CATCH-ALL FOR JANUARY; OPEN

[dow]

Characters: Spock/OTA
Date: Catch-all for January.
Location: Anywhere.
Situation: TBA.

Feel free to start a thread here (with the date in the header) or pm/pp for a specific scene and I'll set it up.

Comments

Spock's Party Pad

[parallels]

[So it's a few days into Clara's relocation to Spock's home. It's an impressive place, really. Her room is nearly as big as the one assigned to her by the Kedan, despite being one of many. The apartment is sleek and modern and reminiscent of her flat back in London. For the first few days, she lies low, making sure to use the shower when the boys have already done so, cleaning her dishes, and generally staying out of everyone's way and resting in her room or on the couch (the warm air always makes her feel sleepy and she feels another cold coming on).

Now at a later hour she's ventured out into the kitchen in her pajamas (an oversized shirt, some shorts, and a dressing gown) to post a little list on refrigerator titled "HOUSE CHORES". Then, after looking it over admiringly, she'll go seek out the boys.]

oh my god here we go

[dow]

[ With three floors to Spock's residence, there is more than enough room to play host to three housemates. In theory, anyway. What he doesn't entirely count on is how very busy the place seems with Jack in his bedroom on the top floor, Clara and Eridan on the middle-floor and himself at ground-level with the kitchen and lounge. Everyone converges downstairs at some point and to be honest, when he notices the list of 'House Chores' it seems like a good idea to start delegating responsibility.

But he doesn't want to go shopping two days out of the week, so he frowns at the list.

Memorizing it, he goes in search of Clara and locates her in the bathroom, knocking on the door to get her attention since water is running and, well, he learned from Nyota a long time ago that being naked in the shower is supposedly wildly different from anywhere else and demands privacy. (It's such a silly illogical thing; as if his interest is remotely physical if he ever needs to talk. And why do humans feel embarrassment when naked, in any case? Do they assume people will pay that sort of thing the slightest bit of attention? Declare the encounter in a public forum that bears no relevance? Spock doesn't bother investigating these nuances.) With Clara, he suspects this rule is even more firmly in place and talks through the wood. ]

Clara. Why have you stipulated I must make regular outings to the market in order to replenish supplies twice a week? If people are consuming more than is adequately satisfactory in meeting their dietary requirements, should the responsibility not fall to said individual?

Welcome to a new life stage everyone

[parallels]

[Of course someone would knock just as she's finally getting in the shower. A small part of her wants to tell him to bugger off, but it is Spock's home and she's a guest. So she rolls her eyes and wraps a towel around herself before heading over to the door and leaning against it to return to him.]

Twice a week for four people is completely necessary to make sure everyone can actually eat dinner at night. No sense in everyone trying to cook for themselves. The kitchen will end up a complete disaster.

[dow]

I was not aware that I had missed an election regarding who would qualify for the official position of chef.

[ There is Complete Sense in everyone cooking for themselves, psh. Sassing his way out of this? You bet. ]

[unconchonable]

[Okay, what the shit is this?]

[With Eridan being nocturnal, it isn't long before the chore list is discovered, and in all honesty, he nearly doesn't read it at all. Because, really. Chores? There's no way anyone would think to put him on that list, because he's royalty and far better than doing menial tasks such as doing any dishes, or cleaning the living block, or--there's his goddamn name on there. And in a lot of places. He stares at it, squinting from behind his glasses as he reads over all the places that has HIS name listed. WOW NO?]

[Clearly, this must be the work of Clara, because Spock never posted such a list the entire time he's been here, and she's recently moved in!! Detective Ampora on the case!! Clearly agitated, he makes his way to her respiteblock's (or room as humans call them) door and raps at it with the back of his knuckles.]

Clar, I need to hawe some fuckin' words with you. [Can you hear the buttmad in his voice?]

[parallels]

[Being that Eridan is a kid and also just himself. Clara had steeled herself for this one. She sets the book that she's reading down and opens up the door with a look of amused curiosity put on her face.

Oh, she can hear the buttmad.]

And those words would be?

[unconchonable]

[He looks less than amused. In fact, the very opposite. He's scowling at her as she opens her door, and if he had thought to grab the list off the fridge, she'd definitely have it shoved in her face right now.]

They're ones about that bloody chore list an' why the fuckin' shit I'm ewen on there at all.

[He folds his arms over his chest, as if increasing how much he's visibly offended by this whole thing will serve to only make her realize her grave error in this.]

I ain't no flippin' slawe.

sometime first week Jan;

[wintershepherd]

[ Coming down off the rush from Christmas and New Years and his first anniversary in Keeliai and all that had entailed was not so very different than Jack imagined coming down off a drug high was: looking back on it, it was better in the moment and filled with all sorts of unpleasant side effects in the afterward. So he finally leaves a note for Baby Tooth (be back in the morning, everything's fine) and cashes that offer from Spock. Jack finds the third floor bedroom window unlocked as promised and pushes it closed except for a thin crack (so he can hear the wind and vice versa, just in case) so as not to let the draft leak through the rest of the house; the room isn't so warm that he needs the port fully open.

He's restless and fidgety and spends the first twenty minutes just exploring the shelves and drawers, being shamelessly nosy. It reminds him of stealing into winter-sealed houses after their occupants had gone to warmer climes for the season, and would come back to knickknacks moved, books flipped through and iceboxes disturbed.

Eventually Jack's able to turn down the flighty, panicky buzz in the back of his head. He absconds the bed and whirls his staff in a tight circle, creating a fluff of feathery snow and sinks into it.

He dreams and though they're not good dreams, at least they're not real nightmares.

The spirit wakes several hours later feeling disoriented, shaking snow powder from his hair before the drift dissolves into a stream that flows its way out the window to disperse into the pre-dawn air. Jack lets himself out of the upper bedroom and pads silent on bare feet down the stairs, rubbing his eyes sleepily. ]

[parallels]

[Jack isn't the only one up late due to less than pleasant dreams. Clara had woken up an hour ago with a start due to some uncomfortable dream that she could barely remember. Which was an improvement over feeling them so strongly and remembering every detail to the point where it made her ill.

Still, the lingering anxiety was still there, leaving her unable to go back to sleep. So instead she pads out of bed and quietly goes over to the closet to pull out the broom and begins sweeping the hallway. She's no lover of domestic tasks, not really. But she needs to be busy.

Being busy means she doesn't have time to think of everything that's eating away at her on the inside. Or at least, that's the goal anyway.

Jack can find her standing still in the hallway, her forehead resting against the wooden broom handle and her eyes slightly glassy as her mind is clearly elsewhere.]

[wintershepherd]

[ Jack's steps slowed as he rounded the corner and Clara didn't so much as acknowledge him. For a moment he was worried, that easily overtaking his own turbulent thoughts, though he kept his voice even and quiet, so as both not to startle her too much and to not rouse anyone else at this early hour. ]

Clara? You okay?

[parallels]

[She blinks a few times as she comes back down to earth and sees Jack staring at her. She shakes her head and smiles softly.]

I'm fine. You?

4th Jan (closed to clara)

[dow]

[ He dreams of logic.

The surface of Vulcan is deteriorating at an alarming rate, geological infrastructure is not to be relied upon. How terrifyingly note-worthy that is simply doesn't have time to register, there's no time for anything but urgency. He races across the desert and into the catacombs to lead out the elders, Sarek and Amanda right there with him. The Katric Arc crumbles as his planet falls into ruin. Spock watches as it falls away from under his feet for the last time, but his parents — his mother — is safe. Her grip is tight and unforgiving as she embraces him on the transporter pad (My dear, brave boy! You saved us!) and the consuming emotion that her love and relief draws out is ... horrendous. The ship begins to split and it's his fault, he did this somehow. Amanda screams and blames him as he begs for her to wait, to let him keep her safe.

The hull screams and explosions batter him through the icy darkness of space but it is her shove, that final push, which forces him out into the whirling void.

Noooo! Mother, please! No!

Logic has left him behind. ]

Mother! [ Yelling himself hoarse, Spock jolts awake in bed and finds himself sitting bolt upright, fists wrenching torn sheets in their grip. It doesn't immediately make sense that he is awake — there are still so many shadows closing in. ] No!

[parallels]

[Clara is up and about in the middle of the night once more, having been jerked awake by her own nightmares an hour ago. She's sitting in the kitchen with a warm cup of tea in an attempt to calm her mind and ease the tension out of her body.

Then someone screams and she nearly has a heart attack as she leaps from her chair and backs herself into a corner. But then as the voice yells again the deep tone clicks in her head and she recognizes it. Spock. Quickly she darts down the hall and towards the door to his room. For a second, she considers knocking but her body moves quickly to open the door and check inside.]

Spock?

[dow]

[ Panting by the time the door swings open, he flinches and squints at the figure in the doorway, sharper-than-human eye-sight still taking a moment to adjust after the voice doesn't immediately register. The backlit woman is petite and brunette, but ... That is not her. You were dreaming. He slides his feet over the edge of the bed and rests his face in his hands, both to hide his stricken expression until he can wrest it under control and for the simple comfort in physical touch. After a long moment which he spends getting his breathing back under control, Spock nods to show he's still conscious of Clara in the doorway. ]

I apologize for waking you.

[ Clearing his throat quietly, he registers that a drink of water would be refreshing yet remains slumped, somewhat uncharacteristically, as he prioritizes correcting the rapid-fire tarantella of his pulse. Vulcans do not sweat, yet his skin is an uncomfortable furnace. ]

[parallels]

[Clara watches him from the doorway, her face taught in concern. She's used to this. Artie used to have nightmares after his mother died too. She'd come into his room with a glass of water, turn the light on, and hold him until the fit passed. For the first few months, she'd sometimes stay in his bed the entire night. Angie would sometimes join them, curl up in the bed in the middle of the night.]

I'll get some water.

[She steps backwards a few paces before turning around and walking briskly back to the kitchen. There she fills a tall glass with clear, cold water and then returns to Spock's room. She slowly, almost nervously, crosses the room and stands in from of him before holding out the glass.]

Here.

closed to Spock; Jan 4th late evening

[wintershepherd]

Jack had mostly been keeping to himself since New Years, though he puts in his time at the fish shop and welcome center as typical and maintains his usual bright demeanor in those locations. It's when he has no tasks at hand, late like now after the shops have mostly closed or are getting ready to, that he finds himself unwilling to seek out interactions and prefers the quiet. Sometimes Baby Tooth accompanies him and sometimes, like tonight, she seems to understand that he's still working through things in his head and attends her own interests. He's been out to the shell's edge three times in as many days and still feels restless, a bumblebee under glass.

But it's winter and the snow and cold make him feel better, and the one thing he does find calm in is painting windows. He's been getting steadily more creative with his ice, the freedom of not having to worry about people finding it strange or unnatural on Tu Vishan that he never had on Earth. He spends longer on individual pieces, sometimes hours, infusing them with just enough magic to keep them crisp and pristine even after the sun rises. (It's the only amount of magic he feels comfortable with right now.)

Jack's just stepped back to regard a finished piece when he sees a reflection in the glass behind him and turns, surprised. "Spock? You're out late..."

[dow]

Having allocated enough time to eat in the evenings, in between attending his thesis and other projects at Stark Industries (Wayne has him until mid-afternoon, typically after an early start and a nightmare that very morning, in fact) Spock pauses when a sheet of florid ice creeps with unnatural haste over the window nearby. He locks his PADD and moves over to the glass, peering out to find Jack has already moved on to the next.

Which is how he comes upon him at unawares several moments after walking out of the building, PADD and hands clasped behind his back as he waits to be noticed, taking stock of the entire glittery display. His coat and suchlike are inside, but for now he isn't bothered by the cold breeze that tugs at his collar and cuffs.

"I have not yet concluded my research for the evening. Impressive," he says, pointedly inclining his head at the scrawling designs on the building. "Do you name your artistic endeavors?"

[wintershepherd]

It takes him only a barest second to be back in jocular tone and he grins, "Name them? What, like those creepy names that painters give their stuff sometimes? Because you have to be really famous to get away with labeling 'Cottage with Decrepit Barn and Stooping Woman' and not get weird looks."

[dow]

Recognizing the tone, he meets Jack's eyes warmly and can't help but beg to differ, even so, "It does not look like either a barn or the female form. I also believe you are infamous enough by Terran standards to get away with naming your art whatever you wish."

Raising his attention to the wintry painting again, Spock assesses the motif before looking back at Jack for assistance.

"What is it supposed to be?"

Jan 5, a market somewhere?

[nowthatsfunny]

[Tess is still working to get her feet firmly underneath her - no easy feet, even for someone as adaptable as she is, after being, well. Dead. But she's never been one to dwell too much on things she can't change, and she's always been the sort to plow on ahead without much hesitation.

One thing in particular that she's discovered about the kedan merchants around town is - a lot of them like to haggle. Which is awesome, because Tess loves to haggle. It's like an argument, but one which both parties usually come out from with something useful - often more than one thing, honestly. Goods, information, it's all the same to Tess.]

Four is my final offer. [The merchant relents, and Tess rather triumphantly bags a very nice set of skin care products. Why the hell not, right? Moisturizers, stuff to take wrinkles away and hide scars and blemishes. Tess isn't a vain woman, by any means, but she hasn't been able to pamper herself for twenty years.

When she turns and sees Spock, she gives him a nod. Well, he talked to her, right? She should at least acknowledge his presence. Even if he is rather strange and abrupt.]

[dow]

[ In the process of buying vegetables for dinner, he pauses when Tess gives him a nod of welcome and takes that as his cue to approach. ]

Greetings. [ Leading on from where their last conversation left off, he gestures ahead and politely sets a strolling pace through the market. ] Have you acclimatized yet?

[nowthatsfunny]

[Did she mention he also talks funny? Basically Tess doesn't have much idea what to make of Spock, but ultimately he's one more weird thing about this really, really weird place.]

Uh, I suppose so. It's... kind of a process, I think. [She still isn't sleeping well, but that's neither here nor there. And since when did she ever sleep well to begin with?]

How's Ellie doing on her lessons? [Ellie is the common ground between them, she supposes. Might as well ask after her.]

16th (closed to clara)

[dow]

[ He is tired, more often than not, though this is not something he mentions in casual conversation or unless directly under the medical insistence of his (barbarous) doctor. Taking the time out from the labs with a PADD brimming with intel on the food synthesizer he has been working toward building, solely placed on there as a point of interest for Clara if she so desires to hear more of it, Spock makes his way to their arranged lunch spot. It's a small tea shop in the Fire Sector, quaint with low-lighting and red walls. Spock assumes a two-part table by the window and orders a spicy drink as he awaits his friend, long fingers skimming over the glowing PADD.

It isn't often that people take the time and subsequent courtesy to get to know Spock or to stick around very long when he remains impassive to their presence. To have Jim alter his perceptions of the worth of a friend has since aided him in recognizing worthwhile relationships of such note in others, most assuredly in Clara. He ascertains from her demeanor around him that she finds him an oddity, albeit not one in need of avoidance. She does not view the application of logic as a disability where his emotions are concerned; that attitude plays a paramount role in his approval of her. Humans so often think of Vulcans as repressed and look no deeper, egotistic in the extreme as they presume that everyone in the surrounding galaxy ought to be a slave to their emotions (it still astonishes him, day in and day out, how adamantly they profess this opinion as though it were fact). To be thought of as stunted in this department is not fair. It is, rather, something he resists as a classification, just as he would not tolerate criticism of his mother's choices to live as she pleased. The point is, Clara does not make him feel like an outsider and Spock respects her for that along with a number of other reasons, but that is the foremost.

Consequently, he misses her presence.

Sitting quietly and keeping to himself, he still glances up each time the doorbell rings with the entry of each new patron. ]

[parallels]

[Clara too, is exhausted. Ever since she saw her future in the antechamber, she's been struggling to sleep or even eat. Her head is locked into playing what she saw over and over again, hearing the Doctor's words, seeing his face for the last time.

So she's thrown herself into distractions. She cooks for Spock and the other housemates for every meal, over the top meals that take hours but at least it's something to do. She helps out at Jack's Welcome Center, she reads, she makes tea. She goes through the motions of being Clara to fill what feels like emptiness within.

But being with Spock is comforting. He's rarely invasive. He's quiet and reserved and she doesn't fear that he will try to pick her apart and force her to talk about anything. He's honest and doesn't play mind games, she realizes, with a sick feeling, and she's not used to that. She doesn't have to perform. She can sit and just... be. Be quiet and calm in his presence. And they haven't seen each other in awhile as they're both the sort to throw themselves into work.

So when he asks her to lunch, she accepts. She's a little late, having been caught up at the center, so she quickly makes her way into the shop and spots Spock in the back. She gives him a wave and sits down next to him, thankful for the low lighting in the room.]

Sorry. Got caught up at the Welcome Center.

[dow]

[ He rises politely when he notices her approach, a softening in his untouchable expression replacing any human habit of hugging or smiling. His hands remain behind his back and he reseats himself when Clara does, offering over the drinks menu. ]

Your apology is not necessary, I arrived ahead of schedule. How do you find the work at the Welcome Center?

[ It hits all the criteria he would think appropriate to generate her enjoyment around the subject, but then he can't be sure without asking. ]