( 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

[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? ]