#zenithspan

“I don’t care if you wanted to come along, you are staying here for this field mission.”

Why Clark was so insistent, Kent didn’t know. Maybe he had some new gadget he wanted to test out and this caller (something about a flying saucer, Kent hadn’t paid much attention) had provided him the opportunity he needed to test it out. Whatever, it didn’t matter.

What did matter was that it was nearing the full moon, a time Kent so loved to indulge in. Alone.

[ @zenithspan​ : A meager audience settles in. Clark arrives, and proves to be the most attentive of First Contact's act. Perhaps they can recognize him from the vivid descriptions 683 has probably offered uninvited. In any case, he's shown up to offer some support. Possibly also to help fix stage equipment like a true roadie, or to wave around a lighter. Or whatever it is people do. Clark wants to add to the experience more than he takes away. ]

     HE STICKS out like a mislabeled hair metal record stashed in the glam rock section ( in other words, extremely and infuriatingly badly ). Those dorky glasses, that ugly, tacky shirt -- not that anyone else’s shirt around here is any better, mind you, but ugliness is subjective, and wearing something hideous with ironic intent is entirely different to just succumbing to bad taste. It’s one thing to look like the secret fifth member of Led Zepplin -- it’s another thing to look like you’re straight out of Scooby Doo. 

     SID REGARDS Clark with narrow-eyed suspicion, his cigarette limp between his lips as 683 fawns over him, sickeningly saccharine enough to rot your teeth down to the roots. He’s quick to remind anyone -- and everyone -- that Clark came just to see me, ‘cause he must really dig me, man, isn’t that just so fab ? Sid is a man of tact, of pride, and he is not jealous at all. 683 is welcome to go cuckoo over whatever washup nerd he pleases. The bassist gives a dismissive sniff, grumbling under his breath when 683 exclaims he’ll be right back, he promises, okaaaaay, throwing arms over Clark’s shoulders and swinging Priscilla in a circle as he zips away like the streaking afterimage of a fiery comet. He isn’t jealous at all. 

            “hey pal.” quark ducks under the counter to walk over to the man sitting alone at a table tucked in the corner. the bar is empty, save for a few drunken stragglers, and of course, clark himself. he stops beside him, one hand on his hip, gripping a bar rag. the other hand balances a tray to collect the last of the dishes. “we’re closing up. it’s nearly 0100.”

Well, that was not... the best hug Celerity had ever recieved. It felt stiff and awkward and not very comforting, but it was some form of presence. And to the speedy ‘bot, it did suffice to try and smother the acute feeling of loneliness. She didn’t quite know why she’d come to bother the mutant - the two barely knew each-other, but when it came down to it, Celerity didn’t have that many stable, or available, friends.

...At least she remembered clearly that he was never boring, so that may have played a role. And he had tried to comfort her. Celerity let out a relieved sigh as the hug ended, crossing her arms on her chest with a brave attempt at a smile. “Thanks. The company is appreciated.”

Well, well. Starfleet was at it again. This was just the sort of thing Odo had come to expect from them -- wasting limited time and resources on this ill-conceived Community Training Week experiment. Ensigns were to be temporarily swapped out among the different departments in order to give them a greater appreciation of what it is, exactly, that everyone does aboard the station. Greater appreciation meant a greater sense of community and cooperation -- according to research. What a spectacular idea!

He was going to have to curb his lack of enthusiasm.

[x]

Zora had just been curious about if they could even do that with their voice. Apparently they could. It would be a skill they would have to use to instill unease with others in the future. But for now, they would give it a rest.

They could already see Clark somewhat on edge as it was. And actually exacerbating him further wasn’t in their plans. So they purposefully take down a bit.

“Oh..?” Waffling somewhat at the unexpected reaction, Entrapta allows her hands (and hair) to fall back down to her sides so as not to cause any further alarm —the Clark she knows isn’t optimally responsive when his hackles are up like this. Naturally, her mind goes right to work, both an instinctive response and an attempt to drown out the whispers of dread.

“Well I’m Entrapta,” she begins, approaching a little more carefully than before. Amnesia is a concerning turn of events, often caused by some manner of head trauma, but there are no immediately visible signs in his behavior other than what he’s just told her.

DEAR DIARY -- WEDNESDAY

Today was awful. I went to the supermarket to buy some pre-cut fruit (I’m still not allowed to touch knives -- not after what I almost did to Priscilla’s cat) and I yanked on the door but it wouldn’t open. I thought the store wasn’t open, so I told the person behind me, they’re closed, don’t go in, but turns out, you’re just supposed to push the door, not pull on it. You couldn’t possibly know how this feels. I want to die. I should never go in public again. I don’t want anyone to see me for the next hundred years.

Because I couldn’t possibly stay there and suffer the shame of everyone knowing how stupid and dumb I am, I brought the big box of strawberries to the University to wait for Priscilla to get out of class, and while I was there, I met some guy named -- actually, I don’t know. He told me, but I wasn’t listening. But we had a nice conversation about vegetables and mushrooms and eating stuff. There was something about him ... like, how nice he was, and how much he was friendly and thoughtful but also seemed kind of angry? He reminded me kind of -- um, nevermind. But he mentioned he was interested in space. I’m thinking -- maybe I should get more strawberries, and go sit in the same spot ... !! And maybe I’ll see him again !!

DEAR DIARY -- FRIDAY

He wasn’t there. Found a bug on the floor, though. 

DEAR DIARY -- I DON’T KNOW WHAT DAY IT IS

I wish I got his name !! And I wish I had my cellphone, and I could’ve taken a picture of that bug ... he’s on my mind a lot, cuz Sid and Priscilla are real nice and everything, but they’re always making fun of me. You look dumb, stop writing in your diary, you can’t slam the fridge door past two AM. I wish I had someone to spend time with who didn’t tell me I’m -- weird. And not the nice kind of weird, like a cute girl with green hair, the bad kind of weird, where people stare at you and cross the street to avoid you because you upset them. Like I’m some annoying pest and being around me is a chore. No one ever listens to me. Not here or Atomina. And the whole reason I came all the way here was because I just wanted things to go a little better for me ... but he listened to me, even if it was just for a little, and even if we didn’t talk about anything important...

He mentioned something ... pot cast. Pat cast. Pod cost. I’ll ask about it later. 

ENTRY #15 --

1. I told Sid about finding the Pot Cast and he asked why and I told him why and he asked for details and I had to get my diary -- sorry, this is a journal -- out to remember the details. Sid says it’s too girly to say “dear diary” and I should say “captain’s log” or just number the pages by date. I don’t want to be girly ... Priscilla is already a girl, we can’t have two girls in a friend group. It seems excessive.

2. But that wasn’t important. I found the pot cast, its called the Zenith Span!!!! It’s actually just a voice recording he puts online of him talking to himself and people who yell at him. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever heard. Imagine being so outspoken, you just give your opinion on things, unwarranted...? That you just say whatever you mean, with all your whole huge heart, because you love things so much, or you hate them even more...? I fell asleep listening to them, but I woke up because in one of the pot casts it sounded like he was fighting someone and they were screaming about whether or not we needed another sequel for that giant monster crime fighting detective movie franchise. Oh!!!! And, you know, because he had a whole web-thing set up for it, so now I know his name: it’s Clerk!

ENTRY #16 --

I misheard. It’s Clark. Sorry.

ENTRY #17 --

I played Angry Birds so hard today I threw up. I think, actually, I threw up because I didn’t eat for twelve hours (because of the Angry Birds) and then I drank a glass of ice water, but that wasn’t the good thing about today -- I saw Clark again!!!! We went on a walk, we talked about things, he -- turns into -- soup -- but he’s ok!!!!! Its a very long story and my hand is tired and I don’t want to write it all out. I’ll draw a picture so I can remember it later. I looked kind of like this:

ENTRY #18 --

I’ve been spending a lot of time with Clark. He’s so funny -- like, he makes me laugh, and he’s fun, which is every applicable use of the word funny I can think of. When I get things wrong, he doesn’t make fun of me or call me dumb, usually he just tells me very plainly. And he’s kind of weird, too -- but the good kind of weird, the green-hair-girl kind of weird, because I’d never cross the street if I saw Clark coming down the sidewalk. I’d go up to him and ask if he wants to spend time together. I still listen to his pot cost -- I always want to keep up to date on the newest stuff he’s talking about, even if I don’t really know...whathe’s talking about. I still hope I see him out and about. Usually when I talk to people, I’m kind of just waiting for them to stop talking so it’s my turn to talk, but with Clark, he could talk about anything for as long as he wanted, and I’d be glad to listen. I don’t really know why ... I mean, admittedly, I don’t care about anything he likes. I don’t care about movies and I think science is boring. But if he likes it, then I guess I like it, too. 

ENTRY #19 --

We went to the pet store to get food for Priscilla’s cat and I saw the worst thing ever. One of those tiny dogs in the glass cages tore another tiny dog in half like a green onion pancake. Except -- it wasn’t green onions that came out -- it was a lot redder -- it looked like canned peaches ... it’s too terrible to describe. I want to pretend today didn’t happen.

ENTRY #20 --

TODAY IT WAS LIKE [ the rest of the page is filled with incomprehensible scribbles and hearts drawn in dollar store highlighter. ]

ENTRY #21 --

Yesterday I was too tired after everything so I tried to write but I think I fell asleep writing the entry because I just woke up on the floor with my face in the book. But I think I’m okay now. Nooooo I’m not OKAAAAAY I’m MORE THAN OKAAAAAAAAAAY

It was a routine day: petstore, the tiny dogs in the little glass cages, Clark helped me liberate them. He took me in his CAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT??????????????????? And I was already so excited to be in the car and I couldn’t believe we were still spending time and he did all that stuff for me and I went crazy and I didn’t even realize it!! I asked if he wanted to spend just a little more time together -- I mean, I only see him, like, once a month, and it’s always on accident. I don’t even use this book to write about much else other than the times I see Clark. And he didn’t just say yes -- he took me to a MOVIE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! It was a good movie!!! Actually, I don’t remember the movie, I was too excited that I was -- I was -- I can’t even write it down. I was on a D A T E with C L A R K and we were watching -- something about a teenager who can turn into a satellite -- I don’t know. It was a bad movie, actually, but he’ll never know I said that, and I’ll watch a thousand million quadrillion bad movies as long as I can watch them with Clark. 

He’s like those weird spikey plants that are hard to hold but you can’t help but to think they’re wonderful, and you wanna keep them around forever. I knew he was kind of ... blunt. Maybe tactless. But I really liked that about him. I really wish I could just fess up and tell him The Big Secret. I sometimes think that maybe he already knows. He loves space, it’s not like he’s stupid, he watches all those dumb “alien invader” movies that Earth is so obsessed with, why wouldn’t he have a feeling that maybe I’m not exactly who I say I am? 

I asked Priscilla and Sid and they said that 1. Clark isn’t special and I’m just a loser who found another loser like me 2. it’s a bad idea because he’ll either think I’m a crazy person telling lies or if he believes me he’ll tell someone else and they’ll tell other people and then it won’t be a secret. And that’s always the bad outcome. It’s a secret for a reason ... I know it’s for the best. Still. I’m so glad I know him. I feel a lot less lonely and a lot less bad weird, maybe more just normal weird. I hope we spend more time together. Maybe he’ll let me pick some new clothes for him ... ! I wanna write a song -- I just have to find words that rhyme with Clark. Bark ... stark? Shark!!!!!!!