tushanshu_logs | CATCH-ALL FOR JANUARY; OPEN

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..."

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?"

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."

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?"

"It's the mountain at Whistler in British Columbia," Jack replied, turning back to the window and adding a few more details. "There's a great ski village there, and they held the Winter Olympics there a few years ago, so it sort of became famous after that but it's been around as a touristy spot for about a century or so."

"I have never been to British Columbia. However, given your excessive talent in the manipulation of ice and snow, as well as your manner of travel, I do not doubt it is an accurate likeness." The mountain range remains his focus for a moment longer where he commits it to memory, and then it is exclusively Jack's turn. "Would you care to join me for a light dinner? I was en route through the atrium when your work drew my attention."

Somehow, he doubts Jack just spent the past few hours eating a hearty meal. Spock isn't convinced Jack needs to eat, but the offer still stands; he never dined with anyone outside of Nyota and Jim when aboard the Enterprise, yet Jack displays characteristics inherent in many Terrans, almost to excess. His empathy, for one thing, and humanity that rivals even McCoy's moods.

So, dinner.

"You should go if you get the chance," Jack answered. "Doesn't even have to be in winter, even I think it's a beautiful place all year round."

He hesitated a moment when he was invited to join the Vulcan for dinner. Though Spock had been nothing but cordial (kind, even) to him since the incident with the snow, Jack felt like he was intruding on him even just being around, like an unwelcome reminder despite reassurances spoken and not to the contrary. But to decline a well-meaning offer like that would be rude, he thought. (He remembered when he didn't care, or at least told himself he didn't care, about things like that. A lot had changed in the last year.)

"All right," he replied. "Atrium, sounds good."

"I am unsurprised to hear it," he comments, with far more ease (and a sliver of humor) than any other Vulcan might.

Inclining his head toward the front doors, he leads the way with his hands behind his back, pleased and at ease with Jack there. It doesn't happen often that Spock gets the opportunity to speak to people one-on-one, not without them misunderstanding him or vice-versa, but Jack knows him well enough to parley the conversation without getting too mired in confusion over Spock's penchant for viewing the world through logical glasses.

Jack is amiable company, that way.

"Given your ice-based abilities, would I be correct in inferring that salty dishes are less likely to court your favor than sweet?"

The spirit nodded. "I can eat them," he said. "There's a few I like. Those tamales that Mrs Reyes made were salty and were pretty good, once I cooled them down. But most of them I pass on, definitely prefer sweets."

He shoulders his staff and trails along, letting Spock lead. "So you're working on some big project?" he asked. "You aren't around your suite much." Which of course, he wouldn't know if Jack himself wasn't hanging around a little more often than usual lately.

"You're starting to get a full house over there, with Clara and the new guy."

"It is only logical that I place my proficiency in the sciences at the disposal of the welfare of others, especially in these extenuating circumstances."

Leading the way, Spock taps his PADD to bring up a complex 3D chart.

"For example, these are the preliminary schematics for a food synthesizer. With the correct coding on a chip-card, it can generate a great number of meals and would assist the dietary requirements of many."

Jack smiled a little, a touch strained at the remark of it being logical. A quip had rose ready on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed it back down, not ready to tackle that particular tract yet.

He leans over the PADD curiously, watching the 3D model spin in place. The actual mechanics of it is far beyond him but he's still curious. "So it's going to make food from... what?"

And that leads to a long-winded explanation of technical know-how ~~which is never full resolved in canon, hurray~~ concerning the restructuring of molecules, followed up by a succinct summary.

"Deriving from the protein resequencers of bygone years, in essence a synthesizer's programmable tape or card instructs the computer which subset of routines to run in order to generate the desired dish as a wholly original construct." Spock resists the more human urge to shrug, elevating his brows for pointed effect as he holds the PADD behind his back again. "While the benefits of this cannot be denied, it is notably difficult to produce the correct taste."

Jack hopes he can be forgiven for the way his eyes probably glaze over when Spock launches into the details of particle reconstruction though he does tune back in for the summary, glad for the chance to grasp it in something more like layman's terms. When the Vulcan is done Jack just kind of shakes his head.

"Seems easier to create the seeds for this stuff and let them grow themselves," the spirit mused. "The greenhouse is still active, last I checked. But maybe I'm just biased because spirits like Marzyana would throw a fit if she knew you could just magically science the finished product out of thin air."

"The cards are capable of ordering far more complex dishes than singular ingredients. I believe one of the most popular aboard the Enterprise is 'a burger and fries'." Not that Spock has indulged in that. It looks like he'd have to eat it with his hands and that isn't how he rolls, even with a vegetarian option.

They turn into the restaurant and he allows Jack to choose where they will sit, rejoining his previous point.

"If you had the choice, which meal would you wish to place a program for?"

"Burger and fries," Jack sighed wistfully. He glances around the restaurant and moves towards a seat near the window before seeming to reconsider and choose one along the wall instead, away from the door and thus the draft though he does choose the seat that faces the window. He sits lazily, one leg drawn up under him with the other hanging off the seat, bare toes pressing against the chair leg.

"Me?" he repeats, though the comment is reactive more than an actual question because obviously the question is for him. "Well, I... I'm not sure. I got to have a real Thanksgiving dinner for the first time at your guys' place," he said, meaning the Enterprise crew. "I like pies but they're kind of something you expect to be baked and not... programmed..."

CATCH-ALL FOR JANUARY; OPEN

closed to Spock; Jan 4th late evening

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