but the other two he was forced to carry.

 

He couldn't help but think of how he ridiculous he looked, but it was either this, or have to make a second trip back. Ridiculous was the right way to go. With a sigh of determination, he stepped forward, triggering the door's auto-open sensors.

 

Oh gods, the door was opening. Oh gods, the idiot was dumb enough to take something. For a moment, Corizon simply looked at the security officer... Michael something -- or was it Mark? Didn't matter... he was holding at least three, maybe four, of Corizon's swords.

 

Mark froze. Twenty-seven curses ran through his mind. Of all the outcomes in all the universes... He swallowed hard and steeled himself. "Captain."

 

Corizon looked directly into the little twerp's eyes. His golden orbs locked in on the human's beady little eyes that seemed to have grown a few sizes in a matter of moments. “Ens... Lieutenant... just what the hell are you doing?”

 

"As per Starfleet regulations pertaining to contraband weapons, I am seizing and impounding these weapons in Main Security." Mark replied plainly. He'd only been on the ship for a few weeks, but he'd seen and heard of Corizon's reputation for being, well, a hardass. He didn't let that fact faze him in his appearance or speech, however.

 

"You do realize whose quarters you're searching," Corizon said imperiously, his eyes remaining locked onto the security officer. If they'd been phasers, the human would have been toast.

 

Mark stared him down. Captain or not, regulations were there for a reason. Four freaking swords was not a Captain's privilege. "I do, Sir."

 

"Then you'll promptly do a nice, neat about face and put those back where you found them... then you'll get out of my sight as quickly as your two little legs can carry you, correct?"

 

"No Sir I will not. Starfleet regulations apply to all officers. I have searched the quarters of the entire senior staff and removed all illegal weapons. Yours are no exception."

 

Corizon tilted his head for a moment, his ears almost fluttering back and forth. He wasn't sure whether to be amused or to be annoyed. "First," he said, sobering. "Captain's quarters are off-limits to you and your searches -- perks of being the Captain. Second, it's my ship and I will have in my quarters what I wish. Third, don't quote regulations to me... fourth.... I don't even need a fourth. Now turn around and put my things back where they belong."

 

Mark glanced at the swords for a moment, judging their weight of worth to his continued career in Starfleet. He looked back to Corizon with cold eyes. "Captain, you should know that I don't intimidate. You can call Segami the moment I leave, use every Captain's privilege and trick in the book to get these swords back. But I am leaving here with them."

 

"You're putting them back, and that's an order. My authority is law on this ship, and if you fail to comply... you're going to be cleaning the waste disposal units for the rest of our voyage."

 

If that's what it takes. "I do not have to comply with an order that defies any treaties or regulations." He swallowed again. "Therefore I must refuse to obey your order. Please step aside."

 

"Oh for the love of the gods. Ell-tee... I'm an active senior operative for the Advanced Tactical Assessment Group, and that gives me clearance to have any ordnance I deem appropriate on hand. Regulation forty-five dash six, subsection six, special clause four. And if you make me look it up, so help me you're going straight to the brig."

 

It was now Mark who tilted his head slightly. He pondered for a moment before putting the two swords in his hand in front of Corizon. "Apologies, Sir."

 

"Now, get your rear-end in there and put them away where you found them, exactly as you found them, and get out of my sight before I really do put you on waste reclamation duty."

 

He moved to the side, granting Corizon access to his keypad entry. Using the security override just didn't seem proper.

 

Corizon tapped the code in quickly. His mild amusement with the absurdity of the situation had quickly evaporated, leaving only annoyance.

 

Mark let him enter before following, quickly replacing the swords and knives in perfect order where they previously sat. He glanced at the other weapons that had almost warranted a removal, as well as the sword that sat in the shrine, the one that was worth all the other ones he took in regs broken.

 

Somberly, Corizon watched as the security moron finally did what seemed like a pretty simple task. Then... he smiled... widely, his fangs catching the low light of the room and glinting slightly. "Mister... what was it... never mind... not important... I'll look up the record later... I am officially putting you on report with your department head..."

 

Mark looked up as he last item was replaced, cursing all things that this was how it turned out If he'd only finished five minutes sooner... "I understand, Sir."

 

"I don't think you do," Corizon said slyly. Oh gods, was he about to make his day. "I noticed that your boots are not up to regulation polish, and I saw a loose thread in the hem of your duty uniform. Both constitute separate violations of the Starfleet uniform code, sections five and four respectively. I believe the punishment for which is P.T. time during off-hours. Yes... I'll see to it that Sergeant Major Kioa is expecting you for the next few days."

 

He paused for a second, if only to make sure Corizon was serious. "Aye, Sir, that is correct punishment." He glanced down at his boots, and then his eyes rolled over to the loose thread. He couldn't help but let out a small chuckle.

 

"And one little piece of advice, Mister Garrison... one of the quickest ways to find yourself in a world of hurt is to get into a pissing contest with the commanding officer. Face it son, I am older and have more tools at my disposal to make your life miserable. I hope this is the last I have to deal with this matter."

 

He nodded and turned towards the door. "It is, Sir. If I might suggest contacting Major Kioa now, this was the last thing to do on my shift. Apologies for the inconvenience."

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Heh, for a second I thought Kroe- er I mean Garrison was gonna take a poke at ya Cor. Love the log.

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