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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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The book's interior might prove a little disappointing; while there are diagrams, it isn't written in English, and might not be in any language the Federation's universal translators have seen. Then again, the puzzle might only add to its allure. In any case, Shade-Seeker seems to approve of the demeanor of a fellow bibliophile.

"Digital? You write in numbers? Or--is this a matter of one of the magic glass tablets, which hold libraries and mustn't be dropped?"

Jim has to suppress a faint chuckle, imagining the look on Uhura's face if he was to ask her to translate the book for him, especially once she figures out what it is. Jim himself was the treasurer of the xenolinguistics club at the Academy, but his specialization lies elsewhere. "I might need a alchemy-to-english dictionary," he says instead with a small grin.

Oh, he can see how his words could be mistaken. "The second," he clarifies. "It saves a hell of a lot of storage space, and it's usually more convenient. That being said, when it comes to the pleasure of reading, you can't beat a real paper book."

"Ah. I have other books in Tamrielic," Shade-Seeker admits, "but none in your English."

"I have seen the little glass tablets. After hauling a satchel full of books from one end of the province to another, a glance is enough to persuade me of their convenience. But I agree, there is a certain pleasure in the weight of a familiar tome, the way it opens to just the page you seek, that you have sought so often before. The tablets are tools, and fine ones, but a book is a friend."

Tamrielic... well, putting a name to the script doesn't make it any easier to read, but it's nice to have a label for it. "Can you read English? I can get our literature in any language of the Federation, but I'm afraid Tamrielic isn't one of them." Still, he pages through the book, looking over the diagrams and appreciating the effort it took to write this much by hand. And in old-style ink, by the looks of it.

"Don't forget the smell," he adds, in absolute agreement of the tactile advantages of good ol' books. "I've got a crate of classics I inherited from my grandfather, and every time I crack one open, it's like it takes me back to being a kid again."

"I have a magic amulet--a different world's magic than my own--which gives me the languages I do not know," he answers, patting a little pendant. And yes, Jim, the book was written by hand, with ink that was ground and mixed and made by hand, on paper that was pulped and pressed and cut by hand (okay, they probably used a blade for the cutting). There are even tiny notes in the margins here and there in a different, tidy hand.

"The smell? I did not think humans noticed smell, so much," he admits. "But yes, every book has a story for the nose as well as the eyes."

"Well, that's handy." On the one hand, Jim is sure Uhura would love a trinket like that. On the other hand, she's studied her ass off to get where she is now, and she might not appreciate such an extreme shortcut rendering all that hard work moot.

"It's not one of our stronger senses," the captain agrees, "but it's actually pretty closely tied to memory recall in humans. Sometimes that's not a good thing, but we can't really help it."

"Indeed. It has led to some enlightening reading on excursions to Ayleid ruins, although I must be wary not to share my discoveries too freely, too swiftly." Ah, the double-edged sword of the universal translator, whether magic or technological.

"Indeed? I shall bear that in mind, should I ever have students of my own. Thank you for the insight."

"Because you don't want people to know you've got that," Jim asks, nodding towards the amulet, "or do your people have a Prime Directive? In the Federation, we have a law that says we're not allowed to interfere with the natural development of any culture that isn't prepared for it." It's a somewhat edited version of the Prime Directive, naturally, but Jim is pretty sure he's going to be dancing all around the damn law the whole time he's here, and Starfleet isn't here to watch him do it.

He closes the book, careful not to fold over any of the pages in the process, and hands it back to Shade-Seeker. There's not much sense in hanging onto it if he can't read it, naturally. "Are humans common, where you're from?"

"It is not a law, as such, but my world currently faces an incursion by an army from Oblivion--I would not like to gift that enemy the keys to this place, nor do I feel most people of the Empire would be well-matched to this place. I, too, have seen the harm that may be wrought by knowledge before wisdom."

Shade-Seeker murmurs thanks as he receives the book, tucking it back into his bag. "Oh, yes, there are many men, and many mer, and the Khajiiti and my own people, the Saxhleel, whom humans call Argonians. That is on Tamriel, alone. One hears stories of other folk, on other continents." Isn't he just a font of exposition? Must be contagious, where he's from.

"Makes sense," Jim agrees, nodding. He doesn't want to picture what kind of havoc could result from the Klingons finding this place. Or the Romulans.

He'd been assuming that Tamriel was a planet, so the fact that it's just a continent comes as a surprise to him. "Your planet has that many indigenous sapients?"

"Yours does not?" comes the curious reply. "Is it only yourselves and the Andorians?"

The captain shakes his head, just now starting to realize how shocking this kind of news could be to someone in Shade-Seeker's position. "Humans are the only sapients native to Earth," he says, trying to figure out how to ease into the subject. Eh, fuck it. "The United Federation of Planets contains hundreds of species, spread out over a thousand worlds. Earth's kind of turned into a multicultural hub over the last century, since it's where the seat of government and Starfleet Headquarters are."

At the least, Shade-Seeker approaches it as an academic, intrigued rather than disturbed by the differences. "Interesting. I wonder, is it the greater prevalence of magic in Mundus--if, indeed, magic is more prevalent there, and has not simply been somehow overlooked in your world--or some other factor which leads to greater diversity?"

"Beats the heck out of me, but it's kinda interesting to think about, now that you've brought it up." And God knows how they'd ever come to a conclusion on the subject, but at least his new lizard-man friend is looking at it constructively, which Jim appreciates. "Exploring the unknown is kind of what we do, so we're coming across new planets and people all the time. We probably haven't even scratched the surface."

Shade-Seeker is very good at handling situations constructively. "A refreshing thought, that learning might be so boundless. I wonder, though, how do you meet these people, if you are forbidden to interact with them?"

Jim considers how to best answer that, especially when he thinks the Prime Directive shouldn't always be so goddamn absolute. "It's kind of a sliding scale of 'how advanced are you?' Generally we try not to make first contact unless a species is advanced enough to be warp-capable, or close to it." Right, duh, Shade-Seeker won't know what that is. "Warp drive is what lets a starship cross vast distances in a short amount of time. If we were stuck with only sublight speeds, it'd take thousands if not millions of years to get anywhere."

"Thousands of years?" Shade-Seeker is duly astonished. "Such distances must be vast, indeed. Your realm must be far larger than Mundus."

"Oh yeah, it's pretty nuts how big space is. Just our galaxy alone is a hundred thousand lightyears across, and even at maximum warp, it'd take decades to go from one side to the other." Boundless learning indeed.

"That sounds much larger than Mundus. Your gods must be either very powerful, or very numerous." Shade-Seeker pauses for a moment, catching a look from one of the waitstaff, and nudges a menu in Kirk's direction. "We might do well to order something," he suggests, taking up one of his own.

At least the menus self-translate?

That's a great idea, and a fantastic excuse not to respond to the remark about gods. Religion isn't a taboo subject or anything, and there are lots of cultures in the Federation who still worship various deities, but trying to explain such a thing is a can of worms that Jim would rather leave for a later date.

"Good idea," he says, throwing an apologetic grin towards the satyr in question. He's pleased to find the menu quite readable, and though he doesn't recognize every item on offer, there's enough familiarity there to easily decide on something to order. It's been a while since he's had a real mocha, not just synthesized black coffee, and because Bones isn't here to tell him no and bitch about the unhealthiness of it all, he'll get a maple bacon muffin to boot.

The culture clash might be inevitable. When their server comes by, Shade-Seeker orders a bowl of some kind of soup and a cup of something called "akh." "I have often heard sailors complain of the dull food on long voyages; I can only imagine it must be worse, with the distances your people travel?"

"It can be," Jim answers, carefully thinking over how he wants to answer this. "We have a kind of technology that preserves food for a hell of a long time, but reconstituted anything never tastes the same as the fresh stuff. Still, it's way better than hardtack and salt beef or whatever, so I guess I can't complain." His grin this time isn't quite as sunny as the previous ones, though it'd take someone with lots of experience in interpreting human facial expressions to tell.

"Anyone can complain," Shade-Seeker counters. "Nothing is improved until someone looks about themselves and finds a fault. The key is to complain constructively, yes?"

"Y'know, that's a great way of looking at it." The real smile's back now, and he leans back a little in his chair, fairly relaxed. "I know a few people who should take that lesson to heart."

Shade-Seeker leans back as well, a hint of a smirk (maybe?) tugging at his lips. "Perhaps you should tell them--in the spirit of it."