Kicking....Dirt
Posted on Sun Nov 1st, 2026 @ 10:32pm by Zhara t'Reiza & Gunnar Arnason & Jarron von Münsterland
6,236 words; about a 31 minute read
Mission:
Chapter IX: Shady Business
Location: Haven Colony
Early afternoon, Jarron found himself with nothing to do for the next few hours. In the morning he had spent time with Gunnar and T'Ango and the little ones they fostered. He has really enjoyed taking care of the baby even though not being able to sit down was very exhausting. He has practiced falling and rolling to the point of being too disoriented to continue.
He'd returned home to have lunch and now was wandering about the colony, finding a relaxing interest in just kicking a few rocks about.
Around the corner, a group of a about a dozen of the other local adolescents were gathered, in a brief reprieve from the usual tasks any of them had of late, such as babysitting, farming, babysitting, light construction work, babysitting, beginning militia training, and even more babysitting...at least, that was the rundown one would have gotten asking many of them. A few were sprawled in the dirt playing some sort of game with a set of cards, with several more clustered around a set of concentric rings they'd sketched in the dirt, taking turns tossing knives at the dirt. Two were off to one side in what sounded like some sort of heated argument, and two girls were perched on a supply crate against the wall of the building, one braiding the other's hair.
The emotions of the argument was what alerted Jarron to their presence even before he saw them as said emotions struck him like a brick wall. It made him miss a step and kick a tiny pebble straight into the group of teenagers. He stopped and briefly closed his eyes, though he pretended to look up and study some imaginary avian. He resisted the urge to rub his temples which would be a dead giveaway, if his dark eyes weren't telltale enough already.
"Hey, for the last time, watch where you're kicking ro - " Zhara's voice cut off halfway through the word for 'rocks' as she noticed from her spot amongst the group chucking knives into the dirt who seemed to be responsible for the rock that had just bounced off her shoe. "Oh. It's you. Thought it was one of the little kids again, they were doing that earlier."
Startled at being addressed, Jarron shifted his gaze and smiled sheepishly at her. "Sorry," he apologised, "it's just very relaxing and it helps clear my mind. I wasn't intending on getting any to hit you, I'm sorry..." The teenage hybrid started to draw away, certain he wouldn't be welcome to join them after this.
"Kicking rocks is relaxing?" One of Zhara's eyebrows rose. "You have got to find better hobbies. Not that this place is great when it comes to options. Want to try something else?" She indicated the circles of targets she and the other teens had drawn, as one of the boys chucked a throwing knife at them, hitting the second circle out from the bullseye and seeming somewhat dissatisfied with his resulting score.
Jarron hesitated visibly but also had a sense of longing about him. "I'm not sure..." He glanced between the circles and Zhara. "I don't think I'm supposed to do anything like that, Miss T'Ango will no doubt get angry with me..."
"You're fourteen, not four." Zhara countered, confused: She was vaguely aware that T'Ango and Gunnar were watching over Jarron while his father was gone with the ship, but why they'd get mad at him for playing games made no sense. "Why would she be angry about it?"
"I'm not allowed to engage in anything with weapons yet," Jarron answered, thought he wasn't sure if that's what she meant. "I don't know anything that yet, and she specifically said I wasn't to do anything until I learned how."
"She probably means like, actual weapons practice. This is just...Don't humans or Betazoids have any games where you just throw things and try to hit stuff for certain numbers of points or such?"
"Darts," Jarron prompted, "you toss them at a board from a little distance. And I remember something about marbles though I never engaged in that..I just read about it. And maybe toss a rock as far as possible and see if anyone else can toss it further." Still, throwing knives just didn't seem like something he should be doing even though it did look appealing. It was certainly better than just aimlessly wandering around in his own and he was desperate for some friends and something to do. Not that he didn't enjoy watching the little ones at the Arnason home, because he did. But he needed people his own age too. And he was making a halfhearted attempt at using Rihanssu words as well. At least though, he was trying...
"There's a similar game played with rocks by younger kids without the finesse for this yet, yeah." Zhara shrugged her eyebrows. "If you really think she'll go all claws-out on you for playing this game with a throwing knife, I suppose you could just use a rock. That one, even." She nudged the rock that had hit her shoe earlier with said shoe. And really, knowing how throw a rock accurately wasn't a bad skill to develop, either.
"I'd rather avoid her claws," Jarron admitted though his eyes remained on the boy's throwing knives. "Is it difficult?" He nodded towards them before looking back at Zhara. "Throwing, I mean."
"That depends." Zhara grinned. "This kind of game just sort of evolves as you get older - little little kids play a version that would seem easy to anyone over about five; older kids play one like the one you saw the other week with the rocks and the grid; teenagers and adults more like this, but the adults...well, let's just say they're definitely better at this than any of us are, and they add extra stuff in, like trying to aim from a bad angle or past obstacles or stuff. Whether this version is hard for you or not...I suppose depends on if you've ever played whatever that human game you said is sort of similar, 'darts', or not."
"No I've never played darts. It wasn't any fun and it's supposed to be a bar game. I'm too young to be allowed in a bar." He shook his head as he spoke, still trying to get the odd Rihanssu work in to show he was making an active effort to learn. If course he did know a handful of words but some were of a particular choice variety best not used in barely known company. "Can you show me?"
"Sure." Zhara held a hand out for one of the throwing knives, which the gaggle of adolescents appeared to be sharing for the game in question as not all of them had such a set of their own, and turned and lifted it in her hand for a moment, judging the balance and weight, then draw her arm back and sent it sailing after the one thrown by the boy before her; she came closer to the bullseye than he had, but still missed it as it buried itself in the dirt, at least landing correctly, point down, rather than bouncing hilt first like one of the other kids had earlier. "Like that. Or if you're planning to use a rock, well. I really hope you don't need someone to show you how to throw a rock."
"No that's unnecessary." Jarron picked up the rock, stood next to her and threw it as though he was trying to bowl in a cricket match. The rock left a dent but bounced right out of the target ring. "Ugh...not quite right I guess..."
"That happens with the rocks, sometimes. They don't dig into the dirt so unless you get the force just right they can bounce like that." Zhara reached down, picked up another rock, then chucked it after Jarron's, putting somewhat less energy into her throw and landing close to the same spot but her rock only skidding slightly.
"I guess I need a pointy rock, like a flint or a spear point, but they take time and skills to make. I've done it once in school on Betazed, but I wasn't good at it." He picked up another rock and followed her example, but this time it ricocheted right off her rock. "I may look into making some..." He added, happy with the prospect of having a little project. "I think...I want to try the knife after all...I mean, it's safe, right?"
"The rock isn't safe, even. 'Safe' would be throwing a pillow, or a bread roll. It's a calculated risk." Zhara grinned again. "Like most of life." She passed him one of the throwing knives, hilt first, and motioned all the rest of the players back...significantly back. "Just make sure you throw away from the group, and yourself. And watch your feet, too. For this first one I'd say make sure to get your arm extended enough away from your body to make sure it don't bounce back onto you if it goes wrong. And probably step back once you release it."
"Pillow fights are fun but not without risk either," the hybrid commented dryly, accepting the knife and weighing it carefully in his left hand before examining it more closely. It looked real and very sharp to him. He nodded as he listened to her instructions, but wasn't sure how to achieve them all in one go. He wasn't sure how to throw either, handle first or blade first. Somehow, it made sense to hold it by the blade and then toss it, which was exactly what he did. He placed his left foot half a step backwards, then twisted his torso as he brought his left arm forward and released the blade once his arm stretched out. He felt a sharp sting in his fingers as he released the blade, but bravely ignored it.
Zhara watched as the knife Jarron had thrown landed, actually managing to get the tip into the ground, albeit in one of the other rings, then noticed two of his fingertips had tiny dots of red on them, and looked puzzled. "Did you get paint on your fingers or something?"
A somewhat proud smile touched his features as he watched the blade land as it was supposed to. He didn't care it was in the wrong target, it was tip down. At the mention of paint he cast her a confused look. "No?" He answered before looking down at his fingers which were showing more than tiny dots of red now. "This isn't paint," he added bleakly, trying to wipe it off on his tunic. "I must've held the blade too tightly...Maybe I should try again?"
"Oh. Right. I'm not used to blood being that color." Zhara looked somewhat embarrassed for a moment at this admission, or possibly at having made the mistaken guess in the first place. "But you could also throw holding the hilt, just don't spin it, then, and put more force into it. Like this." She picked up another knife from the set and, once the girl retrieving the ones thrown before this was back, threw it harder and faster in a straight line at a slight angle until it buried itself in the dirt.
"But then there's the right overshooting the target," Jarron commented, still tending to his bleeding fingers. He reached for another knife, again weighing it in his hand, wrapping his slippery fingers firmly around the handle. Following her example to a degree, he threw it as though he was pitching, but at least didn't cut himself again. "Too far," he concluded, disappointment clear on his face.
"No one is good at this the first time. Or even the first twenty times. My mother says the first time one of my uncles tried this game when he was a kid, he accidentally managed to get himself in his own foot with it. Which is probably why she didn't let me play this until I was closer to twelve than eight like he was."
And he wouldn't be surprised if he somehow managed to do that too. Jarron felt immensely clumsy as he held the bladed weapons, not ever having used one of this size ever before. And he was very aware of the group's scrutiny, more aware than they probably knew he was. His eyes were on the circles ahead, his face a mask of concentration as he gauges the distance and tried to determine just how hard he would have to throw it.
The teenager stepped back again, bringing his arm up to throw. He felt it slip from his fingers even before he had fully positioned himself and the next thing he knew he was crouching down in pain. He wasn't sure what or where exactly as his lower leg felt like it was on fire. He gritted his teeth so he wouldn't cry out but the tears in his eyes betrayed his feelings quite well.
Zhara’s next few words proved that she knew a variety of expletives in her native language and was - out of earshot of her parents and grandparents, at least - more than willing to use them. “Sit down!” The firm command sounded more like it was coming from someone rather older than fourteen, but the expression it was paired with definitely was more age-appropriately nervous as she took one of the set they’d been playing with and used it to slice part of her shirt sleeve, ripping the rest off to use as a makeshift bandage. Now I get to explain to T’Ango how this happened and to my mother about why I need a new shirt, she thought. Maybe I should’ve told him to stick with the rocks.
Jarron sat as directed, his face pale and drawn as he tried to compose himself. "I don't know what happened," he whispered painfully, "it just slipped away, I was sure I had it ." He shook his head. "T'Ango is going to be mad at me..." He wasn't sure what was worse, the embarrassment of being injured in front of the others, or facing his current guardians, who would no doubt inform his father. "How bad is it?"
"I'm...not sure how to judge that for your species." Zhara admitted, reluctantly, as she dropped down into the dirt herself and started wrapping it around the front outer side of Jarron's calf. "It's bleeding a fair bit, but I can't see bone and it's not drenching the ground or such. I think it's probably the kind of thing someone can fix with just a regenerator in a medkit." She pulled the ends of the wrapped strips of shirt tight and tied them, her tone going rueful. "And, unfortunately, a fair bit of yelling at us, probably." She sighed. "If you'd like to avoid T'Ango and Gunnar, I think we can probably just get one of the other adults to fix this rather than going to the medical center; there's medkits all over really, because of all the construction work and such." None of that was going to really save her a huge lecture about this, possibly; but that part was likely unavoidable.
"No I won't lie to them," Jarron resolved, "so I won't avoid them either. Besides since dad put them in charge of me, the medics, no matter which one, will be required to inform them anyway. Might as well get it over with and see Gunnar. Besides, it's only a scratch right, it's not like I'm bleeding to death even though it does sting." Suddenly he looked worried. "They're not coated in anything are they...I've heard some people have coated their blades in poison."
"So, your first lesson - besides the language - is that outright lying to someone and just not telling them something are two entirely different things." Zhara sounded perplexed that anyone beyond about two could fail to grasp this rather significant distinction, or how to deploy it. His second comment, though, had her laughing for a moment. "And no, they're not coated in anything; it's a game; if someone does something that stupid to manage to kill themselves or their peers accidentally during a game, they deserve the fact that they'll be remembered as an absolute moron." She got a grip on his arm and shoulder and started to lever him back to his feet. "Your choice if you want to see Gunnar or not; any of the other medics would tell him; but some of the other non-medic adults might not; it's not like they'd consider it worth mentioning, probably."
"I know they're not the same thing," Jarron explained, gritting his teeth as he put weight on his leg. "But I made a promise, and it matters to me whether I tell them or not. So I want to be honest about it, and if your parents yell at you, I'm happy to tell them it was my own mistake..."
For all that Jarron's father sounded like a really weird parent from what she'd gathered from the boy's comments the first time, it did seem like at least he had managed to teach him the importance of facing the consequences of your own actions and decisions, if nothing else. "Pretty sure this one is on both of us. I didn't realize you really had no idea how to handle a knife even for a game or just, basic handling techniques that aren't fighting. How old do people have to be in the Federation for that, usually?"
"I don't know, probably varies per culture?" Jarron shrugged. "Vulcans do when they're toddlers right, I haven't handled anything more than a kitchen knife before now. It's not that dad discouraged it, but he didn't exactly encourage it either. But then I lived with my aunt for a few years and Betazoids seems to be wary. I guess? How old were you when you first had one?"
"Of my own? Seven. In terms of handling things under adult supervision? Probably around three, if you mean real and not a toy. Significant adult supervision at first, like they never take their hands off it the first few times; but you really need to know at least basic handling and use by the time you turn seven, or you probably won't survive to turn eight." Unknown to Zhara, she put the issue of the similar shared cultural rituals there between Romulans and Vulcans at that age rather more bluntly than Kaiae and Savin had: If you didn't know enough to keep yourself alive during that and defend yourself from any wildlife or such, that was on your parents. "After that, you move on to more advanced techniques, but still, there's definitely adult supervision involved in things especially if you're practicing with anyone else until you're closer to our age or up."
He could sense her confusion but was determined not to react to what he senses, though he probably wasn't wholly succeeding. "So you've been at this since you could walk, much like a Vulcan," he deduced as he limped alongside her. "Do you want to talk to your parents first before we go see a medic? Or should we find a medic first."
"If I waste time going to talk to anyone first for a topic other than asking them to fix this, that will be a whole second lecture." Zhara said. "That one about making willfully stupid decisions. Which is worse. So if you want an actual medic to look at this instead of someone's dad patching it up, then yeah that's where we're going first."
"I don't want you to get into any more trouble," Jarron offered ruefully, "Help me to the medbay, might as well not dally and face the music." He offered the smallest of smiles through his grimace. "I think I did hit something..it really hurts like hell. My hand still stings too .."
"Doesn't necessarily mean you actually seriously damaged anything; since I'm guessing you aren't really used to that many injuries, or this kind at all." Zhara had no idea what sort of parents Betazoids usually were, but if, as per his earlier mention, they weren't comfortable with their kids handling sharp objects, somehow she wondered if they were too quick to overly soothe a kid for some relatively minor issue, too, rather than a more sensible response.
"I don't know either, I don't remember any injuries before, just being sick after being stuck in snow and I had this really bad sickness once but other than that..." He shrugged. "I don't remember having been hurt before."
Zhara tried to grasp the idea of someone reaching their age without any past injuries, even if accounting for a lack of any sort of survival training or weapons or martial arts training or the like. Did human or Betazoid children just not do anything?!? She’d have thought it would be more common than not still for most all of them to at least have the usual couple of childhood broken bones from misjudging a jump or fall or tussling or racing one’s friends, falling out a tree or other thing one was climbing, or for that matter, say, having one of said friends accidentally throwing a rock or ball or such at you that you failed to catch right. It didn’t seem like the moment to try to figure that out, though, so she said nothing.
Since she wasn't the one limping, Zhara pulled the door open to the medical center when they reached it, and held it long enough for Jarron to get through, then led them over to where Emni was sitting at the triage desk, while doing her best to avoid looking nervous like a small child might at whatever lecture was undoubtedly waiting for them once they were sent back to the treatment area.
Jarron limped in behind her and smiled at the young woman. "Hi Emni, did Gunnar get in yet?" It was obvious from the bloodied makeshift bandages around his left hand and left leg there was something amiss.
A slanted brow ascended as Emni took in the two younglings. Given the extremely small number of young humanoids and the discussion with Gunnar after Nveid's first day, she assumed the boy must be the adopted son that Gunnar was nominally watching over in Nveid's absence. With a brief what-were-you-thinking look at Zhara, she pressed a comm. "Arnason to admitting. You have a patient."
A moment later, Gunnar hurried through the door, uncertain but prepared for whatever might require his particular attention. Or so he'd thought. He halted, taking in the sight of Jarron with bloody bandages on leg and fingers - clearly nothing life threatening, but not at all how he'd imagined he'd see the boy when they parted that morning. "What happened?"
The first answer came, before Jarron even had a chance to speak, from Zhara, possibly feeling the need to prove - to Gunnar but likely even more so to Emni (and any other members of her own species and culture that might be listening) that if not exactly mature enough to not get into these sort of situations, she was at least mature enough to face their consequences. “Some of us - the teenagers - were playing a game; I invited him to play it with us. His first throw went fine. The second one did not.”
"The first one didn't either as I held it wrong ," Jarron confessed, "I wasn't intending on using them but..." He hesitated for a moment even though he didn't look away. "I was using rocks at first, refusing the knife because I knew I shouldn't. But it wasn't working so... I watched them and I thought I was being careful but I held it the other way when throwing because that made sense and I think I held it too tightly."
The boy offered up his hand for examination as he continued his confession. "The second time, I'm not sure exactly how this happened. I was ready to throw and it slipped from my hand and cut my leg. Both really sting and walking hurts." He drew in a breath as he continued to meet Gunnar's eyes. "I'll tell T'Ango myself," he promised, "tonight at dinner. I need to go with Zhara when she tells her parents so she doesn't have to carry all the blame. The fault is mine, I shouldn't have given in."
Gunnar contained a sigh. T'Ango wouldn't be happy, but he imagined she'd be more unhappy with herself for not anticipating that prohibiting fighting didn't mean he wouldn't get pulled into Romulan teen games. Still, she was the one with experience in teaching 'kits' about weapons handling, so rather than offer any such reassurance he was going to leave the response up to her. However, he could offer one bit of consolation. "She'll appreciate the honesty and taking responsibility. Come on back into a treatment room and I'll get you fixed up."
There was blood on Zhara's hands, but it wasn't green, so he assumed she hadn't been harmed. Other than by whatever sense of embarrassment she might be feeling, though he knew well enough that Romulans often saw that as worse than physical harm. "Zhara, you can come back and use the washroom to clean up. If the wound isn't deep, this shouldn't take long, but you'll have to wait outside the treatment area."
This was about what Zhara had expected: You didn't bother bringing someone back with you at their age unless you really wanted to look like a wimp; certainly not for anything short of immediately and seriously life-threatening. She followed the pair, then split off to the indicated area to clean up her hands.
Jarron dutifully followed Gunnar to the back room, saying nothing until he has pulled himself up on a bed. "I think it looks worse than it is," he confessed, "though it does sting, and walking hurts." He paused, briefly looking away. "I'm sorry it happened, but I can't promise it won't happen again... I have to do something if they're ever going to accept me into their group...I tried sticking to rocks.."
As he ran the medscanner over the leg, Gunnar frowned to himself. He could sympathize, but he could also imagine more and potentially worse injuries. And he did not want to have to explain that to Nveid. "There's a small muscle tear, which explains why walking hurts," he said as he unwrapped the makeshift bandage and picked up a small dermaplaser. "Fortunately, it's easily mended." He looked him the eye. "This time. I get wanting to belong, and that you're starting from behind being a non-Romulan." He rolled his eyes a little. "Believe me, I get that. BUT you aren't going to gain acceptance by being the kid who always has to be taken to medical."
"It's not like I was trying to get hurt," the boy countered, "quite the opposite actually. And Zhara did suggest seeing another elder with medical equipment but I said no. I'm not going to hide it if I do cross a line, it doesn't feel right. She meant well, I believe that. And no doubt her parents will give her hell about it too so I'm going with her."
He hissed as the bandage, which was now stuck to his skin, was unwrapped. "It's still weird how this happened, of all the places it could drop, it caught my leg."
"I'm sure you weren't trying to get hurt. If I thought you were, this would be an entirely different conversation," Gunnar said as he began to work on repairing the wound. "From the look of it, I'd say the knife slipped because your fingers were slick with blood, though I'd advise against using that as an excuse: Romulans teach their children how to use the knives they'll eventually carry, including holding them effectively in the very realistic scenario of having blood slick hands."
He shook his head. Little as he liked the idea, Jarron needed that training if he was going to be here. He was somewhat surprised Nveid hadn't provided it - the Federation was peaceful, but he was a refugee from the Tal'Shair and the ex-pats he knew had trained their daughters expecting that they might face abductors or assassins. Of course, those daughters were full-blooded Romulans and technically heirs to a Great House. "Look, it's not your fault, but you haven't learned that, and worse, don't know what you don't know. That's where the danger lies. I'm sure Zhara only meant to help you learn, but at her age, while she has skills, she isn't in a place where she can train anyone else - largely because she isn't actively conscious of the things that have become second nature due to how she's been trained."
"But I do need to learn. If not her, then who? Should I talk to T'Ango about this? Would she teach me or ask one of the other Romulans?" He felt dejected, and he sighed miserably. "I feel so out of place here...and I miss my dad..."
Once again Gunnar internally questioned the sanity and decency of whatever bureaucrat in Starfleet decided to send Nveid and Jarron here, but he unable to say it, he only offered a sympathetic smile. "I'm reasonably certain that after you tell T'Ango she'll insist on it. Though it's also possible Zhara's mother will march you over to Valdus for training. The entire colony is under orders to avoid any harm to you and your dad. Zhara did not intend harm, but I'm sure her mother will want to take measures to prevent any future accidents."
"I'll tell them it was an accident," he promised, "and like with everything else, whatever I missed out on I want to learn. And people shouldn't blame dad...I was only six when he took me in, I'm sure he has other worries at the time instead of teaching me to use weapons he doesn't like to use himself. And I lived on Betazed with my aunt the last six years so he wasn't able to show me anything. And I love my aunts, I really do... but I belong with dad. I could've stayed on Betazed but I didn't want to."
He glanced down as his leg was healed. "I'll be more careful," he added, "and I promise I'll tell T'Ango as soon as I get home. Id like her to hear it from me instead of the towns gossip."
"There would have been little reason to learn on Betazed, or in most of the Federation. I only learned to use a knife and axe because my older brother was into historical re-enactment. And even then, it was primarily chopping wood and whittling," Gunnar remarked as he finished with the leg and took Jarron's hand to treat the cuts on his fingers. "Being more careful is all I ask, though T'Ango may ask more. I suspect she will have already heard before you get a chance to tell her. Gossip travels fast."
"Oh gosh I hope not," Jarron prayed, "I should be the one she hears it from. And what more could she ask? I tried not to engage....but if I had walked away they'd never have talked to me again." He wiggles his fingers as the cuts were treated, relief washing over his still somewhat pale features. "I should go with Zhara now..."
"I'll leave that to T'Ango, but she used to plan combat and recon missions. I expect she'll react to you getting injured by insisting you learn about all possible Romulan games and work out how to engage safely or how to politely decline." With that, he finished, visually examined the fingers as a final check, and then nodded. "Go easy on that leg for the rest of the day, but otherwise you're free to go."
"Thank you Gunnar," the boy answered politely, "I'll do the best I can." It was the best he could promise to do. "I'll go straight home after seeing Zhara's family. My home, and I'll come to yours before dinner."
A minute of so after she'd vanished to clean up, Zhara popped back out into the triage and reception area, and just took up a position a a few meters away from the desk, now with clean hands but still looking rather bedraggled considering she was missing the shirt sleeve she'd used to bandage things until they got here, and despite efforts to brush it off, still had dirt ground into the knees of her pants from kneeling in it to do so. She did her best to keep a neutral expression and posture, but nevertheless could practically feel Emni's judgement of this situation as she stood there waiting awkwardly.
Emni watched the girl, just in case she decided to do anything else as ill-advised as letting a humanoid teen throw knives. It might not be quite fair - Nveid was Romulan and she couldn't have known he'd never shown his adopted son the basics - but after cutting his fingers on the first try, it really should have been obvious. The boy had clearly never even handled a steak knife! She chuckled to herself at that, especially given how Hatham had gone into protective big brother over drive when he'd seen NVeid working with her. While she wasn't ready to trust NVeid - no one would past it past a Tal'Shiar infiltrator to adopt some innocent kid as a long-game cover - the kid was a lot less suspect now. The main issue with him was that the other kids he might try to join in with were typical teens, i.e, idiots. "Next time, I'd advise having some sticks for him to practice with. Blunt sticks."
Zhara rapidly debated her response here - seeming to contradict the statement would risk seeming rude to an elder - well, not an actual elder, but an adult significantly older than she was; saying nothing would risk seeming like she was ignoring her. In the end she settled for splitting the difference between 'contradicting' and 'agreeing', and made sure to keep to tone and language choices even a bit more polite than otherwise. "I think they would have to have a point whittled to not just bounce right out of the target ring like his rocks did, but I will have him do some other activity lacking in anything sharp if he joins us again."
"Yes." Emni nodded firmly. "And for any other activity remember that humanoids are..." she almost said 'fragile', but thought better of it even if Gable wasn't around to hear, "...generally not as strong or fast as Romulans."
"He said on the way over that he'd never really been injured before, though...So if they aren't as strong or as fast, are they more durable, then?" Zhara asked, curious but also confused.
Clueless Emni gave her a Look and waited a beat for the other obvious reason to occur. Nope. "No," she said with a sigh. "It's just that they only play or compete with other humanoids. My caution for you doing things with him is that he's weaker and slower than you and the other kids your age."
“I will.” She sighed in frustration after another moment, whether at the universe, aliens, or herself was anyone’s guess. Possibly all of the above. She considered that maybe she needed to ask her mother about what, if anything, she knew about humans; because it wasn’t a topic anyone her own age usually knew - assuming she and her old friends back on the homeworld were anything to judge by - much of anything about.
It wasn't too long before Jarron appeared from the room, casting both a shy smile. "I'm to take it easy for a bit," he explained, "but it wasn't serious. We should go see your parents now Zhara. I promised Gunnar I'd help explain what happened so you don't get into too much trouble. I have to go home after that though."
"I'm fairly certain my mother will probably send you home anyway right after she hears your statement on the matter. Though it's possible she might want to speak with T'Ango, later." Probably, Zhara thought, about at least teaching him the lesson 'don't poke yourself with the pointy end' expeditiously.
"It's the right thing to do," Jarron insisted quietly, "shall we?" He smiled at the young woman at the desk. "Good day Miss Emni," he said by way of departure.
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