( 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. ]

[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. ]

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!!]

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?