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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If I wasn't, I'd be dead.

*She focuses on regaining her feet, letting Jim get out of reach and back up, himself. She flashes him a smile, tossing her hair back with a flick of her head before the next rush--a short charge that seems to be leading with a high punch of some kind, only to drop into a leg sweep at the last moment.*

You're doing better than I expected, yourself.

The only reason her leg sweep doesn't take him down is because his reaction to being charged is to sidestep, rather than hold his ground and try to block, but it's a narrow thing and leaves him pretty badly positioned to counterattack. He takes another step away and turns, watching for an opening.

Jim manages a laugh at her compliment. "Me too." Already this match has gone on longer than most of the real fights he's been in, though that could be because often times the others were cut short by security.

*Back on her feet, she gives him a thoughtful, measuring look and another smile.*

Should I try harder, then, or are you comfortable like this?

*Is that an opening, when she relaxes while asking him that? Or is it a trap designed to look like an opening? Is anything about this woman not a trap?*

"Depends on if you just want to beat me bloody and leave me for my crew to find," he answers with a roguish grin, using her own words. It's pretty obvious she's holding back on him, but while Jim is headstrong and reckless, he's not flat-out stupid. Most days, anyway. So he's not about to ask her to turn up the heat too much. Either way, he's under no delusions that he's going to legitimately win this one, and it seems bad form to cheat during a friendly sort of sparring match, especially with someone he just met.

But he's also terrible at throwing in the towel. Whether it's pride, persistence, or just plain bad at acknowledging his limits is up for debate.

He closes the distance between them again, as if he's going to try the palm strikes again, but it's a feint to cover the right cross he's throwing at her instead, ready to follow it up with another strike. Assuming she doesn't put him flat on his ass again.

Ha! Good answer.

*Persistence has stood humans in good stead since they were chasing their meals across endless miles of wilderness. A winning strategy with a pedigree that long is hardly going to become otherwise in the course of an afternoon, surely. When Jim comes in with the right cross, Samus spins aside on one foot, aiming an answering strike at his ribs while his arm is extended and gives her some cover against other reprisals.*

So, what happened?

He's hardly surprised at her counterattack, though that doesn't do much for being able to avoid it. He grunts at the impact and circles, mindful of his feet, his followup strikes deflected by her. He's certainly going to have some bruises when all is said and done, but he's had way worse.

"You know about the Kobayashi Maru but not Vulcan?" That doesn't entirely make sense to him, but he knows from Ambassador Spock's somewhat leaky mind meld that the other Jim Kirk cheated on the test, too, and Nero wasn't there to screw things up for him.

*Her shoulder rolls in a half-shrug that presages another set of strikes, a distraction for the foot that snakes out to try to hook his knee.*

I know Vulcan is a planet in your Facet, and the people from that planet, but as far as I'm aware, neither of those facts is connected to your relative infamy. Or did something happen to Vulcan in your Facet?

He's about to answer, but that's when she gets his knee, pulling him off-balance, and he knows he's about to fall so he tries to turn the tables and get his leg around hers, so he drag her down with him. It's not really an official, formalized move so much as a trick he's had to pull in half a dozen bar brawls across the Federation.

Oh yeah, there was a question somewhere in there. "Planet's gone," he says, once he has the time and presence of mind to do so.

*Having her leg snagged is a mild annoyance, and she tugs and twists to try to free it. Jim hasn't brought her down with him, but he's caught one of her limbs for the moment. His explanation of Vulcan, brief though it is, gets a sympathetic wince.*

I'm sorry. I know what it can be like to lose a planet.

Much like someone who's caught the tail of a tiger, Jim's put himself in a bit of a bind now. He can't hang on forever, but if he lets go, she's at a greater advantage than he is as far as striking back.

Eh, screw it. Jim's always been a risk-taker.

Still on his back, he releases his hold on her and snaps a follow-up kick at her kneecap as quick as he can, and all the while it feels surreal to be having this conversation in the middle of the fight as opposed to over drinks. Especially when he's in the middle of trying to hobble her. "Sorry to hear that," he says sincerely.

At least pain of the body is temporary.

*Samus bites back a curse at the kick to her knee, jumping back a little before lunging forward again with a stomp.*

Thank you.

*It may seem incongruous, given the combat, but her sentiment is genuine.*

Was it natural disaster, enemy action, massive accident, or... necessary sacrifice?

He's already rolling out of the way as she jumps back, her stomping attack catching only the looser fabric of his black shirt near the waist. He scrambles to his feet, keeping his center of gravity low, aware that he's beginning to tire. Having to keep up a conversation while fighting certainly isn't doing his lungs any favors, but it's all part of the game.

"Enemy action," he answers, once he's on stable footing again. "Bastard called Nero. Enterprise took him down."

Again, my sympathies.

*She springs into the air, aiming a trio of kicks at his shoulders, looking to drive him back and set him up for a strike when she lands.*

Small comfort that you got him, isn't it?

Jim raises his hands to guard his head against the assault, stepping back as her attacks strike home at his shoulders. Her being off the ground should mean she can't readjust her footing, so he takes a gamble and grabs at her foot, hoping to twist her off-course, or at least deflect her enough that she doesn't land how she planned to.

"Very small. Better than nothing."

*She does have to twist, landing on one foot for a moment before dropping to her hands and aiming a mule-kick Jim's way.*

Go deeper.

It's Jim's turn to curse as she strikes his knee with her kick, and he takes a step back out of range, favoring that leg. It's not entirely a bluff - that kick hurt - but he is playing it up a little. The wounded gazelle gambit is a time honored tradition, after all.

"Into what?"

*She straightens up, turning and advancing on Jim again.*

He killed a world.

*She punctuates her statement with a pair of kicks, low then high, at his right side.*

You killed him.

*The same again, on his left.*

You're still carrying something.

He blocks and deflects as best he can, his arms aching from absorbing the strikes, as well as his flank where she slips past his defenses. He's definitely going to need to spend some quality time with a dermal regenerator when this is all said and done.

Jim can't even guess how she possibly knows that. The amount of shit he's carrying could fill a book. Probably will, some day. But there's one obvious tidbit he can offer. It's not like it's a secret. "He killed my dad."

There it is.

*She closes in with a series of strikes, picking up speed. She's not giving him time to plan, or evade, only react.*

How do you feel?

Defend, defend, defend. All he can do is block or deflect her attacks as she batters away at his defenses, adding bruises upon bruises, and if he was anyone other than James T. Kirk, he'd be calling it quits about now.

But he is, and quitting isn't in his vocabulary.

He can hardly think about his answer, too focused on trying not to get hit anywhere vital, and it drags a brutally honest answer from him. "Still mad." By all rights, he shouldn't be. He avenged Vulcan, avenged his father, and saved the Earth.

But it won't bring any of them back.

*This, right here, was her goal--getting him too worn down and focused to dissemble, and then pulling these things out into the open to be dealt with.*

Good. At whom?

*It's important to keep the pressure high, and she does just that, circling as her strikes fall, not letting him fall into the comfort of a pattern. Admittedly, she can only keep an assault like this up for so long before even she needs to go on the defensive for a moment to catch her breath. She's morbidly curious just what he's going to do when the tables turn.*

He can't retreat, not even to get a moment's respite, not when all she'll do is follow him. He turns to face the direction of the assault as she moves around him, the only thing he can do to keep his vital spots protected.

"I don't know!"

And isn't that a kick in the teeth? Nero is an easy target, the root of all his problems, ever since the day Jim was born. But he's hardly the only one to blame for everything that's happened since.

*Time for a change in tempo, before she starts wearing herself down; Samus drops back, her posture going from attack to defense as she posits a suggestion.*

Your father?

*Here it comes.*

It takes him a moment before the cessation of constant attacks really registers, and he's wary to lower his guard at all, even if only to see why she's stopped. But she has stopped, and the continual barrage she subjected him to has him working more on instinct than conscious action. He closes the gap again, and the speed of his attacks is slower than hers, but he's putting a decent amount of strength into the blows, a mix of boxing punches and Vulcan v'shan strikes.

"He could've found another way," he spits out, not even considering that she lacks the context of George Kirk's final moments. Everyone knows.

*Samus gives ground only slowly, watching the unfamiliar strikes to learn from them even as she intercepts them. Her defense is solid, and while she'll have her own share of bruises, that is the price of good training.*

But he didn't. He left you. He chose to leave you. And for what?