#fasciinating

STAR TREK: THE GALILEO SEVEN Starters | acceptin

Sybok raised an eyebrow, skeptical. “And whose opinion are you interested in? We are not logical creatures, Spock no matter what are people pretend. I need you to tell me how you feel. Dungi tu sahrafel?"

It was difficult after all this time, to have found his brother but also find so much distance between them. He wasn't even sure how the distance could be bridged given the years, lies and misconception between them. He hadn't gone a single day during his imprisonment without thinking of his siblings. When their homeworld was destroyed finding them and seeing them alive had been almost all consuming.

Arrakeen weeps.

Her heart beats steady for the thrum thrum thrumming of Fremen blood, water between grains. In between the Spice and the stratosphere; in between everything and nothing. A wicked fate thwarted beneath Romulan heel, all fire-from-above, making the Sietches mourn.

Feyd-Rautha sings at the funerals, warms the green in his veins on every pyre. The palace has become a mausoleum of his own making, and how lonely the making of his ghost. Each footfall, a warning in stone. Echoing, echoing all of his pretty intentions.

He circles Spock like a ter'ak blood-drooling for a meal. All empty stomach and midnight mouth. The crysknife shines so pretty in the moonlight; it's singing too. Yearning to unravel a fate that neither of them mean to get swept away in. Rivers always run.

"Ye-eess," with a grin cut arc-shaped, touching the eyes, a drawl that severs just after the teeth. The coruscation of his own dathe'anofv-sen mocks the twin moons, held steady in a palm thirsting for reprisal. He's shattered mirrors before, he can do it again.

"Hayaliiit, crawling out from under your rock," parrots the holy hymn stolen from dead Fremen tongues, "I don't think your teeth are sharp enough."

"I can feel you staring, you know," Jim announces, volume low on account of the quiet hall and only being a step ahead of Spock.

Jim had been chatty before, in the shuttle. Anyone close to him who had showed vague interest in conversation had received his attention.

He turns on his heel, eye brows raising as he meets Spock's eyes. "There's something you want to say."

No one had questioned Jim's curiosities on the shuttle. Afterall, it isn't unusual for his to seek out casual conversation with his crew when given the opportunity. But leave it to Spock to see through it.

THE SOUNDS OF NIGHTMARES SENTENCE STARTERS .

Kirk looked up from where he was seated behind his desk - glasses poised on the bridge of his nose as he stared down at a report that had come through on the padd. The screen was making his eyes ache, and the figures of a recent scan, his head. It was the mundanity of this role that caused tension in him. That usually drove him to the gym afterwards to hit something, or run out some of the pent up energy from sitting still for so long. But he was under strict orders to take it easy for a few days.

Near death experiences tended to do that.

Thus, the distraction was a welcome one.

When he had heard the door slide open, he wasn't sure who to expect, but it hadn't been Spock. They'd been avoiding each other after the last mission, after he'd been so wrapped up in his subconscious he'd forced the Vulcan's hand to meld with not only him, but McCoy. It had been deeply uncomfortable for all parties involved, and left each of them raw and exposed in different ways.

In fact. This is the first time they'd been alone together since.

He sets the tablet down and rests his elbows on the desk, fingers laced under his chin.

"What are you really trying to say here, Spock."

Jim thinks this is rather predictable; he worries, reveals or hints at some doubt that has been keeping him up and chasing sleep, and rather than judge or demand why, Spock shares his own carefully crafted opinion and then asks after Jim's thoughts. Just as Jim knows, that if he were to do the same with Bones, he'd be met with a loud guffaw, an eye roll, and a more boisterous disagreement.

Both friends would do their best to comment for him how they best saw fit, but he can say he could do without the noise. As much as Jim is loud, and often brash, there are moments like tonight where he craves quiet and simplicity.

"I don't know," it's as honest as he can manage. Jim isn't after pity, he isn't looking to be disagreed with. Although, he can't say he's looking for explicit agreement, either. Nor can Jim say with any real confidence what he'd like out of this conversation.

Some grace, maybe; a chance to explore what's kept him up over the last few weeks.

"Most of the time," he continues, slow, still working it out in his head as he speaks. "I'll defend all the choices I've made as captain, any rule I've broken along the way." Any, a funny word choice - Jim knows he's broken them, but sometimes he likes to pretend that he hasn't.

                      eyes fixed to his expression, surely her mother caught every nuance, filed it away with half a dozen calculations of how troublesome their unwilling guest would prove over the determined time.   personally, jaina believed the time too long for a multitude of reasons, had even expressed as much to her mother in private.   

                      firstly, vulcan as he may be, time stretched longer for those on the younger side of things.   three months would feel as if it were forever even for her if she were forced to remain somewhere without her usual duties, let alone separated from her mother and compatriots.    secondly, the empire would likely task every available resource and then some in pursuit of their stolen son.   three months was an agonizing long time for a microscope to be searching for them.   and thirdly, finally, was there any chance he would soften in opinion enough toward them that it won’t all be for naught?   for that, three months was a blink of an eye.

                      the glare that sent her heart into her throat for a beat certainly didn’t help her opinion.

                      ❝  three months.  ❞     dignified certainty as well as measured authority reverberated in her mother’s tone, unblinking in the face of what jaina was so certain was carefully brindled rage.   a soft nod toward the young man and celchu stepped forward to unshackle the vulcan with only a moment’s hesitation.   jaina chalked it up to his likely believing it a little too soon, but they trusted her, they all did.    or this harebrained scheme would have never happened.     ❝  what you take with you from your time here i cannot control, your highness, but i believe that the only way to truly know your enemy is to live amongst them.   i lived in the empire all my life, but neither you nor your father have had the same experience with the alliance.  ❞

                       ❝  if you would like to use your skills in some way here, i am certain we can figure a way to accommodate you safely.  ❞     what came next, however, truly shook jaina, an aspect of her mother’s plan she hadn’t been informed about.    ❝  my daughter, lieutenant solo, will serve as liaison for you.   if you have any questions or needs, she will pass them along if necessary or point you in the right direction.  ❞

@fasciinating / "You come from a world of rules and laws. This place is indifferent to all of that. I do not think you would be willing to do what it takes to survive here."

"I know where I come from!"

It's a shout strangling her vocal chords; hatred and frustration and so much embarrassment flood her system the longer Spock belittles her desires. He's not the first soul of the wasteland to suggest that she is better off tucking her tail between her legs to trace her steps backwards until her that shiny '28' hits the familiar steel gear she's stared at, mesmerized, loathed -- ever since she was a child.

The barrier that kept her locked tight like a little sparrow in a cage. Echo never wants to witness the sight of another fucking vault ever again.

"All you do is tell me what I can and cannot do. You think my life down there was any different? You're right, Spock: the surface is indifferent to people who follow the rules and keep their head down, yet somehow it hasn't clicked in your thick skull that that is why I'm still here. I'm so sick of hearing you act as if I haven't weighed the consequences over and over in my head with every goddamn step we take!"

The former vault dweller takes a step closer to her companion, daring him to fire back. To fight. All she ever wants anymore is to fight.

"I don't want certainty," she exhales, shoulders dropping like she's unloaded a burden pinching them together. "I don't want to wake up in the comfort of some prison cell knowing I'll make it past tomorrow."

Only then does she realize she's in his face, breath hot and heavy. She glares flickers from his mouth to his eyes, trying to get ahold of her temper before it explodes.

It was, in fact, more of a severe frown than a scowl that wrote creases into John's brow and dented in the edges of his mouth, but the distinction was probably missed on anyone that didn't know him well. And in this time, this place? The only one that fit that particular bill was Cortana.

One might think that with only a few scrapes and bruises left to show for his fight against the Arbiter and the explosion that had sent him rocketing off of the Halo ring into deep space where he'd been in an emergency hibernation for ... an indeterminate amount of time before he'd been picked up by this vessel, he'd have been in a better mood.

The observatory, or what at least was serving as one for the moment, was filled with projected images of the space that the ship - the U.S.S Enterprise (a designation he was entirely unfamiliar with) - was currently occupying, and charting where he and his suit had been found in a holographic overlay that stretched to the edges of the room around them, neatly labeled and entirely wrong.

Heavy brows furrowed a little further as he blinked, focusing his attention through the lens that he wore over one eye that allowed Cortana to project the maps of known space over the one that the ship's science officer had pulled up for him and it was a jarring mix of known, and unknown. "This isn't accurate." The words were impatient, and somewhat growled, though the Master Chief managed not to snap quite as much as he was inclined to. "Here --" A finger tapped against the communication device on his wrist. "Cortana, emit known UNSC and Covenant astral navigation charts, and highlight the differences for Officer ..." A moment's pause as he took the time necessary to recall the name that he'd been given. "Spock."