Ehhhh, her name's got like fuckin apostrophes in it because of course it does. It's like Rag'nar or Klep't'har or some shit and she talks like some high-toned 1930's dame. Like THAT'S gonna make you overlook the forehead. Anyway, this one's teeth are straight so Worf blew a wad of acid up inside her back in the day.
(Welcome to life on the D, Alexander! You're gonna love the daycare.)
Oh SNAP, those gang-bangers knifed her shit UP! And she had that music scholarship and everything! She was gonna make it out of this fuckin town.
(That mauve ottoman is ruined, btw. RUINED. Who do you think PAYS for that? Does it get Fabrezed and then dumped in some Bajoran ensign's cabin?)
Aww, that's nice, see now they can have a nice heart-to-heart about grief and loss and--
"POF'TA'FA-HAAARRRRRRRRGGGGHHHH!!! YOU DIE NOW!"
...No, it's, it's cool, Worf, it's like your cultural heritage and shit. I mean, who are WE to judge?
I only have to LIVE in the apartment next to yours and hear your weird-ass chanting and blade-fighting in the middle of the night. But I'm not racist.
I'm just sayin. Deck 17 USED to be a nice place to live.