Klingon Bloodwine: A Toast to Poor Life Choices

Description

Your character has always prided themselves on being adventurous, but nothing could have prepared them for their first sip of Klingon bloodwine. As the fiery liquid hits their tongue, their eyes bulge, and their face contorts into an expression that could only be described as “warp core meltdown.”

Describe the taste – like drinking molten metal spiced with rage and regret? Perhaps a touch of…was that motor oil? Paint the scene: the Klingons around you pounding their fists in approval, roaring with laughter, while your human (or otherwise) companions watch in horrified fascination.

What does your character think and feel? Are they instantly regretting their decision? Trying to act tough to impress the Klingons? Or maybe plotting revenge against the friend who suggested it in the first place? Or maybe they actually like it?

Criteria

  • Stories can either be submitted through the BFMS (your entry should link to that story) or input in the text box.
  • Stories should be between 250 and 500 words.
  • Stories will be graded using the Bravo Fleet Fiction Rubric, which marks on the following criteria: Language, Style, & Mechanics; Adherence to Canon; Perspective; Characterization; Originality; Use of the Prompt.
  • Stories must be written during the competition period and should not be a reuse of an existing story. Stories written before or after the competition begins will be disqualified. The BFMS publication date will be used.
  • The story must be a single author post in BFMS and not a joint post with another author.

Winners

Submissions

User ID Content Date Entry
James MacLeod 653

First Sip

The Klingon outpost clung to the edge of a jagged mountain range on a distant world in the Beta Quadrant, its stone-and-metal walls battered by the harsh winds of a blood-red sky. Inside, the great hall roared with life, filled with the pounding of fists, the clash of blades, and the booming laughter of warriors celebrating survival. Captain Marcus Kane, Commanding Officer of the Ulysses, sat at the central table, surrounded by hulking Klingon warriors, their battle-worn armor glinting in the torchlight. His red Starfleet uniform was a stark contrast to the dark, scarred décor of the hall, and the eyes of every warrior in the room were on him as he lifted the heavy, ironclad mug. "Bloodwine," Kane muttered, raising the mug. His voice carried over the noise, sharp as a disruptor. "Let's see if it lives up to the hype."

The first sip was pure fire. The liquid hit his tongue like molten lava laced with raw rage, tearing down his throat and igniting his chest. It was a flavor that defied logic—a brutal mix of molten metal, scorched spice, and something that might have been engine oil. His gut clenched as the burn spread, but Kane didn't flinch. He set the mug down with a deliberate thunk while locking eyes with the Klingon outpost commander.

"That's it?" Kane rasped with gravelly but steady voice. His jaw tightened as the fire raged within, but outwardly, he was all steel. "I've had warp plasma leaks with more kick."

The room exploded in laughter. Klingons pounded the table, their roars of approval shaking the air. The commander threw his head back, laughing. "The human lives! But does he thrive?"

Kane shot him a glare that could have melted duranium. "You call this a drink? I've tasted stronger from a malfunctioning replicator!"

The Klingons erupted in howls, some slamming their mugs against the table in pure glee. The commander grinned wide, his sharp teeth flashing in the torchlight. "You have fire, human. But one sip does not make you a warrior. Drink again!"

Kane's gut still smoldered from the first assault, but his pride wasn't about to let him back down. He raised the mug again, ignoring the protests from his stomach and the smirks of his officers. The second sip was worse. The burn was sharper, the acrid undertone more potent, but Kane didn't falter. He set the mug down hard and leaned forward.

"Your drink's as rough as your ships, but it's not enough to take me down!" Kane roared.

The Klingons howled with approval, pounding the table in rhythm. Kane leaned back in his chair, his face betraying nothing but confidence. Inside, his stomach churned like a warp core on the brink of failure, but he kept his composure.

As the noise reached a crescendo, Kane allowed himself a slight, cold smirk. He hadn't just survived the Klingon challenge. He'd met it head-on, and now he owned the night.

 2024-12-07 18:09:43
Jeremy L. Ryan 2796

https://bravofleet.com/story/139649/

This was a lot of fun, thank you!

 2024-12-06 16:55:12

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