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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 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."

Jim chuckles, just imagining how that would go. "Heh, Bones would love that. Complaining isn't so much his hobby as it is his favorite sport."

"Does he leave it at complaints?" Shade-Seeker asks wryly, "or does he move on to improvement once he's made them?" He can infer, at least, that Bones is a friend of Jim's, and probably not a necromancer or animate skeleton of some kind.

"Depends on what he's bitching about. There's not much he can do about the fact that we're 'flying around in the vacuum of space in a goddamn over-sized tin can,'" he says with a chuckle, briefly imitating his good friend's thicker Georgian accent. "But if he's complaining about how me or some other member of the crew's gotten ourselves hurt, there's no one I'd rather have patching me up."

"'Not much he can do'?" Shade-Seeker echoes skeptically. "If he worries for the soundness of your vessel, why not heed him? Why not set him the task of anticipating those things which might befall, and preparing for them? Preventing what can be prevented, and mitigating as much as possible what cannot? Why not let him set his mind at ease? I have yet to see a thing so safe that it could not be made safer still."

"Oh, we've done that already. There's shielding and force-fields, not to mention the hull plating. Do people have phobias, where you're from? Irrational fears that aren't really based in reality?"

"We do," Shade-Seeker answers, pausing as the waiter delivers their drinks; his soup has a fair bit in common with chili--it smells nicely spicy, for fans of hot foods, and eye-wateringly pungent to those with a milder palate. The akh looks like a foam-topped cappuccino, and smells like a fresh-baked cinnamon roll. "But in my experience, even an irrational fear may be addressed rationally. While idle, your friend can only sit and fret--but give him this task, and he will have peace of mind. What should happen if your shielding, your force-fields, your hull plates, all fail? What is the next line between the crew and death?"

The robed shoulders rise in a shrug. "The ship becomes more safe, and your friend gains, if not lasting peace of mind, then at least the reprieve of an engaging task, and the knowledge that he has done all he is able. In dark times, such small comforts can be worth much, I find."

Jim's muffin isn't quite as fragrant, but it's got bacon in it, so as far as he's concerned, it tastes fantastic. And he is quite curious about Shade-Seeker's chosen meal, because boy howdy does that smell spicy. Good God.

He sips at his mocha while he considers how to answer. "I don't disagree with anything you've said," he decides at last. "Your argument's a sound one. And even though I'm the captain, Starfleet isn't military or a dictatorship or anything, so he's more than welcome to suggest additional safety measures for the ship. But that's where the constructional part of the complaining comes in, doesn't it? He tends to get too obsessed with the 'what ifs' to think about the 'what could be' part."

Shade-Seeker tucks into his soup with every sign of enjoyment, seemingly untroubled by the heat. He's one of those chili people, apparently.

"Which is why I suggest you give him the task," he advises, gesturing for emphasis with his cup. "He is free to suggest, of course, but he is grappling with irrationality--he needs a point of stability on which to focus, that he may bring the rest of his cosmos into order."

"Might not be that easy, but I guess there's no harm in trying." Jim's fairly skeptical that Bones will be able to come up with anything helpful, but what the hell. "He's done all right coping so far. I think it helps when he's got people to fix."

He might just do things like put a basic set of medical supplies in every room, under every (explosive) console, and at every hallway intersection, and set up basic first-aid training for everyone in the crew, but that's still at least a few cases a year of someone not dying because medical help or supplies were far away when the ship got shot.

Shade-Seeker listens to Jim's description of his friend with a triumphant smile. "There, you see? You prove my point: when he has a task on which to focus, he is better--when he has no task, he complains, because that is a task toward which his fear drives him. Give him the next step, and he will seize on it with tenacity, I am certain."

"Oh no, he still complains even when he's healing people," Jim says with a grin. "But he's a hell of a lot happier about it."

The captain takes a bite out of his muffin, enjoying that fresh-baked taste that synthesized food just doesn't get. "Speaking of which, mind if I ask how that healing spell thing works?"