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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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.

"So you get all the credit for a discovery and none of the paperwork? That's a pretty good deal." Ver's answering grin has a good deal of smirk in it. Not that she blames him for preferring the easy way out on this. There's more time for exploring then.

"It's a start." He's an explorer. Ver's sure he'll figure it out.

The weaponry doesn't much interest her, outside of an idle wondering whether Samus knows how to use these things (and a deep understanding that if Verity brought any to their training sessions she would be taught how to use them too). She picks up two small cones of incense and sets them on the counter, in the universal language of 'I want these but I'm still looking around'. The books get her attention, and she'll be heading over for a look when he's done; for now, she'll examine the food, particularly the spices.

"So, can you read those?"

Every type of food item is accompanied by a small, hand-written label somewhere on its respective container, and though the largest words are in the same looping script that's on the books, there are also standard English translations in smaller letters beneath. Many of the spices are native to Vulcan, though there are also a few Earth varieties on offer, like cinnamon and saffron.

As far as the other food for sale, there is no meat or dairy, or anything else that got its start as part of an animal. But there are quite a few types of fruits and vegetables, edible desert flowers, fresh-baked spiced breads, and several kinds of loose leaf tea in hermetically-sealed containers.

"To a degree," Jim answers her, as he takes one of the books off the shelf and carefully opens it, skimming over the lines of text inside. "I'm more fluent in conversational Vulcan than any of the technical stuff, but I can generally tell what I'm looking at."

The English translations are a nice touch, and appreciated, for all the names still mean nothing to her. But the scents and colors, those mean something. Even without tasting, a cook can learn a lot about an ingredient from observation. The Earth spices get passing glances, mostly so she knows what's considered to go well with these new Vulcan flavors. She's going to end up with quite a pile of samples. Tempting as it is to get some of everything, she can only learn about new flavors so fast. And she can come back.

"It's a gift, being good at languages. I'm not fluent in many, but a friend gave me... well, a sort of a translator, which you can imagine is very helpful in a place like this." After a moment's debate, she decides to get some of the teas. Schon will like them. "The alphabet they use here is pretty."

Jim sets the book back just how it was, and selects another, examining it just as carefully. Almost reverently, in fact. This one prompts a smile out of him too, as he recognizes the format as the kind used for pre-Reform poetry. Awesome.

"Universal translators are standard-issue, but Starfleet doesn't like relying on breakable tech with no backup," Jim says, closing the book and tucking it under one arm. He's definitely getting this one. "Especially when my crew's got probably two dozen native languages between everyone. I can get by in three other tongues besides English, and I've picked up little bits of others over the years. My communications chief speaks twenty-six fluently, because she's an overachiever." He says that in the fondest of manners, of course.

Before he steps away from the books, he takes another volume, one that he recognizes as the collected writings of Surak. Every Vulcan alive probably knows them by heart, but he has no idea how many physical copies remain, and it's worth preserving another copy of their culture's core tenets.

His reactions to the books make her wonder what they're about, but at least she knows this has been a successful trip. She can live with the curiosity.

"Twenty-six? Wow. That's got to be some kind of a record." She pauses and thinks about that before adding, "For people without cybernetic enhancements. I only learned English, high school Spanish, and about a half-dozen ways to order food and give people directions back home." Pretty standard for the time and place where she grew up.

"Your friend likes books?" She nods to the ones he's carrying, wondering if they're even for his friend anymore. No fault found if he decides to treat himself.

"At her age, probably," Jim agrees, moving over to the food to examine some of the bins of vegetables. "It's definitely not the norm for most of the 'fleet, but everyone's required to get at least one other language under their belt before graduating from the Academy. I picked up most of mine before Starfleet, though. Kind of an on-the-job sort of thing."

He glances down at the books when she asks, and gives her one of those 'yeah, I'm busted' sort of smiles. "Not as much as me. Paper books aren't really that common anymore, so I don't know how many physical copies of the Kir'Shara are left. I figure he might like something he can actually touch. The poetry's for me."