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tushanshu_logs2013-06-02 01:07 pm
jirk) wrote in tushanshu_logs2013-06-02 01:07 pm
Entry tags:
first we take manhattan [closed]
Characters: Jim and some cr-mates.
Date: The days following Spock's arrival. Spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness in the linked log and this one.
Location: A bunch of places/bars/etc.
Situation: Gratuitous manpain, tbqh.
Warnings/Rating: Potential mentions of war/death/violence/potential abuse and associated triggers, will update if anything more specific happens.
Notes: Prose or action equally fine. o/
He gives himself twenty four hours. To-- grieve, or whatever. To deal with it, the ramifications of this one potential future. Pike and the loss of his ship and the deaths of almost half his crew. Spock calling him 'Jim' and meaning it in a way he isn't quite sure he's ready for.
He doesn't sleep. He's manic. Climbing the walls. Bones would probably chase him down and stuff him with a hypo to get him to come back to the ground. He misses Bones, he realizes. The man'd been a near ubiquitous presence in his life, a quiet constant in his peripheral vision, never quite out of sight for years now. Spock's his opposite number, but Bones is the little Jiminy Cricket on his shoulder. He's not too proud to admit there's parts of him cobbled together from all the brightest bits of those he knows. Bones is just one more star in his sky.
He's gotten so used to having a crew, to relying on a crew that not having them is like being crippled, waking up one morning and finding yourself without a limb you used to utilize just to get through the day. Kyle made it worse. Maybe he was trying to help, maybe he was just being a jackass, but he dragged Kirk over ten miles of bad road and topped it all off by kicking down doors Kirk's kept locked and barred since childhood, or what passed for it out in Iowa.
And then, insult to injury, he threw him in a vat of lemon juice and told him to swim.
But now Spock's here, and he's-- he's different, he's changed, wounded in all the same ways he was after Vulcan, that Kirk never wanted to see in him again. Knowing his decisions, the good and the bad, put those wounds there hurts like hell.
He's going to fix it. He'll go back and he'll change everything, but for those twenty-four hours he just lets himself wallow in the grief and the misery and the white-hot pain that's seared into him like a brand. And then he wakes up the next morning with what's probably the worst hangover and his life, but he feels bright and clear and focused despite it, and he doesn't think about how he drank himself under the table the night before, he just gets up and goes. Jim Kirk: perpetual motion machine.
He's going to erase the lines of grief from Spock's shoulders, he's going to save Pike and his crew. It might still kill him, he might still lose his ship, but there are some choices he's going to have to weigh out and make as they become necessary and he's played this game once before, in Spock's memories. He knows the scorecard, knows the moves. He'll adapt. He'll overcome like a motherfucker.
Marcus - Khan - won't know what hit them. He's trying to decide whether or not he's petty enough to stand smugly in the ruins of their regard afterwards, or if he'll just be weary and glad he won.
He's still thinking about it when he knocks on Rose's door.
Date: The days following Spock's arrival. Spoilers for Star Trek: Into Darkness in the linked log and this one.
Location: A bunch of places/bars/etc.
Situation: Gratuitous manpain, tbqh.
Warnings/Rating: Potential mentions of war/death/violence/potential abuse and associated triggers, will update if anything more specific happens.
Notes: Prose or action equally fine. o/
He gives himself twenty four hours. To-- grieve, or whatever. To deal with it, the ramifications of this one potential future. Pike and the loss of his ship and the deaths of almost half his crew. Spock calling him 'Jim' and meaning it in a way he isn't quite sure he's ready for.
He doesn't sleep. He's manic. Climbing the walls. Bones would probably chase him down and stuff him with a hypo to get him to come back to the ground. He misses Bones, he realizes. The man'd been a near ubiquitous presence in his life, a quiet constant in his peripheral vision, never quite out of sight for years now. Spock's his opposite number, but Bones is the little Jiminy Cricket on his shoulder. He's not too proud to admit there's parts of him cobbled together from all the brightest bits of those he knows. Bones is just one more star in his sky.
He's gotten so used to having a crew, to relying on a crew that not having them is like being crippled, waking up one morning and finding yourself without a limb you used to utilize just to get through the day. Kyle made it worse. Maybe he was trying to help, maybe he was just being a jackass, but he dragged Kirk over ten miles of bad road and topped it all off by kicking down doors Kirk's kept locked and barred since childhood, or what passed for it out in Iowa.
And then, insult to injury, he threw him in a vat of lemon juice and told him to swim.
But now Spock's here, and he's-- he's different, he's changed, wounded in all the same ways he was after Vulcan, that Kirk never wanted to see in him again. Knowing his decisions, the good and the bad, put those wounds there hurts like hell.
He's going to fix it. He'll go back and he'll change everything, but for those twenty-four hours he just lets himself wallow in the grief and the misery and the white-hot pain that's seared into him like a brand. And then he wakes up the next morning with what's probably the worst hangover and his life, but he feels bright and clear and focused despite it, and he doesn't think about how he drank himself under the table the night before, he just gets up and goes. Jim Kirk: perpetual motion machine.
He's going to erase the lines of grief from Spock's shoulders, he's going to save Pike and his crew. It might still kill him, he might still lose his ship, but there are some choices he's going to have to weigh out and make as they become necessary and he's played this game once before, in Spock's memories. He knows the scorecard, knows the moves. He'll adapt. He'll overcome like a motherfucker.
Marcus - Khan - won't know what hit them. He's trying to decide whether or not he's petty enough to stand smugly in the ruins of their regard afterwards, or if he'll just be weary and glad he won.
He's still thinking about it when he knocks on Rose's door.
slides on in here, let me know if this works for you /o/
He remains standing, feet buried in warm sand, one hand wrapped firmly around his trident. Part of him realizes that carrying this thing around is probably a little off putting. It's deadly, but like hell is he going to start leaving it around anymore now. Not after that possession business. Not when things are slowly getting worse.
He might have been useless during that particular time, but he's not going to let himself be caught off guard again. Life on Tu Vishan is making him softer than he had been in Panem. There hasn't been too many reasons to be on edge, and that's the problem. With a sigh, he drags his fingers through his tousled hair, muttering to himself.] Maybe too much freedom is bad for you.
yep definitely!
But the turtle doesn't really have anything like that. Oh, he could go hang out at the head if he wanted to, because that's not creepy or anything, but he likes the ocean. So he's walking along the edge of the shell, a bag slung over one shoulder (contrary to popular opinion, he plans things, thanks) and his boots knotted and laced and over the opposite. He's got his pants rolled up to his knees and he probably looks damned uncaptainly but he doesn't care at the moment. If a member of the Admiralty decided to show up and chastise him, well. He'd just cross that bridge when he came to it. For the time being, he's going to enjoy the day.
Because it's a gorgeous day. No clouds, the ocean's calm and everything smells... cleanish. Ocean-y. Sea-spray and not much in the way of that decaying fishy scent that beaches sometimes get. He's in a good mood as he scrambles barefoot over a ridge in the shell and drops down on the other side in time to hear someone speak, though he can't make out the words. Was the guy aware of his approach or just talking to the open air? And is that seriously a trident?]
Whoa. Hey. I come in peace.
[Which is 'sorry for intruding' in Kirkese.]
no subject
Still, the sudden voice of another person startles Finnick out of his thoughts, although he's careful to not make it visibly known. Instead he turns his head in the direction of the other man, chastising himself silently on not paying attention more.
See. He's going soft.
Finnick smiles easily enough, looking calm. If he could look harmless, he'd go for that, too. He's pretty sure that image is ruined by the grip he has on his weapon. Oops.]
And here I was, about to get all paranoid, but you've taken care of that with a few words. What will I do now?
no subject
Well, you could always introduce yourself. I'm Jim. Jim Kirk.
no subject
Nice to meet you, Jim. I'm Finnick Odair. [A beat.] What brings you out to this part of the great turtle?
no subject
[He's an explorer before he's anything else, at the end of the day.]
You-- uh. [s q u i n t.] -- Fishing?
no subject
[A pause before he grins and nods toward the water.] Oh, yes. I've found that fishing from this far back has been great for keeping myself fed and in business. Nothing more challenging than distance fishing. [He sounds so friendly and honest, it's a little hard to tell if he's joking or just crazy.]
no subject
[WAY TOO MUCH GROUND god he wants his ship so badly okay the Enterprise could scan this thing in one go aauugh.]
Fishing? Seriously? I'm pretty sure I could think of at least ten things more challenging to do before breakfast.
[He doesn't sound like an ass about it though, his tone's curious rather than outright NO U.]
Show me? I'm used to different seas.
no subject
Seriously? No. This isn't close enough. [He laughs, though.] You might hurt my feelings if you keep talking like that, Jim. What exactly do you consider challenging?
[He takes a moment to think about that.] Sure, why not. Come on. [Nodding toward the edge, he begins walking the few feet it would take to get there.]
no subject
[But he follows along, head canted slightly to one side as he watches what Finnick might do.]
no subject
Finnick stands at the water's edge, watching carefully for anything that's come close to the turtle. After a moment or two, he spots movement and doesn't hesitate to spear his trident into the water. When he pulls it back out, there's an odd-looking, medium sized fish wriggling on one of the points.] There are better catches further away, but... [A shrug.]
no subject
[Man it is still so weird that he can run into people who don't know about the 'Fleet, the Federation. And he's spent the last year exploring the known universe, okay?
And then Jim raises both eyebrows appreciatively. Because that is some mean trident action and he's obviously good at it. Jim has an eye for genius, no matter the category of that genius, and this? This probably counts.]
Hey, I can swim. If you're worried.
[He will never turn down a challenge, okay.]
no subject
He glances Jim over, as if thinking about it.] I guess that if you're lying and do start to drown, I could always give you mouth-to-mouth.
no subject
Usually Jim's the forward one!! What's happening here!!
Jim gives Finnick a faintly speculative look, head canted just slightly to one side, trying to ascertain whether or not he's being serious or just teasing. It's easy to tell with Kyle, they've learned to read each other pretty well, but this guy? He's practically an unknown quality.
Not that he minds unknown qualities. It makes life... shall we say, interesting.]
Don't make promises you aren't going to keep, sunshine. My heart can't take it.
[He will absolutely flirt back, don't think he won't.]