moves like jagger [open]

[jirk]

Characters: Jim Kirk and open!
Date: May 4th, watch as I refuse to crack jokes about rival sci-fi franchises.
Location: A couple different scenarios, thread starters for each. If you'd like to set up another scenario, PM me and we can hash out something else!
Situation: Jim's acquainting himself with the concept of being, you know, on a giant turtle.
Warnings/Rating: Shouldn't go past PG-13.
Notes: Starting in prose, feel free to hop in with prose or actionspam.

Comments

[imaginate]

Peacekeeping?

[There are evil universes, ok? ok.]

[jirk]

'And humanitarian armada', got it in one. Sounds like you've heard of us.

[... There's a telling pause, and Jim gives him a sideways look.]

Did you seriously call me princess?

[A little slow on the uptake, this one.]

[imaginate]

More like there's something similar in a lot of worlds. [Quieter, more to himself-] Universe needs looking after.

[Beat.]

You didn't give me a last name, so I made one up.

[jirk]

So is that what you do when you aren't picking barfights?

[It's half-teasing. His hackles are down.]

'Jim Princess', huh? You know, it's got a certain charm to it, but I think I like 'Kirk' better.

[imaginate]

Or being kidnapped and made to stay on magic turtles, yeah.

[Holds out his hand to shake.]

I like mine better. Nine times out of ten, it's accurate, too.

[jirk]

Last time I was kidnapped anywhere it was by a bunch of bipedal lizards that wanted to make me fight to the death for their amusement. I already prefer the turtle.

[Well, why not. Jim shakes his hand. His grip is firm but fair, he's not out to do any finger-crushing.]

So I'm a princess, and that makes you, what? If you call yourself a knight in shining armour you're getting another bottle of beer to the head.

[He lifts his hand, faintly indicates on his own skull exactly whereabouts this bottle would go.]

[imaginate]

No judgement here. The last time I was kidnapped -- [he broke me, the words catch but he covers it, fast.] it was by somebody who wasn't anywhere near as gorgeous as the Emperor.

[Kyle's handshake is firm, professional. He's not out to make any threats here.

Teasingly:] Sure you aren't jumping to conclusions? You haven't even seen my horse and armour.

[jirk]

[There's a story there, but Jim nods acceptance, doesn't push. They're just two guys bleeding on a sidewalk, nothing to see here.]

I'm pretty sure it should be mandatory. From now on, kidnappers must be ridiculously good looking. It'd make the whole process easier.

[BECAUSE REALLY.]

Yeah, I'll believe that when I see it, pretty boy. If I'm ever taken hostage you can come to my rescue and we'll about call it even.

[imaginate]

[Any witty retort he had up his sleeve crumbles. His expression goes slack, distant, and defiant. All he can think of is being surrounded by fire-- never escape never get out never overcome-- and he can't breathe or think or fight because he can't even move--

He inhales sharply and forces a pained smile.]

Let's stick to 'shut up already' and 'get off this planet', yeah?

[His fists are clenched so tightly the knuckles are white, and he's shaking with rage.]

[jirk]

[Whoa, that is.

That is quite the reaction.

Kirk studies him a moment, mentally reviews the last bit of the conversation in his head. They'd been joking about kidnappers, so that wasn't it. The guy had suggested the knight metaphor himself.

But something set him off. Kirk rubs at the palm of his right hand, wary, feeling a little like a jackass for something he's not even sure he actually did wrong.

It's obvious that this guy's got issues. Jim's well acquainted with the concept. But the differences in his mood are leaving him feeling off balance. He's no psychologist, but this? This feels a little like-- like everything. How he felt after Nero. Or standing in front of the Admirality board and having to listen to Spock saying, you of all people should know, Cadet Kirk, a captain cannot cheat death.

He exhales. This guy's a timebomb.

But so was Jim in another life. And maybe it's Pike's hand in his that keeps him from just getting up and walking away. He didn't learn much out of Starfleet textbooks, but he knows he doesn't have it in him to leave a man behind, whether he's fighting his own demons or a hoard of, you know, tribbles or something.]

Listen, I think we're getting off on the wrong foot. Fist. Whatever. Let's try this one more time. Jim 'Princess' Kirk, Captain of the USS Enterprise. When was the last time you had anything to eat?

[imaginate]

[He nearly snarls back don't coddle me, I will break your face, but it's an irrational overreaction and... well. He's done that too much here, and he should stop lashing out. It's difficult, not to be angry, not to think (almost fondly) of surly Mr. Loomis and the detention room, but he can do it. He knows he's worked through it before. He was trying damnit, but he needed Hal - or he needed Damian - he needed somebody who wasn't going to look at him, treat him like he was damaged goods.

And he didn't need anybody questioning his state of mind when he had the ring, and his responsibilities.

be the river

Just as the hostility comes, it leaves, and his shoulders sink. Discipline. It's his rock, when John's not here.]

We're not, it's just a really bad day. [Tilts his head slightly, the smile is still small, but genuine.]

Kyle Rayner, Angel of the Green Lantern Corps. You know. Before you make up a nickname that doesn't fit.

[Beat.]

This morning. We're in tough times right now.

[There's others who need it more.]

[jirk]

Tell me about it.

[It's an olive branch of commiseration, and Jim stands, stretches. After a moment, he holds out a hand.]

Harps or vengeance?

[imaginate]

Couple of choruses, some fire and brimstone.

[Said oh so casually. He stands up by himself.]

[jirk]

'Universe needs looking after', right?

[He shrugs, lowers his hand.]

[imaginate]

Damn straight.

[Dusts himself.]

Look, there's a small noodle place nearby I might not get chased out of. My treat?

[jirk]

Well now, Angel, I'm practically hearing horses already.

[A bit of a grin.]

Lay on, MacDuff.

[imaginate]

And damned be him that first cries, "Hold, enough!" ?

[He starts down the street.]

[jirk]

Shakespeare fan, huh? Guess I shouldn't tell you my middle name's Tiberius.

[Thank you, dad, for not going with that one as a praenomen.]

[imaginate]

Still Princess to me, Princess.

[Beat.]

I'm not, I picked it up. [Guy doesn't like people knowing he reads, and so Kyle doesn't disclose that.]

[jirk]

If you think you're going to get me in harem pants, you are going to be thoroughly disappointed.

[It occurs to him why this is familiar. Every once in a while he'd sneak off the Academy grounds, find a bar, get drunk, trash the place with a few other cadets and then they'd all slink back together before anyone noticed they were AWOL. There's a weird sense of camaraderie in this.]

I never got the hang of the whole iambic pentameter thing, myself.

[imaginate]

Don't count me out just yet.

[Sure enough, he isn't kicked out of the noodle place, and points to his usual seat, a quiet, out of the way seat by the window as a suggestion.]

I try not to tell my friend that. [Friend. That's innocuous. Hm.] But if you're really a fan, King Lear is my favourite.

[jirk]

No man should have that kind of power.

[The power to inspire another man to wear harem pants. Kirk keeps his voice stern, but it's at odds with his expression and with the finger he points (also stern) at Kyle as he takes a seat, automatically angles his chair slightly so it's more against the wall. He's not actually hungry - you tend not to be when you break your nose and swallow your own blood in the process - and his face is a mess of hurt that's probably going to make it difficult to eat without grimacing, but hey. He won't turn down free food.]

See, I always preferred his comedies.

[imaginate]

[He holds up both hands, and chuckles, pushing the menu over. His hand hurts, and he flexes it. The ring's probably already started the healing process.]

Not me. I get enough comic relief sitting around the mess. There was that one time we got the guy from sector 21 to read out Blake, and it really didn't translate... [He rubs his chin thoughtfully.] On hindsight, should have picked Kipling.

[jirk]

[Kirk takes the menu, looks at it. Tosses it down again. He doesn't have any idea how to read the local language anyway.]

I'll have whatever you're having.

[Oh, and then it's so on.]

'Not till the clean-swept oceans showed no hostile flag unrolled, did they remember that they owed to freedom-- and were bold.' Always liked that one.

[imaginate]

[You're a better man than I am, Gunga Din. The Guy here hasn't said that yet but the one at home has and Kyle knows he thinks it, in his heart, and he can't understand why.

He drums his fingers on the table. It's unconscious, but the tune is The Sound of Silence.

Then, he points to a picture on the menu.] This is good. [and gestures to the waitstaff to get two of them, before he turns his attention back to Jim.]

Huh. If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken, twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, and stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools—

[He's perhaps recited it for someone else too often.]