Oh Crap.
Lothar stood there for a minute, not really sure what was going on or how he had got there. He had some dim memories that were trying to assert themselves into his consciousness but his brain was rebelling; and as with all things Lothar, it was rebelling violently.
It killed the idea that he had had a child inside of him that was controlling him.
It destroyed the idea that he was currently eating a chess bishop and had won several games of chess by thinking.
And it completely annihilated the very thought of any kind of hint that there might possibly have been even the slightest chance that he had just given birth to a seven-year-old Vulcan girl that was swept away by
Storvik, his wife, and one of the doctor's clones. Not only did Lothar's brain annihilate that idea, it wanted to annihilate everything that could possibly have been a witness to the events that really really really didn't happen.
His eyes turned to the ensign that was still in his grip. Lothar grinned.
The Ensign, having never before seen a grin on Lothar, let alone had one directed at him, promptly passed out...
Above him in the Jeffries tube,
Alabama Picard was wondering what the heck was going on. Something about Lothar eating
T'Sorvik, eating a chest, and gambling. He needed to get closer to the source of the voices. Just as he got there, he received a shock...
Lothar quickly removed the pink dress, noting that he was now only wearing a very uncomfortable thong. He put the dress on the ensign and launched him into the ceiling.
Alabama was shocked, surprised, and then enthusiastic. Shocked that the impact of the ceiling directly to the skull of an ensign had not shattered it like a walnut (this was a space-faring vessel, after all); surprised that the pink dress really went well with the blood and bruising on his neck; and enthusiastic that he had finally found a winter!!!
Lothar stomped around the corridor for a minute. He wanted to kill, he wanted to hunt down the people responsible and hurt them in ways that he hadn't even thought of yet, and he wanted to sit down and discuss in full the ramifications of altering a person's dress while they were functionally immobile.
Er … What?
He stood still for a few minutes and thought about what he was just thinking. Kill, hurt, discuss. Something didn't belong. Something wasn't right, but right now he needed to find Storvik and ask him why he wanted to call him "daddy."
Lothar ripped a door from its tracks and carved a tartan pattern into it with his finger. He then fashioned a kilt for himself so that he wouldn't be trudging around the ship in just a thong. Again.
"Discuss? What was I thinking...?"