( 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? ]