multiversallogs | how to wrap a cat [OPEN]

Who: Will and ~*you*~
What: Running errands, doing inadvisable things at work, drinking, dancing, etc.
Where: He works out in Serpolet and lives in Mog Hill but wherever works. Just specify a time/place when you tag in.
When: All this week and bits of last week.
Notes: IF YOU WANT TO WORK OUT SOMETHING MORE SPECIFIC/A DIRECTION/WEVS, just poke me on plurk or something. Be prepared for a lot of unnecessary capslock. Also, there is no cat, I was just watching this video.
Warnings: None as yet!

He's starting to settle in, as much as anyone can settle in, here. He's got a job he enjoys and an apartment he doesn't mind and maybe a couple friends. Will figures he's doing reasonably well for himself. Everyone knows him down at Tinker's Lot now, his neighbors don't bother him, and he's starting to piece together his favorite places to go to blow off steam.

So he learns the train routes and schedules, he goes shopping occasionally, and he gets used to mundane things like carrying a messenger bag and having hard currency. Nothing seems too jarring when everything is wrong, and Will's adaptable. If he focuses on the immediate problems of livability and keeps himself reasonably occupied, he's fine. Things start to look familiar.

He doesn't so much ignore the tension underneath as set it aside, put it away for later. There's not much he can do about it now, and he's a practical soul. If he wants to get to a place where he can, he needs to have his feet firmly under him and a clear head. Hitting up dance clubs doesn't always help with that, but a guy's allowed his vices, right?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Will shakes his head, perking up slightly. It's a pretty mundane thing, but it's still nice to find someone with the same woe. “I'm not either,” he says, pausing to order his drink when the bartender gets over there. “I don't carry one at home because everything is electronic.”

Jim's face lights up, too, glad that someone else understands. "Yeah. Yeah, exactly. Where I'm from everything's computerized, across the galaxy. You don't have to carry anything."

“Yeah, exactly,” Will says and then pauses, smile spreading. “Galaxy, huh?”

Jim nods. "Yeah. I'm from Earth, but it was 2258 where I'm from. Most people I've met in this city who are also from Earth have been from much earlier. What about you?"

“Orbital space,” Will says, grinning. He doesn't think he's meet anyone else not shocked by the whole space thing, so far, much less someone from someplace similar. “493. We use a different calendar system. We also haven't left our own solar system yet.” Not even close.

Jim's pleased by this. It's not that he disagrees that being in space or captaining a spaceship are less than awesome, he's just... heard it. A lot. And had to explain himself a lot. It's nice to not have to do that, in this instance.

"Orbital space," he echoes. "That has to be an exciting time. We're... I don't know, about two hundred years past that? Or so? Intergalatic travel."

Will nods, leaning forward slightly. “We have ships and shuttles – my family is actually from a space colony – but we haven't found practical ways to get too far away from Earth yet. Most space traffic is at least semi-orbital.” Or it was. It's a little more disorganized now, what with a rebellion going on and all, but Will wouldn't exactly be up-to-date on that, even if he hadn't been sucked into some weird monster city.

"I lived very briefly at a Federation colony."

Aaaand that's all Jim's going to say about that; not the best of times. He grins. "But for all our spacefaring, aside from that short off-world stint? I lived on Earth until I enlisted a couple of years ago. I always wanted to go, though. Be out there among the stars. It just took me a while to be okay with wanting to go, and then to get myself there."

The bartender gets back with Will's drink, so he pauses a moment to thank him before he turns back to Jim. “I'm kind of the opposite,” Will says. “Kind of. Most of the people born in space don't get a chance to visit Earth. I got drafted, though. Military school.”

Jim raises his glass, a little salute of thanks for the bartender. He takes a sip and he turns back to Will. He was born in space, too, but that's another thing he would rather not discuss.

His life, sometimes.

"Starfleet's a voluntary service. You enlist and you do four years at the Academy, then you go into active service." There's the tiniest hint of triumph in his smile. "I went through a little faster than most. I'm already on active duty. I can't think of anything else I'd rather do."

Will tips his glass. That's something he's a bit more familiar with, if maybe not in the same way. He was always on top of his classes, too. “My circumstances were a bit weird,” he says, but that's probably enough about that. “I'm technically retired,” he adds, changing directions.

"Really." Jim looks Will over, impressed--the guy's around his own age, retired already? "Business was good, I take it?"

“Sort of. More like I'm lucky they didn't require a longer commitment, considering how long I was in school.” He'd been pressured to stay, of course. But he hadn't had a reason to. Will waves a hand. “It was a high-aptitude draft type thing. I got sent in when I was thirteen.”

"That's still pretty damned impressive." Jim finishes his drink, signals the bartender for another, and turns to Will with raised eyebrows--him too?

"So what do you do here in Baedal? Besides being a good Samaritan?"

Will nods in response to the non-verbal query. Sure, he can have another one. He's done with work for the day. “I work out at Tinker's Lot,” he says, taking another swallow of his drink. He's not quite done yet but it won't be much longer. “Test pilot.”

...Which sounds like the best job, ever. "Test pilot. Color me envious. Are you building your own air or space craft? Or testing one for someone else?"

“For other people. I don't have much technical expertise, I'm afraid,” Will says. “They're building all kinds of stuff out there. Most of it doesn't fly, though. Some of it blows up.” And he enjoys that, too, but anyway.

"...Do they need any more test pilots?"

This is possibly the worst idea ever.

Which means Jim thinks it sounds fantastic.

(Right about now, somewhere in the city, Dr. Leonard McCoy has a headache and he doesn't know why.)

"Yeah, sure," Will says. He's at the point where he has more offers than he can fit into a day, so he's not particularly concerned about having some competition. Actually, it'll probably be nice -- he always does the best when he's being pushed. "I'm a freelancer. I can introduce you to a few people out there, if you want."

"That'd be great," Jim replies, and if the enthusiasm of that reply doesn't clearly convey his sense of this is awesome, the wattage of the accompanying grin surely must. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

It's been a while since he's done anything dangerously exciting. He's overdue.

how to wrap a cat [OPEN]

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