savior of the enterprise.

       ❝ i am not going to sit on my ass as the events that affect me unfold to determine the course of my life. ❞

• active tagging system. • mun and muse are both eighteen and over, and are legal within canada. • multi-verse and multi-ship!  • second? (I think) reboot of transwarp—theorist. • has been roleplaying as montgomery scott since august 2013. • blog has autoplay. • icon chat to prose. • uses gifs sparsely. • timezone: gmt -5 • oc friendly, with some exceptions • will fit your format with no hesitation.  • doesn’t do nsfw material because I don’t feel comfortable with it • selective following and will probably do follower starters for a while.  • bonus: mun is really friendly and would just like some new friends? that okay? she likes breaking bad too.

                                ❝ ready for a long journey. ❞

           ❝ Lieutenant, if you will refrain from all allusions to              sexual acts and any other topic you would fail to be              able to justify according to official regulation, you will              find that this meeting will further your Starfleet career              rather than hinder it.❞

             He takes a seat. Often in his past he has questioned              the difference between humans, Vulcans, and various              other species, his curiosity rooted in the discrimination              against his human mother shown by his peers. What               makes a group better than another? Is it by quantitative              or qualitative measures? Intelligence, perhaps, or               strength, or power. Better, he has come to conclude, is              a relative word. What is important to you is what leads              you to decide what has value. To those on his home              planet, a homogeneous environment coupled with an              appreciation for intelligence and rationality  led to the              xenophobia that affected he, his mother, and a majority              of the other humans who stepped foot on the planet.               They had to endure the same whispers as he; constantly              having to push themselves further than the rest in order              to prove themselves.

             That, he has discovered, is irrational in itself. What is                important is that you know the extent of your own                abilities and that you do not push yourself past your               breaking point or attempt to take on duties you know               you will not be able to carry through to completion. It               was with this new-found confidence in himself — in                what he could do, rather than what he was — that                went with him from Vulcan to Starfleet Academy, and               it has remained inside him ever since. In the years                since then he has had more time to reflect on the                prejudices and injustices he endured as a child, and               has come to a conclusion. What makes someone               worthy is not their heritage or their genetics; neither is               it their intelligence or capability, although those with               enhanced abilities certainly influence the development               of species and civilizations. The defining characteristic               of a person is instead how they carry themselves;                whether they strive for peace and freedom, a world full               of opportunity and learning, or if their pulse throbs in               the wake of destruction and enslavement. All lives are               valuable, whether sentient or not. That has been taught               to him since boyhood and is reflected in every aspect of               his life; his vegetarianism, his hesitance to kill without                necessity, his determination to minimize losses. 

              Senseless waste is what is to be truly despised in this               world; those who take lives and worlds and beauty and               crush it for — what? A surge of adrenaline, a power that               will decay? No. What makes some people good or                worthy is not where they were born or who their parents               were; not even how well they did in school or what notable               achievements they have provided the galaxy with. The line               is thick and clear between each side - good and bad, worthy               and unworthy. Those who take life and those who protect it.               Humans and Vulcans are equal in that aspect; they are also               more matched in other divisions than his former acquaintances                on New Vulcan would care to admit. 

              During moments like this, though, he begins to understand                his home planet’s distaste for humanity. 

Laughter heartily ascends her esophagus, emitting vermilion lips and intrusively pervading the air. Suddenly, she intrepidly steps into a patently rehearsed pantomime that consists of notably rigid movements, and an almost disconcertingly insipid countenance —— all characteristics of a temperament akin to that of Mr. Spock’s.

      ❝I’m Mr. Spock. I’m so aloof and pragmatic. My goldfish jumped out of its bowl           and died when I tried to make conversation with it.❞

Her voice has pointedly descended several octaves, assuming a suitably placid tone to accurately portray the timbre of the humdrum Vulcanian. Then, when she feels she’s efficiently demonstrated her point, she scrunches her nose, falling into a fit of cackles that incite rapid, unrestrained blows to the surface of her desk, which she inflicts using the unyielding palms of her milky hands.

When her laughter has officially dissipated, she decisively clasps her hands together, reposing her conjoined fists against the horizontal plane of her desk in an endeavor to facetiously portray an air of professionalism. She cants her skull, nodding briskly as a response to Spock’s vocalization of a concern (a term used loosely, for if he is in fact concerned, his proficiency in hindering the relay of such weakness is noteworthy). She arbitrarily allows his words to hang aimlessly above their heads, perhaps in an effortless attempt to make him feel inferior for brazenly imparting something so painfully overt. When she feels as though a sufficient amount of time has passed, she proceeds.

     ❝Well, sir —— in my defense, this is not the standard case. It’s not every day I’m       lucky enough to receive a client as suggestible as yourself. It’s stimulating.❞

Shifty optics accompany the wry smirk she unabashedly dons, and she cants her head in the opposing direction. Then, her visage warps subtly with the reception of a new thought.

[ she observes indifferently, perplexed and yet amused by the fact that he seems to be determined to pointedly refute the facetious claim she has made; she dignifies his punctuated inquiry with a beat of silence before she proceeds ]