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Gym: Tuesday Morning

After waking up early for a five mile run through the Preserve, Worf spent an unusual amount of time having small furry creatures attack him from above.

While he found them to be of no consequence to deal with, Worf thought it would be better to continue his exercise routine indoors in order to eliminate any more interference with his routine.

Which is why anyone entering the room would find the Klingon practicing his mok'bara forms.

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"Humiliation how?" It wasn't a subject he was unfamiliar with; it was a bully's strategy, to do it simply for humiliation's sake.

"Well.. there was the week where I was a cat," Worf said gruffly before pummeling the bag a little harder. "And the fact that my classes seem bent to keep me from my path as a warrior."

Worf had been a cat. Somehow, that should have shocked him more than it did. This island was already getting to him: maybe that had been the point. Maybe they were just setting him up to expect the unexpectable all over again.

But that wasn't the most important part-- and now he was thinking of the girl at lunch. Temari. "You're planning on being a warrior."

"I am a warrior," Worf said stopping the pummeling of the bag for a moment to give Ender his full attention. "A Klingon is considered a warrior when they are first able to pick up a blade. However... there is still much to learn."

A Klingon. So maybe the flash of something he'd caught off Worf's forehead was-- he looked back. Hm. "And you're a Klingon?" He rolled the unfamiliar word around in his mouth.

"Yes," Worf said dryly. "I assume you've never heard of us?"

"I haven't."

He wondered if all Klingons were as thoughtlessly enthusiastic in the way Worf was; he wondered what Klingons were at all.

Worf turned back to the punching bag. "We're a warrior racethat originated from the planet Qo'noS. We are one of the major powers of the galaxy, and a tradition-bound people who value honor and combat."

So another species. Worf didn't remind him of the buggers in the slightest. He looked too human, even with his funny forehead, and he talked that way too, even if his sentences had a different rhythm to them, a different slang than what he'd encountered here before.

Honour and combat, though, reminded him of Bonzo. It was a reminder he didn't need. "Good luck with that," he said. "Finding honor in combat."

"You doubt that is possible," Worf said with a volley of punches. "Why is that?"

"You can be honorable about combat," he replied, thinking of Carn Carnby, "But there's nothing honorable in it." If you fought to win, you couldn't fight with honor, and if you fought with honor--

It made him think of Bonzo too much, and he had to close his eyes for the images. "It's just the first thing we learned." Or otherwise, we'd all be dead, and the tigers would rule the Earth.

"On the contrary," Worf said pulling himself away from the punching bag and walking over to Ender, "The only thing dishonorable in battle is running away from it. The highest honor a Klingon can have is to die in battle."

"Which means you lost the battle," Ender pointed out, keeping his voice under some measure of control. He shouldn't be agitating the other like this, but on the other hand, his naivety was getting on Ender's nerves. If his friends had been soldiers who looked like children, then Worf was a child who looked like a soldier. "There's no honor in that, either. You're just dead."

"That is a human sentiment," Worf replied evenly. This wasn't the first time he debated the issue and it certainly wouldn't be the last. "To die in battle is to show your commitment to your people and your cause. If I die fighting for something I believe in, then it is a death worth having."

He tilted his head at Ender. "You speak like someone who has been in a war before."

"And what help is your commitment to your people if you're dead?" Ender asked. He was a little bit annoyed, but it just came out as level. He should be deflecting this-- Worf was straying to areas he didn't want to talk about again. "I've played games." Which weren't games.

"This is a commitment all Klingons take upon themselves when they decide to become a warrior," Worf replied. "It is a part of our life and society. It's a commitment my father took upon himself as did his father before him. My father died defending our home during an attack where I was the only survivor."

He crossed his arms and gave Ender a look. "You can understand why I think his commitment was worthwhile. And when you've learned more about a war than just playing games, then you might appreciate what I speak of."

Ender's head tilted at Worf. The pointless bravado had been irritating him before, but that irritation had gone with the wind at that particular outburst, supplaced fully with a dull kind of apathy. "And how many times have you faced battle?" he asked, his voice muted, his gaze steady. "How many times have you pulled off a strike where everyone else depended on you?"

"None," Worf admitted without shame. "But I have spent every day of my life preparing myself for such a moment. Which is more than I can say for someone who spends his time playing games and making judgments about other species."

"Prepare all you want," Ender said. That made sense, then. "I wouldn't wish it on anyone." And that was the truth.

"You hardly know what you wish," Worf said sharply. "Unless you understand what it means to be a Klingon your words have no meaning."

"You define being a Klingon by your ability to fight," he said, with a shake of his head, "So it sounds like you understand as little as I do about them."

"Be very careful what you say next," Worf growled. "I do not take insults lightly."

"I'm not going to fight you." This had been what he hadn't wanted-- he should have put his annoyance aside. "But you were making assumptions."

"I do not make assumptions about what I am," Worf said crossly. "I remember the day my parents died with every single detail. I remember being rescued from a pile of rubble by a human. Even though I was adopted by them and knowing the costs of war and I still choose this path. I did not make any assumptions. You did."

"You were making assumptions about me," he clarified, "And about what it's like to be in battle. A lot of the time, it's not worth it."

Gym: Tuesday Morning

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