ten_fwd_ooc | TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

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test drives

TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

Option 001. Alien planet, marketplace: So you're new to this whole space travel thing. The ship is cool and all, but there are hundreds of alien worlds out there. You want to explore. To see what the universe REALLY looks like.

Well, here's your chance! Your first stop is this lovely indoor marketplace, which looks kind of like a mall. There are stalls one after the other as far as the eye can see, and they sell all kinds of things: food, clothes, trinkets, animals, fabrics, jewelry, perfumes, books, etc etc. Some things look human, easy to recognize; other things look very alien. There are two levels, and constant chatter as people hawk their wares and discuss prices.

Do you want to explore? Poke at the weird shops? Buy a gift for a new friend? Flirt with someone at the food court? Maybe you see a pickpocket, and must run to the aid of the victim. Maybe there's some other villainy afoot. After all, a crowded marketplace is a good place for villains to lurk, causing trouble. Whether you're a hero or just an unassuming traveler, there proves to be some adventure for you on this planet.

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Option 002. Aboard the Enterprise, Ten Forward: You have no idea what just happened. One minute you were home, and now you're on a spaceship, in the middle of a crowded room. It looks like a bar. There are people eating and drinking, some in uniform, others not. Some are clearly aliens.

You've managed to land in Ten Forward a long bar with barstools and a bartender, tables sprinkled throughout, and the far wall is nothing but windows out to space. It looks like a nice lounge, low conversation making the room hum.

Better ask some questions and find out where you are, or just tap the closest person on the shoulder and try to make friends. The bar is open.

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OPTION 1

Being bitter about the whole plucked from his time and space is getting a little exhausting and none productive. You can only wallow in replicated bourbon for so long until your dignity cries uncle. So if there's anything to pull himself out of his shell, a bazaar isn't a bad place to start. Sometimes he comes away with good flora and fauna samples for testing and synthesizing. Sometimes he finds nothing but squat, but never it hurts to look and haggle--Or, in McCoy's case, argue down pricing. Some of these species thought much too highly of their mundane stock.

As he pulls away from one stall, some ass runs right into his shoulder like he hasn't just been standing there for all the world to see! The doctor yells out as much when the punk doesn't even stop to apologize, and that's when he realizes his med kit's been lifted.

"Hey--Hey!" Barking out his indignation, McCoy turns around to see the thief has practically hightailed it out of the area already. "Stop him--Stop that man! Christ..." if you want something done right... McCoy starts following after him, doing his best to nudge the people out of his way rather than bulldoze them over. It's a damn fine line.

OPTION 2

When there's nothing else to do but sulk, it's best to do it at a bar. Well, no, it's better to do it in his own damn cabin, but that doesn't exactly exist anymore, or got moved. Everything's been moved around here. The entire Enterprise is misaligned to the schematics in his head. He gave up looking for the Mess Hall after the third try, only finding an Observation Deck instead. Damn frustrating if he does say so. And he does!

At least the synthehol actually tastes like the real thing. That's one change he can approve. Back to the crowd, he tries to ignore some of the stares that make him feel like a damn zombie. Can't a man just drink himself under the table in peace for crying out loud?

Steve's across the path when he hears yelling. He hadn't been sure about disembarking, but life on the Enterprise was beginning to feel cramped, and when certain members of his team took the opportunity for shore leave he couldn't exactly stay behind. He thought about wearing the suit just in case, but settled for civvies and his running shoes. Not the best when you want to clear a quick path, but it'll work.

"Where did he go?" Steve asks, rushing up to Leonard's side. He's pacing him now, but as soon as the doctor points out the thief he'll really take off.

"Hell if I know," he mentions after a puff if breath, trying to find a clear view of the humanoid between the crowd. It wasn't exactly easy. "That one!" He finally declared, point a little to the right. "The one in the hood!" Which isn't too specfic, but he didn't exactly expect to be robbed in plain view! Next time he'll start profiling for Heaven's sake!

Steve strains to follow the direction McCoy lines up for him, looking through the throngs for -- got him, man in a hood, turning down the side street.

"I see him," he says, nodding once. He shoots McCoy a reassuring glance. Steve's good at taking orders, but better at doling out his own brand of justice. He'll catch him.

Without another word he pushes ahead, picking the quickest route to where the man disappeared. Which just so happens to take him barreling straight through a fruit stand and over a cart of fabrics, hanging a hard right once he reaches the corner. At least it clears a path for McCoy, now that people are backing up to stare after him.

Sure, it clears a path, but McCoy feels real weird taking it now. Everyone is sort of gawking at the disturbance, parted like Moses himself had barreled on through. Now everyone's looking back at him and all he can do is snap his mouth shut so he doesn't let in any more flies and follow after the two kids.

"You don't need to destroy everythin' just for a damn satchel..." It's certainly important, but so's the poor fruit stand and a man's livelihood. Hopefully this doesn't end with him being kicked off the planet by proxy for this bullhead's brash strike of heroism.

Noriko is still eyeing the shirt (generously called that, because she's only pretty sure it's actually going to cover what she was assured it would) she just got at the...alien mall, for lack of a better term, when she gets around to trying the sake that's been in front of her.

And she coughs, setting the cup down and away as her eyes water.

"God. Wow, that's...hell, is that what all of this tastes like?" she asks, glancing over at McCoy. "Way to discourage drinking."

The cough rouses him from the brooding cloud he's been fueling for the past hour. he glances over at the young girl beside him, chuffing at her attempt.

"Sweetheart, don't start with that..." He leans closer to smell it and the whiff even makes him clear his throat. "Especially somethin' that cheap. Start sweet and work your way up. It's an acquired taste, sure, but you get used to it." He remembers the first time his cousins put a bottle of inexpensive whisky in front of him as a joke. The taste and the coughing's still a vivid memory burned in his mind, especially the laughter. After that he stuck with spiked cider until he could legally drive.

Edited 2014-07-31 07:31 (UTC)

Noriko shakes her head for a minute, pushing the glass away from her.

"I've had cheap whiskey before. I've had cheap a lot of things before... But that's just especially bad," she manages. "It tastes weirdly flat."

The change still gets to him, the way they've taken his ship and changed it into something new and foreign. It grates on his nerves every time he takes a wrong turn. It's just not right. He knows his silver lady, her insides, her purr. But this isn't his ship and he's not the captain.

Realizations like that make him want to drink. And bars, even in space, are a pretty comfortable place for him.

So it w as familiar and casual when he slid up to the bar, smiled and ordered something strong. Apparently the majority of drinks need to glow under blacklights in the future, but he's not going to complain.

Not about that anyway. What is complain worthy though is the itch on his back. He rolled his shoulders in a futile attempt to make it stop and when that didn't work, he bent his arm awkwardly behind him in an attempt to scratch. But it was that elusive spot between shoulder blades that only a skilled contortionist could get, and while he would brag flexible, he couldn't claim to be that good.

"Ah, dammit." He grumbled, switching arms and trying with equally failing results to scratch his itch. That's when desperation set in and his eyes scanned the bar and then nearby patrons for help.

There's not many to choose from. In fact, there's only the man next to him. And it's no pretty girl to scratch his itch, but he turns on the charm anyway, all smile and bright blue eyes and a look that says 'you know you want to help'.

Edited 2014-07-31 07:27 (UTC)

McCoy's seen enough shit in his life to not really care what people do in their little personal bubbles. It only becomes a problem when that bubble invades his, which it almost does when an elbow comes close to jabbing him in the arm. So with an annoyed huff, he gives the man a brief glare--Or tries, until he gets a look at his face. It's like he's seeing a ghost from his past. Suddenly he's back at the Academy after hours with his best friend after a rough exam.

But the eyes, shockingly blue like his, break the spell after the embarrassing stare. "What are you, a damn monkey?" he finally gripes, sharper than he really means to with a stranger. It simply rolls out easily and comfortably like he's talking with his Captain. Hopefully the man doesn't take it too hard.

"A monkey arm would be great right now." He grumbled easily, not deterred in the least by the remark. After years with his own cankerous doctor by his side, insults like that slide off his back easier than water on oiled skin.

"Know where I could get one?" And he's oh so tempted to point out that that hairy arm could damn well be mistaken as one, but he's here to get his back scratched, not make enemies.

"It's right...here." And he turns just enough for the other man to see fingers flailing against his back, trying to inch up to the spot right between his shoulders where the itch taunts him. He's moments away from trying to find a wall with an actual sharp corner to it to rub up against.

"Haven't the foggiest, kid. I'm sure someone's sellin' one at the bazaar we're orbitin'..." He continues drinking his bourbon, but it's a futile attempt. Whoever this kid is, he's either stupid or just has the biggest pair of brass balls to keep annoying the customers around him.

"What do I look like, a masseuse?" He scoffs. "Throw the bartender a few credits, I'm sure she'll be more'n happy to oblige ya..." As the liquor starts to soak in, his accent grows stronger with his disparaging words.

He made a face at the mere suggestion, "No way. Haven't you read Jacob's The Monkey's Paw? Don't ever buy one from a bazaar."

And his shoulders slump lightly with the realization that he's not going to get any help and turned back toward the bar, "Guess some people just don't care about others' suffering." Was it his dirty little attempt at a guilt trip? The sideways glance back at the grumpy patron probably pointed towards 'yes, yes it was' but that wasn't the only reason the man attracted his attention once again. He recognized that accent. Hell, he recognized the whole attitude.

What a baby. "A lil' sufferin's good for the soul." He finishes his bourbon and asks for another three fingers. "And I have actually, but it's not exactly on most people's reading lists these days..." The only reason McCoy knows it was because of his late grandfather. The man enjoyed old short stories, some of them he would read him when he was little. He has to wonder why in the hell this punk even knows that. He doesn't strike him as the book worm, but there is a discernible intelligence to him... McCoy had just assumed it was street smarts.

"....suffering is good for the-" and he interrupted himself with an amused snicker, "Now that, that's definitely something I've heard before. And don't agree with." He added quickly, remembering the last time he had heard that phrase was when Bones' hypo made him as sick as a damn dog. He could still remember feeling like he was leaking. Leaking! He didn't need a repeat of it.

"See if you're saying that when you have an itch you can't scratch."

Edited 2014-07-31 11:32 (UTC)

"Well you should. That's free advice from a doctor for Heaven's sake." Of course, though, he would have to retire his shingles if every one of his patients actually listened to his pearls of wisdom. And that sure as shit isn't going to happen any time soon.

"You don't need to worry about me now. I've got an arsenal that could take care of any itch any place..." No suffering for this man.

"Doctor?" Okay, really how many doctors were there with that accent and that type of bedside manner? His eyes narrowed for just a brief moment before it was all smile again. And he turned to face the man properly and held out his hand.

"Jim Kirk by the way." And then he waited.

McCoy looks at the hand and back at the boyish face smiling at him. He repeats the process one more time before he sets his jaw into a stubborn, bullheaded line and brings his blue eyes up to meet the kid's own.

"Yeah, what about him?" he asks, because obviously this isn't Jim Kirk. Sure, he had been pulled in at first, taken aback by how similar they looked, but no matter the similarities, there were plenty of differences. He figures he's an easy name to impress people with, to get a few free drinks or company home. Either way, a name and a handsome face isn't going to suck McCoy in so easily.

He almost do laughs at that stubborn look that crawls over features, such familiar features accented with an age he's not familiar with. But this isn't exactly the first time the situation has cole up, though last time he was the one calling bullshit.

"You know, usually when people introduce themselves, you return the gesture. But you're a Southern boy, you know that. Don't you, Bones?" He was eighty percent sure he was right here. Yeah this doctor was older, and thinner, and the color of those eyes were so stunningly off, but the rest? Well...he was just going to trust his gut instinct here. Bones was his best friend after all, he'd be an ass not to recognize him.

McCoy's blue eyes narrow at the kid's cheeky little comments. But it's the nickname that gets him setting his glass down and sliding it across the counter, and effectively away from him.

"Think I've already hit my limit for the day." Which is mighty sad if he's only on his second glass, but it's a better explanation than a strange, technically inaccurate copy of his good friend sitting beside him.

There's answer enough for him in that gesture and his eyes light up with a barely contained excitement.

"It is you! I knew it. I mean, okay the blue eyes threw me off a bit. When did you get those anyway?" And he leaned in a little closer, eyes narrowing as if he was searching for something written on the doctor's face. "You got old. Not as old as Spock when I met him though. Oh, oh is Vulcan still around?"

"Well it's not you!" he retorts, almost offended by this blathering. "And I've always had blue eyes, thank you! I should be askin' you when you stole my shade, kid."

As the man leans in, McCoy sharply leans back away from the scrutiny. "And you got obnoxious! What are you even yammerin' about... Of course Vulcan's still around--Why, why shouldn't it be?"

He frowned and leaned back. "It doesn't matter right now." There's be time to discuss that tragic altering of the timeline some other time. And it'd be a waste of breathe if he couldn't even believe he was the man he was claiming to be.

"You don't recognize me?" Spock had recognized him immediately. "Were we not friends at the Academy? You are still my-his CMO, aren't you?"

"Oh, I recognize you. I'm just havin' a hard time believin' it," he sighs, staring at his neglected drink just out of reach. The kid sounds so wounded by his rebuke, McCoy almost feels bad. No, he does feel bad. But this is... a lot to even consider, let alone accept.

"His? I though you were--Oh God in Heaven..." Then it dawns on him and he can't stay in denial any longer. "There's two of you." Yeah, he needs that drink back. McCoy reaches over and pulls it back. "Christ, one of you was work enough."

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star_born - 2014-08-02 02:51 (UTC) - Expand

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oldsouth - 2014-08-02 03:09 (UTC) - Expand

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star_born - 2014-08-02 03:24 (UTC) - Expand

The bazaar really wasn't a place where Janice expected trouble. Away missions were a different situation entirely but this was supposed to be safe... or relatively safe. No more dangerous than her time at the Academy. But when she heard a voice yelling behind her, she reacted instantly, giving chase.

Sprinting was something she was good at, but stopping a determined thief wasn't exactly in her training no matter how much Kirk insisted on teaching her hand to hand. Wrapping her hand around the satchel's strap, Jan managed to pull it free of the thief's grip. A sharp shove from the being set her stumbling into one of the stalls. Letting out a yelp, she managed not to break any of the merchandise but she ends up on the ground, still clutching the bag, staring up at the other shoppers in a daze.

Edited 2014-08-01 04:27 (UTC)

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TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

Leonard McCoy | Star Trek: TOS | OTA

#1!

Sorry been out of town

No worries! ^__^

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Option 2!

sorry been out of town

No worries!

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wow that is Spock's job jesus

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Option 001