( MIXED. ) I KNOW YOU WANTED ME TO STAY

[ashaya]

Who: Spock & (Occasionally) You, Various CR as noted.
Where: Near the harbor, mostly.
What: Spock looks for a way to (ethically) negate the missile toads and their associated excretions. It backfires spectacularly.
Warnings: Ethical experimentation with hallucinogenic substances (toads), others TBA.

i. DON'T THINK I'VE LEFT YOU ALL BEHIND (OPEN TO ALL)

[ If you're (un)fortunate enough, you might encounter one (1) individual wrapped up in a parka and thick gloves examining the infamous toads from a (frankly inadvisable) distance one cool, winter evening.

Despite the notable impediment to writing, he's jotting down sharp, clean remarks in a thick, leather-bound notebook. If one is nosey enough to peer over his shoulder or settle up beside him, they might notice that it is all in a very peculiar form of shorthand. If one really squints, it seems more consistent with a form of... Esperanto?

Well, Esperanto enough. It doesn't seem to be wholly consistent with that either, given where words break into the next. ]

While I am not opposed to the company fellow observers, [ he will eventually say, his dark eyes turning to yours as the night winds off the sea begin to stir up, ] I ask you do not disturb it.

[ Well, at least he's nice enough about imposing boundaries?

Anyone who has a keen enough eye, however, will note his sharp cheekbones are a rather fetching shade of pine. ]

ii. GOD, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE? (CLOSED TO ESTABLISHED CR)

Good evening, [ comes a particularly sleepy baritone nearest your... heels? Indeed so. It appears whomever is out here just at the cusp of nightfall is laying bundled up in the grass on the outskirts of Aldrip proper. He's a tall man, though it is difficult to discern precisely who he is under the layers he wears. He has a furred hood up and about his ears, the dark curls of his hair(?) the only identifier that clears the ruffed and ruffled mass. It does not help that he also appears to be a perch for several felines, all of whom look very well fed.

The sleek, black one that sits upon his chest opens one, curious green eye if you're inclined to lean over and investigate. The others? Well, they instead seem contented to sniff about your shoes and wind their way about your legs if you're "on the level," as it were. ] To my count, you have approximately seventeen point four one minutes to return to your residence without further incident.

[ Uh.

And then, the man starts up again. ]

Approximately. I confess my margin of error appears to have expanded.

[ The black cat, almost as if bidding you on, gives an obliging prrbt as the man lifts one hand to stroke along its back.

Well. ]

Comments

A THOUSAND MILES AWAY (CLOSED TO CLAUDE.)

[ashaya]

[ While it is easiest to come to the conclusion after the fact that Aldrip never quite permits a graceful exit to any problem, in the moment?

In the moment, Spock finds himself spooling his sentences around his fingers like fine filament upon the floor of the eponymous "catio," one (1) Claude von Riegen somewhere nearest his approximate eight (or inexact bottom left). He can feel the vibration of his breathing through the soles of his feet, the bonded pair of Terran felines that seem to most often take up residence in the newly repaired space examining them from "on high." Their bright eyes glimmer as Spock tips his head as if to oblige their innate fascination with the dark curls of his hair, the minute shift of his ears a poor showing against the wide sweep of their own. ]

Fascinating, [ he murmurs, orange zest and lemon-bright against the rough surface of his tongue. By his estimations, he has said as much at least 13.4 times since their consumption of the isolated substance, the barrier that lays between his mind and Jim's held up only by the muscle of his own repression and years of staunch practice. He wonders if the porous quality of his shields make for something more or less reassuring, lacey shells chewed through by parasitic teeth and abrasive saline. ] Even now, they remain as though locked in the other's orbit.

[ To his own eyes, there is a communion of dust motes and smeared satellites. They contrast not at all with the patterning of their coats, but rather are complimentary. He knows it to be a process of his mind, its filtering of the substance ingested, but it is rather more preferable to prior intoxicants of similar quality.

Perhaps one's internal state is a decisive factor after all. ]

[feintofhart]

[ It's not as though Claude hasn't dealt with drugs before.

He's quite famous for doing just that, in fact. At least he is around here, where people seem to think that certain substances that do no more than liquor is much more scandalous than sipping on a beer. But most of his experiments have to do with making himself incredibly ill which is, while not ideal, something he's so accustomed to that he barely bats an eye at it, much to Ethlyn's dismay.

But he's never dealt with a drug like this before. And most of the time when he's fooling around with any number of spices, herbs, or strange plants, he's doing so in isolation, not with a companion who is presumably going through something similar beside him. He feels himself oscillate wildly between a sensation of utter peace, the grain of the wooden floor beneath his fingertips the most fascinating thing he's experienced in some time, to blinding paranoia that something awful is going to happen and it will somehow be his fault.

The latter is not unusual for him, granted, but it's certainly heightened somewhere in between emotion and sensation and the third mystery of sensations he has no name for. His tongue feels oddly furred as he rubs it against the roof of his mouth, trying to make sense of what Spock is saying. ]

Ah... hm.

[ He does not enjoy the frequency with which he has to confess to Spock that he has no idea what he's saying. It makes him feel stupid. He loathes feeling stupid. But try as he might, he can't figure it out. ]

The cats? [ He says, voice thick. ] Of course they are. They're best friends.

[ Surely that's what he's talking about. Right? ]

[fieldtrip]

[ Toph, of course, knows exactly who this is even before he speaks, and she'd actually come over because she'd felt him on the edges of her senses laying down on the ground, heartbeat doing weird things. What the heck? Is he okay?

When she gets there and he speaks, she starts to put it together. She snorts. ]

Are you high? [ she asks bluntly. She was absolutely there when Sokka drank the cactus juice, even if she was upset at the time. ] Your heartbeat is all over the place. Like, more than normal.

[ She absently pats a cat winding its way around her legs. ]

[ashaya]

[ He wouldn't expect much less. After all, all states and matters of being aside, he is still much more cognizant than most of his peers would be under these conditions. Vulcan physiology is unique. It is just when one splices Humanity into it that it gets tricky. Well, trickier than usual. Vulcans are, unsurprisingly, very unwilling to delve into specifics regarding their anatomies, never mind their culture before Surak. It isn't to say that they won't do the latter, but—

Spock blinks. The cat upon his chest (her name being unknown to all, but those who would have dared to peer into his very detailed notes and Jim), also blinks. The cats that wind their way about Toph's legs continue to wind about her legs. His breath blooms before him, a cloud of condensation. It is weaker than a Human's, but no less present. He doubts that Toph should be able to feel it, but it is so that she should be able to feel the minute shift of musculature (parallel as he is to the ground) as he considers and finally (finally) arches one, dark brow.

(It takes precisely two point three one seconds longer than usual.) ]

Yes, [ he says, voice no different than usual to an unknowing ear. Toph, however, is very much aware of him and is indeed very much aware of his tics. He should say that she knows him better than most here, barring his own Captain(s). ] While I am not, as you say, "high" in the traditional sense, I am indeed experiencing a number of analogous side effects.

[ A pause. ] You are welcome to seek respite with us. I too should be returning momentarily.

[ And yet, he's not moving. He doesn't even seem to be thinking of moving.

Okay. ]

[fieldtrip]

[ A full two seconds is a long delay for someone as snappy as Mr. Snarky. Toph is deeply suspicious. Maybe other people find Spock hard to read, because they stupidly need to use their eyes, but Toph is good at listening and she can find the smallest cracks in the smoothest metal. ]

Okay, [ she drawls, ] sounds like you need a babysitter, anyway.

[ Toph flops herself directly on the ground beside him and leans back on her hands, idly digging her toes into the ground and shifting little piles of earth around. ]

How'd this happen? Lizard-cat got a little too curious for its own good?

[ She smirks slightly at her own joke. But it's true that Spock isn't someone she'd expect to find laying in the grass blasted out of his mind on any random day. Is he okay? Something worse going on? ]

ii

[arachnerina]

[Why would the spiders be anywhere but the one place they shouldn't be? Gwen and the Peters absolutely decided they were going to investigate. They were nosy, but they also knew others were likely to sneak out, and that meant people might be in danger, which meant they needed to be out to help.

So here she was, landing on the ground when she spots a stranger--- no, her spider sense says otherwise, only for her to tilt her head when her eyes land on all the cats.

Cats she most definitely knows.]

Yeah, I know. I'm out here on purpose. You?

[Don't mind if she takes a few steps forward to clear the distance between them, and reaches her hand down to one of the cats that runs up to her. It sniffs her, then nudges at her hand, and only then does she start to pet it. Look, she might've gotten a little attached to these guys when she was feeding them for him!!]

FINALLY CRAWLS BACK FROM HOLS

[ashaya]

[ Ah, yes. The spiders. They would indeed by out and about, wouldn't they? That knowledge doesn't surprise him. Moreover, the knowledge that one of the collection has discovered him in such a state? Even less surprising. They did have such a "knack" as Humans would call it for discovering him in any number of interesting positions and situations.

Spock doesn't pause, but he does take a beat longer to lift his hand in automatic greeting than he usually would. He doesn't attempt the ta'al, knowing his fine motor skills appear to be somewhat compromised, but the upward tilt of a palm gets the same message across. ]

I intend to return to my quarters within the specified period, [ he says, without missing a beat. His eyes are darker than usual as he tips his head toward her, the ruff of his coat covered in a fresh coat of hoar. ]

Be mindful of her left flank, if you please. [ He can tell who she is petting, even if he cannot visually confirm which cat it is. Each has its own "impression," as it were. It is enhanced further now, a fact that Spock notes for later documentation. ] She has recently engaged in a territorial dispute.

<3

[arachnerina]

[It's still unclear if it's good luck or bad luck, that has them always finding their friends in "interesting" positions. It's certainly never intentional! It just...happens. Often. To all of them.]

Oh, yeah? Not curious what all the hubbub is about?

[He might not really be a fighter per-say, but he is strong, and can handle just about anything thrown at him. She knows this, personally. And he's typically the curious type, though maybe the rule follower part of him is winning out right now?? Who knows.]

Have you been fighting again? I thought we talked about this! [Is she baby talking the cat? Why yes, yes she is. She's careful, though, being mindful of her left side, as Spock said.]

[ashaya]

[ Hard to say, particularly when one is looking at a Vulcan.

That also said, he is indeed strong. Stronger than most would give him credit. He isn't a fighter, yes, but does in fact know how to defend himself and prefers to disarm his opponents via... Well, putting them temporarily "to bed," as others have called it.

Either way, Spock swallows once. The sound is dryer than it ought to be. It takes him a moment to realize he is experiencing what is colloquially referred to as "cotton mouth." ]

If you are referring to the bufonids equipped with individually scaled projectiles, I am not. If there are other, as you say, "hub-bubs" about, then I will consider remaining outside my outside domicile for the duration.

[ As he talks about them, his words tend to wander more than they ought to. He tries pulling them back to the fore, but they're quite determined to slip through his means of relaying information. But, still, the point remains. Either way: ]

She will elect not to understand, [ he says, voice more a rumble than it is anything else. He reaches out a hand to her (the cat, that is) and mumbles something that causes the translator to "hiccough." It is something that falls in the vein of... Small one? ] She, like other felids, are not deterred by significantly delayed chastisement.

[ If this were any other day, he might have no issue whatsoever petting her. At the moment, his fingers seem almost... Uncooperative. They bend out of careful sync, remaining less curled than they ought to permit him the most efficient means to stroke along her spine. ]

I

[baldrshand]

[Ethlyn has stopped in her tracks on realizing that the creature under observation is, in fact, one of the missletoads.

Why Spock would get any closer to one of those things than he positively has to is a mystery, but then, he's rather a mysterious man, isn't he?]

Believe me, I would rather not attract its attention. What exactly are you doing, Mr. Spock?

[ashaya]

[ Indeed so, it would appear. Said missletoad in question is currently occupied with waddling about in concentric circles, its girthy little legs tucking in the most visually uncomfortable manner known to Humanoid (or Vulcanoid) eyes. The little... Projectiles(?) strapped to its back looked... Festive...

Behind the blind of a snowbank, said Mr. Spock turns his head. The ruff of his parka shimmers with half-crystallized precipitation.

He quietly closes his notebook and tucks it away in his (much used) satchel beside him. ]

I am attempting to discern its social habits and preferred locales, [ he says, his voice as unmodulated as it always is. He tips his head, indicating the specimen while not even having to visually confirm where has now (vaguely) shuffled off to. He can hear it, it seems. ] By doing so, I may construct a rudimentary map to prevent further encounters with the creatures. [ He pauses, a minute furrow forming between his upswept brows. ] That is, despite the insistence that some possess for purposely provoking them.

[ And, well, despite his own mutual interest in achieving a sample of the toxins to determine their effects and thus make an antigen. Whatever. That's not important. ]

[baldrshand]

Now that sounds very useful. [She lowers her voice so as to avoid attracting the creature's attention and crouches behind the snowbank.] I wish I could say I was surprised that people have been getting their attention on purpose, but some people here will get up to such strange tricks that it's comparatively mild.

What are your observations so far? Anywhere they like in particular?

[ashaya]

[ Unfortunately, he is of the variety that will indeed find out at a later date. Best laid plans, et al. ]

People do so allow themselves to be swept up by their individual curiosities, [ he says, tone suggestive of one not particularly derisive. Only mildly, in the way that one might regard a dog that's scratched about a door jamb if one tilts their head and squints. It's more in the way of one brow, really. It arches, if one might call it an arch, further up toward the lay of his bangs. ] Thus far, there has been no definitive point of origin for the creatures in question. While not wholly unexpected based upon previous incidents within Aldrip and its surrounds, there is suggestion they tend to congregate about areas of high activity.

[ And subsequently, as the suggestion would seem, those who go looking for trouble indeed find it. ]

[baldrshand]

I wonder if it's simply a thing that the playwrights of this place decide will appear... like a bunch of clowns suddenly appearing after a dramatic scene to lighten the mood.

[She really doesn't understand how all this computerized simulated environment works, honestly, it's a bit father beyond her than germ theory and cilia. The best she's been able to conceptualize it so far is as an astonishingly elaborate theatre setting, where the director and propmasters can change things with a thought rather than physical labor.]

They rally don't seem to have any natural purpose, otherwise--I can't imagine this is how they would go about catching prey if they were wild creatures.