A crochet contest? It’s kind of sweet (okay, tooth-rottingly sweet), and Jim catches himself smiling. At least it’s good to know the Tower isn’t being too tough on the kids (or some of them, anyway); Jim’s pretty sure he heard what he would call if he didn’t know any better, a dragon roaring, earlier. The mention of magic once again has his attention, and he tilts his head inquisitively. “What kind of magic helps you crochet?”

“I’m not sure anything around here is normal.” Jim leans back on his hands, the sleeves of his sweater dropping around his wrists; he should probably get clothes that fit a little better, but Spock had given him some that he claimed weren’t properly insulated for him, and honestly they were comfortable - besides, Jim hated being wasteful.