nexus_sages | (no subject)

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James T. Kirk absolutely loves marketplaces.

It's not necessarily because he's looking for anything, per se, although he does often keep an eye out for interesting books to add to his collection, or maybe a bottle of some kind of exotic alcohol, or some kind of pointless alien gizmo with which to annoy Spock with its purposeless existence. No, he just loves the sheer diversity each bazaar brings to the table.

No two markets have ever been alike, in his experience. Sure, it's not quite as exciting and mysterious as exploring deep space, but it's something of a microcosm of the same, all sorts of goods and cultures thrown into close quarters, and one never knows what one might find just down the street.

His shipboard gold uniform may stand out a bit in the crowd as he meanders along, a faint smile on his face as he leans in to examine someone's wares on display, just enjoying being out and about in the fresh air.

[OOC: Retconning Jim eating bacon in this thread. Hadn't fully considered some of the elements in his backstory at the time.]

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"First time," he affirms, lifting the plum to his nose to smell it. Not as fragrant as his preferred kind of apple, but pleasant enough to hint at the flavor, and he digs in his pockets to find something worth trading for. His 'fleet account is probably no good here, after all, and he can hardly barter away his communicator if he wants to get back to the ship in one piece. "I've done the alien market thing before, but it doesn't win points for consistency from planet to planet."

Oh, people take all kinds of money here. Probably including Starfleet credits, in places with the equipment to do electronic banking. But this time he's in luck, the plum is paid for. Verity is not the nicest person he's likely to meet around here, but she remembers how much little things like this meant when she first arrived.

"If everything was the same everywhere, there would be nothing to discover." A few gourds that look like small teal pumpkins are added to her basket before she shifts it, intending to move on. "And if that were the case, lots of people would be terribly disappointed. You looking for anything in particular?"

He flashes a genuine smile of thanks when he realizes what she's done, and takes a bite of the fruit, swiping at the juice that threatens to run down his chin. It's pretty good, he has to admit.

"Not really," Jim says, once his mouth isn't full. He may have been raised on a farm, but he likes to at least act like he has manners sometimes. "I like to try new things whenever I can, so whatever I haven't seen before, mostly. Plus it can be fun to watch my CMO's face whenever he finds out what I've been eating."

That is just the right kind of thanks to give her. She accepts it with a nod, then gives him a moment to enjoy the fruit.

Manners help. If nothing else, they're a great way to put people at ease before shaking things up. She appreciates the effort. "CMO... chief medical officer?" Obviously not a military girl here. "Oh, I'm sure we can find all sorts of things to make him worry. Or you could just lick something, save time."

"That's right." If she's not military, it's a damn good guess, regardless.

Though he has to laugh a little at her suggestion. "I could, but that'd be the boring way to do it. Seriously though, anything fresh is a treat after weeks of reconstituted rations." As if evident by the way he's savoring every bite of the plum, until there's nothing left but the pit.

"Depends what you're licking," she points out with a smirk. She's not volunteering, but there are plenty of people who would. The box is shifted again until the weight settles more comfortably on her hip for walking. Her look invites him to come along if he'd like. "There's plenty of fresh food here. Straight from the farm, or take out, or somewhere in between. Would you rather bring home a bounty, or get samples for your doctor to test before feasting?"

He does a double-take, a somewhat delighted grin spreading across his face. Doesn't matter if it's a serious offer or not; he appreciates the sense of humor behind it, and the sentiment it expresses. "True enough."

He pitches the plum pit into the nearest trash receptacle and sucks the lingering juice off his fingers, perhaps not as dirtily as he once might've, and takes a few steps closer, enough to non-verbally indicate his willingness to trail along. "I'm fine with stocking up now, as long as I don't end up with more than I can use before it spoils." Jim absolutely abhors food waste to a truly drastic extent, though he hides it pretty well.

Every now and then, she manages a joke. It's about as rare as her lies. But once he starts grinning, so does she. Smiles are the best kind of contagious.

"Then I'll be happy to help you find things that are safe for human consumption." So many people in the crowd aren't, but that's not so unusual to him anymore is it? Some of the wares, however enticing their look or scent, are skipped over. Probably for good reason. "How many people are you looking to feed? I'm sure we can manage to rein ourselves in, you can always come back for more."

He gives that some thought. He hadn't seriously considered stocking the Enterprise's fresh food stores here, if only because the logistics would be a nightmare, and it'd probably lead to enough wasted food not to make it worth it to him. But he also doesn't want to be the greedy asshole that says 'just me.'

"Probably two, unless someone around here sells Vulcan foodstuffs, then it'd be three." He says the second part a little belatedly, as it occurs to him that Spock would never say he was missing food from home. It wouldn't be logical and all that.

"My name's Jim Kirk, by the way," he adds. Their conversation's gone beyond a simple fruit recommendation, and it seems weird to keep going with the 'hey you' method of address when a random stranger has offered to take time out of her day to help him out.

"Vulcan?" The word doesn't seem to register with her, but that doesn't mean she's ruling it out. "We can check." Once she has a free hand. Crowds, groceries, and a phone are a recipe for disaster. But there are benches at regular intervals, it won't be too long before she's got a place to put things down.

"Verity Willis." She gives him a smile with her name. Once the basket's set down she offers a hand. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too." Jim's handshake is firm but not handcrushing, and he's pretty happy that most of the people he's met so far have stuck with familiar customs like these, because navigating completely alien societies is interesting but hard sometimes, and it's nice to go on cultural autopilot for a bit.

"So, where do we start?"

Not having her hand crushed is a good end to a greeting. The familiarity of social ritual is sometimes the only comfort to be found in a strange place. These little things were her lifeline once, and sometimes still are. Once her hand is free for it, she pulls out her phone. "We start with the Internet. 'Vulcan', right?"

Tap tap tap. "Um... we're not talking a god, are we?"

It is so weird to be around humans who've never heard of Vulcans, but she's not the only one, so he does a decent job not laughing at the question, containing his amusement in a small smile. "No, they're a humanoid species. Pointed ears, green blood, a bit too obsessed with logic."

He is a bit curious with her use of the word 'internet,' however, peering at the screen of her handheld device. It's not a padd, not quite, but it's similar enough that he can tell she's accessing some kind of digital database.

"Oh." And then, "Oh." Okay then. A bit more tapping while she tries to contain her own smile. A few things make more sense now.

When she notices him leaning over to watch she shifts her weight slightly and tilts the screen so he can see what she's doing. It's not the fanciest tech she owns, but there's something comforting about the StarkPhone she's had all this time... Looks like she's getting directions. They are here and something tagged as Vulcan is over there. "Do you have things like this where you're from?"

"Maybe," he says, smiling slightly in thanks for her accommodating his curiosity. "It looks like a datapadd, but smaller." And less advanced, but he can't think of a polite way to say so. "Is the internet a subspace-accessible database?"

For a 21st-century pleb, she's learned a fair bit of future-tech jargon. Like 'subspace'. "Well, where I came from, it was mostly just Earthbound. People didn't go out in space much unless they were superheroes, or villains. Or abducted. Lots of not human-rights-friendly aliens... but it probably would have grown. It's a sort of a shared database, though, computers all over connected and sharing information. The 'net here is a little..."

She pauses, hums thoughtfully, then shrugs. "Wonky."

He grins a little. "'Wonky' works for me. Seems to fit this whole place."

"That's a good word for it," she concedes with an unhidden fondness. For all that it is what it is, it's somehow her kind of wonky. The groceries are collected again and she turns toward their new destination. "I suppose military types don't much like things that can't be categorized and codified, huh?"

In her defense, they obviously didn't have Starfleet back home. Not for realsies, anyway. SHIELD may have been close in some ways, but... they weren't exactly her favorite people.

"Not military. Even worse. I have a ship full of scientists," he says, resisting the urge to laugh too much. "Categorizing is what they do."

He follows along, though of course he can't quite avoid a little bit of rubbernecking as they go, as long as it doesn't make him fall behind.

"A ship full of scientists?" Verity's smile holds no laughter or mocking at that idea. "Sounds nice," she adds sincerely. "I'd like that kind of traveling I think."

Verity's pace leaves plenty of time for looking around, both because of the crowds to navigate and her knowing about that urge. Truth be told, one or two things will be new to her, too, and she'll stop to examine them. Some stalls she walks past more quickly--Jim might recognize the rhythm of the patter as the hucksters try to pawn off their knockoffs and illicit goods as genuine.

Their destination is obvious when they turn onto the street, standing out amongst its neighbors plucked from Interwar Paris and Victorian London. Verity slows when she sees it and waits for Jim to do the same. "This look like the right kinda place?"

"Exploring strange new worlds and civilizations," he says with a grin, and to anyone familiar with the type, there's a look in his eye that speaks to a wanderlust, and a passion to seek out the unknown out among the stars. "There's so much out there and we haven't even scratched the surface."

Some of the languages may not be familiar enough for his universal translator implant to pick up on, but one constant of the multiverse seems to be pushy sales people, and Jim puts on a charming grin and shakes his head whenever one of the merchants tries to get a little too enthusiastic about hawking their wares at him.

And once they arrive at their destination, he looks it over with a critical eye. He's never been to Vulcan itself, not unless you count the stratosphere, so he's not entirely familiar with their architecture. But this structure certainly looks like their style, carved out of reddish stone, the entrance flanked by two laser-cut statues of humanoids with pointed ears. "Yeah, I'd say so."

She's seen that kind of look in people's eyes before. The people who yearn for knowledge and adventure, who can't sit still or stay in one place for long. The lucky ones for whom home is wherever they find themselves today. "There is. Especially once you factor in interdimensional travel. Is that part of your mission?"

If he came here on purpose, all the better for him. It may even have prepared him for some of the weirdness. And if not... well. Most people learn to adapt eventually.

While he studies the facade, she does the same. It's an interesting aesthetic. Simple, almost organic, but with such realistic statues clearly carved with advanced tech. An interesting mix. She smiles when he decrees it acceptable. "Then let's go see what they have. I'm sure we can find something your friend will like."

He chuckles a little in response to her question, though he's not laughing at her. "In spirit, probably. Letter, not so much. I don't think Starfleet honestly considered alternate universes until fairly recently, so there's no official policy yet." He'd be very surprised if nothing was in the works, though. Not after Nero, and Ambassador Spock.

He heads inside, and immediately takes note of the familiar scent of incense, traces of sandalwood and rose, or close enough. Jim has noticed the same smell in Spock's quarters, or lingering on his first officer's clothing, further cementing his certainty that they're in the right kind of place. It's not just food items on offer, but a diverse mix of cultural goods, ranging from pottery to cloth robes to cutlery.

Lucky for him, she can tell the difference, so she'll just enjoy the little thrill of having made someone laugh. "If scientists and sorcerers waited for official policy to catch up, we'd still be wondering where fire comes from. I'm sorry for all the paperwork this is going to mean for you."

She likes paperwork. But she has a feeling he doesn't, most people don't.

The scent of incense washes over her and she breathes deep. It's almost familiar, and whatever it is she finds it relaxing. If it's for sale, some is going home with her. Her gaze drifts over the various goods for sale before resting on Jim for a moment, checking that he's sure he's in the right place. As long as he's content to look around, she will too. A little adventure wouldn't hurt her.

Jim grins in reply, shrugging his shoulders. "It's fine. No policy means no official paperwork, either, so hopefully it won't be too bad."

Her glance in his direction, and its unspoken question, is answered with a small nod. "I don't know what half this stuff is," he admits, nodding towards some of the more obscure items on offer. "But it's definitely Vulcan."

He doesn't go straight for the food, deciding instead to take his time and browse a little. You never know what you'll find, after all, and there just might be something else worthy of gifting to Spock hiding among the shop's wares. Especially with this sort of variety. There are indeed incense sticks and cones available for purchase, of several different varieties, as well as meditative candles and oil lamps, and ceremonial gongs and chimes. A small collection of alien weaponry dominates one shelf, including a long braided cord that looks sort of like an old-fashioned sling, and a short pole with a fan-shaped blade on one end and a rounded weight on the other. Jim's attention is almost immediately snared by a shelf full of books, however, tracing his fingers over desert-baked leather bindings, their covers marked with a looping alien calligraphy.