baedalites (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
baedalites) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
multiversallogs2011-12-22 05:20 pm
baedalites) wrote in multiversallogs2011-12-22 05:20 pm
Entry tags:
- @ mog hill,
- @ mog hill: apache,
- alexia swiftdawn,
- anna demirovna,
- hasibe ozcelik,
- hellboy,
- ilde decima,
- ivan,
- james t. kirk,
- john allerdyce,
- jones,
- kalinda sharma,
- megan gwynn,
- rachel conway,
- steve rogers,
- } alan shore,
- } angela montenegro,
- } billy kaplan,
- } fauxlivia dunham,
- } gaheris rhade,
- } hermione granger,
- } hilmi moran,
- } jay nagai,
- } kate bishop,
- } katherine pierce,
- } martha jones,
- } mozenrath,
- } njoki rainmaker,
- } rex lewis,
- } sebastian lemat,
- } severus snape β,
- } shawn spencer,
- } tadhg maceibhir,
- } teddy altman,
- } tim drake-wayne,
- } tommy shepherd
Bite they little heads off! Nibble on they tiny feet!
Who: EVERYONE.
What: Catenrat party.
Where: The Apache and surrounding environs.
When: Givdi the 22nd of Toidaren
Notes: The topic threads are just suggestions; if you've got somewhere else that your characters simply must be, make your own thread. When your characters are ready to leave, they'll be given a little wooden cheese, a glass fish, and a voucher for a big basket of snacks.
Warnings: None yet. Please put warnings up on individual threads.
The Apache is much the same as it always is: dimly lit, with the jukebox playing in the background, and the bartender serving whatever's on tap. Above the doorway and wound through a few of the sets of antlers some enterprising soul has placed a garland decorated with little blue and green fish.
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He takes a drink from his glass again, swallows and purses his lips as he looks at the rim of it. "Do you suppose you'll be able to return to your Starfleet?"
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Jim pauses, considering the question. It's funny--just a few short years ago, Starfleet was the last thing he wanted. He was angry, carrying a chip on his shoulder the size of the planet, blaming Starfleet for his father not being there and for Tarsus IV. He'd enlisted on Pike's challenge, dared to be something better. His entire first year at the Academy he hadn't been convinced he should be there at all.
But in the last few months everything had shifted, changed. Starfleet, and the Enterprise in particular, along with her crew--that was his home, now. That was where he belonged. And it hurt him, left him distressed not to be there.
"It's the only thing I want," he confesses, staring down into his glass. "To get the two of us home, me and Bones." He looks up. "To get all of us home. We shouldn't be here."
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"We shouldn't. We've been given no chance to resist coming here. I resent it in some ways. However, I can no longer return." He comes very close to admitting that he died before coming here, but a sense of embarrassment and shame wells up with it. Nietzscheans were hardy. Nietzscheans were survivors and they weren't self-destructive and they were proud. They didn't devalue their own lives. They didn't lose and they didn't fail.
How could he hold the rest of his kind accountable when he couldn't even manage to properly survive?
"However, there might be some people you can talk to about stelanmancy. Their skills are exemplary. The fact you're human would prove a benefit but you would have to do so unconnected to Hellsing. I would only ask if I gave you their contact information that if they sounded generally positive on the potential of sending you back to your universe you wouldn't mention me but you would let me know." It would also help explain some of the disappearances, if that were the case.
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He doesn't say anything, because, honestly, what do you say? I'm glad you're here seems rude and Jim's not glad any of them are here. I wish you were back home isn't any better--for what, to go back to being dead?
But after that, it's his turn to raise a brow. "I can leave Hellsing out of it," he agrees, clearly eager to know more. "They're pretty much out of the research I'm doing as it is; it's a personal project."
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At least it potentially explains why his boneblades are damaged. He holds the receipt out to Kirk.
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Jim glances at the information on the slip of paper before folding it and putting it in his pocket. He knows Rhade can't have come by this information easily, and without great risk; he's both grateful and a little humbled to be receiving it.
"I owe you one for this."
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Jim reminds him very much of another captain, perhaps when he was younger. In the days when Dylan was first given command of a ship. When he was fresh and new and enthusiastic. It was before the Nietzscheans had decided the Commonwealth must fall, and when Rhade still opposed the destruction of the Systems Commonswealth.
It's both a comfort and something that burrows in his gut and lodges there like stubborn Magog larvae. He wants to warn him to stay away from him before he tries to get close to him. He's also greedy for the feeling that he used to have with Dylan.
"Do you like strategy games?" he's asking before he can stop himself.
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Maybe he's clinging to those reminders. Maybe he's clinging to this man's company because he misses Spock, misses home. But he's also enjoying the easy companionship that's sprung up between them; it's like what he has with Spock, these days, only he and Rhade didn't have to hate each other and be combative first. He supposes he's grown too used to having his pair of senior officers and intimate friends at his side, always, and having Bones here might have only made the absence of Spock, or a collected, calming presence like his, that much more obvious.
Whatever it is, he is enjoying this. He smiles at Rhade's question, nodding. "I do. Well. I do all right at chess, traditional and three-dimensional. I have a passing familiarity with a few other games but I'm always interested."
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And he loves a good challenge.