Workout (with or without claws)

Posted on Mon Apr 6th, 2026 @ 3:14pm by Lieutenant Commander Drevas & Private R’Valla
Edited on on Mon Apr 6th, 2026 @ 3:14pm

3,204 words; about a 16 minute read

Mission: Prologue
Location: Gym, USS Guinevere
Timeline: Early 2389, set after Cuts and Scrapes

The punching bag jerked on its chain as R’Valla struck low and sharp, tail counterbalancing her movement with a fluid flick. She pivoted on the balls of her digitigrade feet, then launched a follow-up elbow into the side of the bag...quick, controlled, just enough force to make it thump.

She paused. Adjusted her stance.

The gym was quiet this late, just the low hum of climate control and the occasional whirr of a treadmill that someone forgot to shut down. Good. She didn’t want an audience. Not yet. She had even tracker her new Sergeant...and he was in the holodeck, so she had time.

R’Valla moved back to center, shoulders rolling under her tawny-gold fur. The darker stripes along her limbs caught the overhead lights in sleek definition, and the thick ruff framing her face flared slightly with each sharp inhale. Her amber eyes narrowed, ears angled forward in focus.

She wasn’t here to burn off steam. Not just that. She was here to get better.

Sergeant Morven...one of those quiet, weathered types with the kind of stare that seemed to measure people in clicks and kill zones. The sort who didn’t miss much, didn’t say much, and definitely didn’t hand out second chances just because you had charm and claws. Since he had joined them, she had...found the balance. Most days. Liked it when he gave a nod that wasn't a praise but not a condemnation either.

And of course she had clipped him with her claw. Of course she had, because why not?

Control. She needed to improve her control.

R’Valla bared her teeth in a grin, more out of habit than humor.

She wanted to show him she was more than fast talk and field improvisation. She could follow form. She could work the drills. She could be sharp without stepping out of line.

Another set. Elbow. Knee. Palm strike. Tail snap. Reset.

Movement flickered in the corner of her vision, someone else stepping in, one of her ears moving to the sound of them. She breathed in through her mouth. Not human. Not Caitian.

She didn’t stop. Just called out, voice light but deliberate: “If you’re gonna judge, might as well keep count. I’m on twelve. Form’s improving.”

"No judgment, friend." Truthfully, Drevas had deliberately chosen this time of day, when the gymnasium was more quiet than other times, to work out without interruption - and, for the most part, that still held. A quiet gym with only a handful of occupants other than him was still quite nice to be in.

What he'd not expected to see upon walking through the door was the Caitian woman, who'd clearly had the same idea as him, taking out all the fury in her lithe, golden-furred body on the poor, innocent sandbag. It was absolutely her right to do so, of course, but Drevas had seen and dealt with enough people 'rage training' to know that the motivation behind such intense, focused training often came from a place of great insecurity.

In which case, what they usually actually needed was to process the emotions that ran through their head before they could consume them completely.

"Yet I couldn't help but notice that you train as if you have something to prove - or, perhaps, something you have yet to let go of." Drevas added calmly, as he trotted past her and paused at the entrance to the changing rooms. "Is everything alright? I find that at times like these, settling one's mental space before all else goes quite some way to achieving what you want."

She likely wasn't from his department. He'd never seen her around his compound. It didn't matter. A listening ear offered was just the same, regardless of the uniform it wore.

R’Valla snorted softly, not turning around just yet. "That obvious, huh?" she muttered, swiping the bag with a slow, almost lazy jab now. Her tail flicked once, then stilled. She let the silence hang for a moment. Then she glanced over her shoulder, amber eyes narrowing with curiosity more than challenge.

"You one of those quiet types who reads souls in body language, or do I just look like a walking personnel concern?" Her grin was sharp but not unkind. "Don’t worry. I’m not about to snap in the mess hall or scrawl angry poetry in my bunk." She turned more fully toward him now, ears tilted in wary interest. "You always offer counseling to strangers mid-set, or am I just that fascinating?"

"Neither, actually. I've seen it quite often, that's all. The signs are usually quite consistent." Drevas hummed. He shouldered the bag of workout clothes he'd carried with him to the gym; there was a chance this conversation might carry on a little longer than intended. Who knows.

"Every time, that person knows that they are lacking, and so they strive to do better. An arguably positive thing. Sometimes, though, they strive so hard they get lost on the journey." A smile, weary but kind, graced his craggy lips. "It is the 'sometimes' that concerns me greatly. That is all. If you'd prefer that I leave you be, I shall respect your decision."

R’Valla exhaled and stopped moving. She watched him for a moment, then shook her head slowly.

“Don’t have to leave,” she said, voice softening just a little. “Private R’Valla, Federation Ground Forces.”

She gestured toward the punch bag. “This? Just me keeping sharp. And...controlled.” She paused and looked down at her left hand, claws coming out, sharp and deadly in their own way. “Had a claw slip. Caught my Sarge.” Her ears flicked once, low. “He didn’t make a scene. Barely even reacted, honestly. But that’s not the point.” Another beat of silence, then a dry smile, half-grin, half-regret. “I hurt someone in my squad. Doesn’t matter if it was reflex. Doesn’t matter if he’s tough. It’s not who I want to be.”

Her tail twitched once, settling. “So yeah. Working on… keeping them retracted.”

Drevas hummed. So this lady was trying to prove to herself that she could be strong without being too aggressive. Something like that. And the way she'd chosen to do that was to train like she had something to prove, with her claws... well, he had no idea if they'd been sheathed the whole time, but they weren't now, and she didn't seem to have let them out just for him.

"Lieutenant Commander Drevas, Chief Tactical Officer. I understand exactly how you feel, actually. If you'll give me a moment." Drevas smiled and disappeared into the changing room, almost as if deliberately giving her the next few minutes to turn the thought over in her head.

R'Valla let out a breath, her tail twitching before she moved to the bag again. Glared at it as if it had insulted her coat or ancestry.

When Drevas next reeemerged, he'd swapped his uniform for Starfleet issue workout clothing. On his lanky frame, it looked about one or two sizes too large - but then again, when is that ever a bad thing.

"Now. Where were we. You wanted to teach yourself to keep your natural assets under control?" He asked, coolly, as he sipped from a bottle of water.

Her ears twitched, and she looked at him, head tilted to the side. “It’s what I am doing. I’m good at it. Just went too far.”

Something in his voice made her tense: too even, too smooth. Not unkind, but cool in that officer way that made her suddenly feel like she was back on parade ground footing. Tactical. Senior. Watching. Her stance shifted, shoulders squaring again. “Sir.”

"No, no. At ease. This is not an evaluation of your skill as a combatant, or your discipline." Drevas smiled kindly at her. The Federation Ground Forces types he'd met were always a bit too strung up, he'd found. It was their training, of course, and he couldn't blame her.

"Well, I'm sure you have no problem controlling your strength or your claws, miss R'Valla, but I can't help but notice that you seem unusually angry at yourself for what sounds to me like a single-instance slip that can happen to anyone." He added, putting the bottle of water aside for the time being and settling down on an empty bench. Notably, he left space for her to sit as well, with a little bit of respectful distance between them if she chose to.

"Like I said. I have seen people strive hard to become better at what they do. That is never a bad thing - until they strive so hard it consumes them." Drevas added. "I would not wish anyone, of any affiliation, to reach that point."

"I scratched my Sarge. Deep, too. Still scent his blood in the air," she said, with a small shrug. Her tail flicked once, restless. "That's what got me. He was fine with it. Barely blinked. Just took himself off to sickbay." Her ears tilted back. "But that’s not the point...Would’ve been easier if he’d chewed me out for slipping up." She sighed and dropped into a crouch, tail curling slightly behind her for balance. Her head tilted as she looked up at Drevas... studying him now, not challenging.

"Maybe this isn’t about improving. Not entirely. Maybe it’s just burning through the annoyance before it settles into something worse." She paused, then quieter added: "It’ll pass. I just... the squad matters. This position matters to me."

"I have no doubt it does. And I have equally little doubt that you will bounce back from this incident in your own way." Drevas replied coolly, crossing one leg over the other. "All I suggest is that you not let it get the better of you. That's all." Sometimes the lack of consequence was the greatest, most crushinh consequence of all. Whether her sergeant had known this and made use of the opportunity or simply walked it off out of sheer stoicism, he did not know.

"I can handle it," she said and met his eyes, her own narrowed a little. "Just takes a bit of time to...find your balance on a branch is all. You know how it is...must know how it is," she smiled, a flash of teeth.

"I do." Drevas smiled and stood up, stretching once, briefly. He wasn't there to put on a show for her after all. "I'll be here for some time more - but I'd be agreeable to continuing this conversation elsewhere afterwards if you'd like. I'd hate to keep you here."

She looked at him. Ears twitching, a decision being made in amber eyes. She stood and stretched. Considered it from every angle. "Mess," she finally said. "One hour. I'll replicate whatever you'd want to drink." It wasn't something she usually did, especially with officers. But she wasn't stupid either, talking to someone was an asset. And he seemed to have a neutral head on his shoulders.

"An hour." Drevas confirmed before slinking off to the treadmills, which he turned up to at least twice the usual human jogging speed by the looks of it. When one can run as fast as some old human cars, run-of-the mill (no pun intended) speeds must seem like a crawl by comparison.

Really, though, he saw no need to continue pressing her on the topic. He was fairly confident at this stage that she could handle herself; she'd just needed a reminder - from herself - of her purpose in coming here.

R'Valla looked at him for a moment before she nodded. And then left.

Indeed, precisely an hour later, now in a simple red and gray striped shirt and jeans (bespoke, of course, you'd probably want that too if your legs make most pants seem baggy), Drevas was waiting in the Guinevere's now not-so-busy mess hall at an empty table. He hadn't ordered. He hadn't taken out his PADD - all his work for the day had been squared away before his trip to the gym, and he liked to unplug where possible to keep things neat - choosing instead to watch the mess hall, half for R'valla, half looking out at the others.

R’Valla had claimed a corner table with the kind of playful defiance usually reserved for bar fights or poker games: tail curled around the leg of the chair, one foot propped lazily on the seat opposite hers until someone came close. Not that anyone had pushed their luck. The three squadmates she’d fended off with a low, rumbling purr and a grin full of pointed teeth had taken the hint. It had been more banter than battle—but the table was hers now, and that was the point.

She sat upright now, fatigues worn with the easy pride of someone who knew how to wear them. No extra gear tonight...just the uniform, clean and sharp, like she’d made a decision about how she wanted to be seen.

When Drevas entered, her ears flicked once, then settled. She tracked him with her eyes...not openly, but just enough to register presence. She gestured to the seat across from her. "Didn’t know what you drank, so I waited," she said simply, voice light but steady. "I can get something hot, cold, fizzy, green....whatever passes for Kelpien comfort on a Tuesday." A faint grin tugged at one side of her mouth. "Just tell me what to replicate and try not to surprise me."

"I'll have a glass of iced lemon tea." Drevas said with a smile. "You'll find that Kelpien comfort isn't quite as complicated as you think. Rest assured."

R'Valla stood. Went to get what he wanted...and for herself, chai latte.

When R'valla returned with his drink at last, he waited for her to take her seat before taking a sip. "I take it the hour between our meeting and now was... well spent?" He quipped, glancing over at her over the lip of his glass.

She smiled, nodding as she sipped hers. "Went back, sonic shower...redressed. Poked Bralk with something sharp, made Kade laugh. Then back here..." she tilted her head, her ears flickering for a moment, caught of some noise happening behind her. The refocused to him. "Squared away."

"I see that. You seem somewhat less stressed than you were in the gymnasium, at any rate." Drevas remarked with a smile. "All taken, a good sign."

"Well, then. When you aren't letting off steam in the gymnasium, what else do you do for leisure? Surely your commanders don't keep you caged like animals - even less likely now that you're sitting across from me." He added.

"They could try... but they wouldn’t succeed," she said, then paused, a soft noise escaping her...thoughtful, not dismissive. "I like keeping busy. Holodeck time, mostly. Rock climbing sims. Anything vertical and a little bit dangerous." A brief flash of teeth, then: "Not big on swimming."

She sipped her chai, eyes on him now, open but unreadable. "Or I read. Trashy stuff, mostly. Romance novels. Total fluff." A shrug. "The opposite of my life. Or sometimes historical fiction. Something that’s already finished, you know?"

Drevas listened in silence, nodding at appropriate times. Something told him that R'Valla had enlisted with the Federation Ground Forces for that exact reason - to bring some semblance of action to her life. Something something Mazlowe's Hierarchy of Needs. Maybe.

"I know exactly how you feel." Drevas said, softly, when all was said and done. "I am quite partial to programs of that nature myself, in fact. You shall have no judgement from me on that front."

"I've learned that life does not need to be interesting and full of action to be fulfilling. When one does what they like to occupy their time, and in so doing benefits the others around them, the question then becomes 'why not?'" He added, with a chuckle. "In that case, what's a little playful pretend?"

R’Valla’s ears tipped forward as she chuckled, the sound low and warm. Her tail curled loosely around one leg of the chair, the tip flicking in a slow, thoughtful rhythm. "A little playful pretend makes the galaxy seem far less cold," she said, leaning in just enough to rest her forearms on the table, mirroring the way he sat. Her head tilted to one side, amber eyes fixed on him with a watchfulness that was more curious than cautious. She took a slow sip of her chai, letting the warmth roll through her before setting the cup down with deliberate care. A faint grin lingered at the corner of her mouth. "What other hobbies do you have?"

"I read, and use the gymnasium if I can." Sendentary life was no joke. Now that Drevas was a department head, many times the inordinate pile of administration that formed a great deal of his daily schedule swallowed most of his attention. He had to do something to keep his brain alive - and those, along with actively participating in the drills he and his crew practised, were just a handful of the ways he kept his mind running.

"I also prepare and cook my own meals, if I can. I quite like steaks and other dishes of the sort." He declined to mention the number of dishes he'd learned to make from Japan, too - curse you, Japanese cuisine addiction! The food from that region of Earth was often simple, flavorful and soul-warminf - and healthy! What wasn't to like?

R'Valla considered it for a moment before she nodded, considering it. She had never prepared a meal for herself in that sense. Helped her father on occasion, but it had never been something she actively liked. "Honestly, emergency combat rations or replicator tends to be as advanced as I get on the cooking front. I usually let Voss sort that out for me," the smile she gave was wicked, playful... she had managed to delegate the mundane task of reheating rations on long field drills to another squadmate.

"They won't always be around; at some point you'll have to learn." Drevas quipped in response. "I do believe you'll gain much more respect from everyone else around you when you do."

"I could teach you, if you are so inclined. Cooking doesn't need to be complicated at all, as you'll learn." He offered. "It can be progressive - a sentiment I'm sure you and your comrades are familiar with."

"I mean...you can try," R'Valla said with a flick of her tail and a smile. "But you'll have to make it a protein heavy meal...it's less of a choice with me and more survival..."

"Of course. We shall try our best. How about... this weekend. 1900 hours, on the holodeck?" Drevas suggested with a smile. "Come in something comfortable."

"I'm always comfortable," she said but gave a nod of acceptance. "Sounds good. Thanks."

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