#elfrp

     Unorthodox. If there was one word in the entire human English dictionary he could describe the only Captain James T. Kirk as, it was unorthodox. Not that he's ever met the man, but he's heard of him, and he's had his fill just from that. Scott didn't prefer people that didn't play the rules, it brought a bitter taste to his mouth when the odds actually played in their favor. As a man, A Mutant, whose worked his whole life to bloodied fingers and broken teeth, he didn't appreciate unorthodox. Slim was a rigid, stuck-up-his-ass, no fun follow the rules leader. He wasn't standing here today by having fun or enjoying his spare time. In fact, Scott didn't have much of a life unless it was work. To him, he would have been a dead man, if not for having his life saved by the X-Men. More so, the Captain, Charles Xavier.

     Someone who Scott has even considered close enough to a father figure, who raised him to be a leader, to be strong and determined. Some say he grew up to serious, that life was supposed to be enjoyable. Well, he enjoyed work. He enjoyed running around on field, saving lives and being with his teammates. Everyday their planets need for the X-Men grew more and more, the turmoil and fear that was being spread like a wild fire over the sudden Evolution made their jobs difficult. Scott Summers, age 37, Co-Captain and Field Captain of the X-Men, was one of the first of his kind to form a Mutation.

     Optic blasts, heat vision, a super nova of energy settled inside of his cranium. From the bright blue eyes he had as a child now remained two balls of crimson energy. Like someone had set his eyes on fire, they constantly burned. But, a part of who he was, was learning how to ignore the pain.

     It made him stronger, the struggle made him stronger. He was a Mutant and proud. The Evolution was good for them. From an uncharted planet, a "second" Earth, they have grown to be a more superior kind than Humans. A part of him felt pride for being over looked, then suddenly all eyes on them. Suddenly everyone is looking at Earth 616. Don't get him wrong, he accepted that Mutations made them more powerful, he could understand the threats they may appear to be. It's only natural to fear when you don't understand, as said by the great Charles Xavier. He didn't want to be the more dominant race, he didn't want to be worshiped as advanced human beings. No, he wanted just that--to be considered human beings.

     "That's the guy I was telling you about." Warren, or Angel, spoke up, snapping Scott from his thoughts. Both of them looked over the large table in the middle of the room. Many of the Starfleet commanders were here, some from other planets that also had connections and legions with the USS. Even if they had a choice, Scott would have called them to join sides if they hadn't have called first. Over the course of the last 15 years, their planet of Earth 616 had grown more advanced in technology and inhabitants than regular or "first" earth. "Captain James Kirk." Ah, the new Captain to the USS Enterprise, said to be the best ship in Starfleet's command.

     "--He looks 12." Was Scott's response, turning his ruby covered gaze towards the man. Not bothering to hide that he's looking at him. The sunglasses helped with that. "Yea, but you gotta admit, the guy has a pretty cool reputation." His friend replied, really, this was his best friend. Not Co-Captain. Not yet, at least. Xavier was soon to retire his position as Captain to Scott. He knew he would miss him, but he would never turn down that opportunity. Being here, at this meeting for Earth 616 compliance with federal space law now that they're being watched, was his first task playing Captain. A test.

     Blue eyes looked at him, and he looked back at his friend wearing his designer coat. "Ready?" Angel asked, nudging his shoulder with his own in a friendly gesture. As the last man walked in and took a sweat, his lips drew into a thin line.

In the middle of a semi-crowded cobbled street, the later workers are finally leaving their jobs and headed home or towards the nearest tavern for a well-earned bite. On one particular less-lit corner, Harold stares down at Emi incredulously as she looks away and nervously chews at the collar of her cloak.

"What do you mean you gave my machete away? You shouldn't have even been touching it in the first place!" He'd been gone less than five minutes, hustling some money out of the shell-game runners, and the little fae had gone and lost all their stuff (well more his stuff - she didn't really have anything besides the clothes he found her in).

"He's gonna give it back, just asked to borrow it," she mumbles around the cloak, eyes now drawn toward the glowing moths that are starting to come out in the twilight. She'd like to catch one, she thinks, just as soon as the big grumps' done freaking out.

Harold sighs, "No, he's not," shaking his head. "When're you gonna learn, they never give it back. Never trust a stranger kiddo, they're always gonna screw you."

She thinks maybe he's overreacting. Then again, he trusts her, and she was a stranger until they said their names to each other, and she did kind of lose his stuff. Also that maybe they'd have more food if he didn't waste all his energy freaking out like this... "You can buy another one!" She exclaimed cheerfully, exceptionally pleased at her problem-solving skills.

But for some reason the human just sighs even louder, tugging at his hair even though she knows for a fact the action has no resultant value - it won't grow any faster that way, she's already tried last night while he was sleeping. "I can't. I just spent the majority of our money on the room I got us earlier, since you cried last time we slept in the woods."

In her defense the woods are extremely scary and filled with the kind of creatures that likely took her parents, not to mention "Dirty! And itchy! And scary! I can't sleep on the ground Harooo, its not a bed, beds are soft, and you can't sleep without a bed!"

"Ugh, whatever." He's got that scrunchy-thinky face again to accompany his frown. "Okay, um, do you know which way he went? The guy you gave my machete to?" 

"Ummmm," Emi looks around, considering. "There. He went in there!" She chirps, pointing toward the busy tavern down the road, swarmed with stocky dwarves and elves with shady eyes, coal miners off shift heading inside from the street. Her human better appreciate this, she's just solved his problem, like twice! 

"Of course that's where he went," Emi's pretty sure if Harold were more fae, his skin might have turned green and his hair would've poofed out, the way he's looking. "Urg, okay. Emi," he starts sternly, in what she thinks is his parent-voice, "Stay right here," he says as he points down at the ground below her, "I'll, erm, I'll be back in a few minutes." He looks towards the pub, worry warring with annoyance on his face. "Do not talk to anyone. Do not give anyone anything, don't even look at anyone. Just, just stay here and be safe until I get back, alright?"

"Yessir!" She sings out, before plopping into a pretzel position on the ground, smiling and returning her gaze to the growing swarm of moths by the streetlamp above them.