nexus_sages | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

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.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

That can happen. How panicked is your crew, right now, that you've disappeared unexpectedly?

Welp. He hadn't really thought about that too much until just now. Not really. "If they know I'm gone, a lot. Someone here's said that doesn't always happen, that time can stop while you're gone sometimes, so here's hoping. Otherwise I don't even know how the hell to explain this without sounding nuts."

*Does she enjoy dropping a little worry into Jim's lap? Maybe a bit.*

How would you explain anything strange?

He shrugs a little, uncertainly. "Depends on how believable it is. There's a world of difference between 'I met Spock from the future' and 'I opened a door and went to Narnia.'"

Oh, you've been to Narnia already? You should be careful--it can be hard enough finding the way back to your own door, but getting lost in another Facet...

*She shakes her head, then returns to the subject at hand.*

Do things tend to be more believable with proof? And, while you're thinking on that, how many of your people do you think are ready for pandimensional thinking?

He was being facetious, but finding out that Narnia is around here somewhere honestly comes as no surprise at this point. "Noted."

"Proof tends to be pretty helpful when you're in charge of a boatload of scientists," he says with a wry grin. "But seriously, I kinda hope I don't have to explain it, because dealing with one alternate reality was enough trouble."

*That gets a raised brow.*

You've dealt with other Facets before?

Jim just nods a bit. "Yeah, future Spock wasn't the only one to come back in time, and the other guy changed a lot." His tone is deceptively casual, mostly because every time he starts seriously reflecting on that Romulan bastard and the future that Jim could have had, he still gets fairly upset. It's the stupidest fucking thing, really.

*She gives a sympathetic wince.*

Time travel. My sympathies. I'd ask what happened, but...

*She trails off, letting some things remain unsaid.*

"Probably for the best," Jim agrees, grimacing slightly. "It's a long story." And not a pleasant one, naturally.

The hard ones always are, and you've seen death recently. What's your preferred remedy?

"Still trying to figure that out," he admits, not wondering how she'd know how rough they've had it. Anyone familiar with his universe, his timeline, would find it obvious. "I used to go get really wasted and find someone to fight over something stupid and trivial, but I'm a captain now, so it doesn't really work." There's a somewhat self-deprecating smile attached to that statement.

*She doesn't need to be familiar with his universe to recognize the signs of trauma.*

Well, I'm not one for drink, but I've got time to spar.

*A smirk touches her lips, and a teasing note enters her voice.*

And it'd hardly be fair of me to fight you anything less than sober.

He perks up a bit at that. Getting a straight-up offer to spar, and from someone this easy on the eyes? Sold. "I thought this place doesn't allow violence."

It does if all parties consent. There's a good spot in the Gardens, not far from here, if you're up for it.

"Absolutely. Sign me up." He grins at her, and even though he knows damn well that he won't be able to really tell how strong she is until they start the actual match, he can't help sizing her up on reflex.

This way.

*Her skin-tight garment does Jim a favor there, highlighting a lean, athletic build that flows with a grace usually found in professional acrobats and predatory cats. Slight movements of her head give signs of the constant track of her gaze, side to side, up, down, steadily assessing every part of her surroundings. Her stride is quick and confident, but her feet seem to avoid noisy obstacles almost by reflex--even strolling a thoroughfare she seems almost to stalk, crunching on the occasional piece of her snack as she goes.*

*The shops and bustling streets soon give way to wide lawns and groves of trees, gardens of statuary and arranged flowers. Samus' destination is a grassy patch shaded by several trees, including one with a bench encircling its trunk. She places the remains of her toasted grasshopper there before stepping away to limber up.*

So. I'm guessing you've got some kind of training?

Jim strips off his gold uniform top, though he decides to keep the long-sleeve black undershirt on, and begins a few warm-up stretches himself. His motions aren't quite as predatory as Samus', but he's not a complete amateur either. "Some. I've done a bit of boxing and Spock's been teaching me some Vulcan moves. No teacher like experience, though," he adds.

From what he's seen so far, he's fairly certain he'd be outmatched in a fair fight. She walks like she does this a lot, compared to him anyway. But far be it from Jim to turn down a challenge this interesting.

That depends on how closely the student pays attention.

*When she thinks Kirk has had enough time to stretch, she turns to him, taking a casual ready stance. Is she teasing him? Underestimating him? Time will tell--but she seems to expect a conversation while they spar, as she poses a question.*

You went to a military academy, and they didn't teach you how to fight?

Jim easily slips into his own defensive stance, hands loosely curled and up near his face, and he smiles a little, showing teeth. "Like I said. No teacher like experience. I was the assistant instructor in advanced hand-to-hand my first year."

Whether or not that'll help him has yet to be seen, but no matter the answer, he's keen to find out.

"Assistant instructor," is that like "ambulatory practice dummy?"

*She flashes a smile of her own and throws a couple quick jabs--testing his guard, his reactions.*

"Could be," he agrees. He ducks and weaves, his moves very much like a boxer's, but the open-handed palm strike he throws her way is most certainly not. His reactions are nothing superhuman, but he knows how to protect the vital bits and he doesn't stop to think about his next move, just reacts on instinct.

*Reaction and instinct? Her lips curl in a smile. Oh, she is going to eat him for lunch. Or she would, if this were anything more than a light sparring match. As it is, she's going to throw out a series of strikes, testing those instincts of his--leading his guard toward one particular place, so she can snake an arm around it and poke the tip of his nose with a fingertip.*

Granted, Jim likes to make people underestimate him and then surprise them later, but even then, her skill is a bit above his. He's been learning to better spar with a more physically powerful opponent, thanks to Spock, but there are downsides to skipping an entire year of training at the Academy, as it turns out. Go figure.

The nose-poke is a bit of a surprise, though, and he steps back out of reach, re-evaluating his approach. "That an official move?" he asks, watching her a little more warily, more seriously.

Edited 2017-05-27 14:45 (UTC)

*She smirks, seeming to drop her guard as she shrugs.*

You going to complain to the referee?