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allmhadadhOr: The Brig is the Happening Place to Be!
Whatever was happening to this ship, whoever she was, wasn't good. It sounded like a battle; all around him, he could practically hear the energy shift through her as power was redirected from one place to another, and the shudders of shots taken.
It was a strange place to be trapped, on a ship with no name, surrounded by humans wearing unknown uniforms, in the middle of a battle.
How the bloody Hell did he get here from San Francisco?
Scotty didn't move from his spot, despite the chaos. Whatever had happened that found him waking up in some strange medical facility and required him to be under guard implied one of two things: Either he was under arrest for some crime he didn't commit and this was some sort of civilian vessel, or he was captured by an enemy that he had hitherto not known about. In none of those scenarios did he plan on sticking around to get all of the fine details.
He was a little more calm now than he had been when he'd known for certain he was being pursued; then, he had been so frantic that he fumbled quite a bit when he was pulling these... touch-screen panels off of the access doorways to hot-wire them. If not for the fact that his mind could trace those connections and piece together what was what even in that state -- sometimes especially in that state -- he would have probably been caught.
But he was a swift study; after the first few, he got good enough to spend only about thirty seconds on each one, and replaced the panel like new again once the door was opened. Not out of any sense of duty. Just because he knew better than to leave a trail that could be followed.
Now some calmer, though his head was still hurting and he had realized he was half-starved, he tried to work out some sort of battle plan. If this was a ship, given her size, she was bound to have shuttles. If he could figure out where the shuttle bay was, he might be able to use all of this chaos to his own advantage.
Unfortunately for Scotty, he never quite got the chance.
Between the headache and the fact that he was actually a bit more calm and therefore not running on pure instinct, he didn't hear the approach. A shadow fell across the narrow edge of light between the bulkhead and the sensor probe he'd hidden behind.
He looked up and went from mostly calm, to entirely afraid, to mostly feral just that fast, scrambling backwards with narrowed eyes and tensing for the run, or the fight.
And ran smack into the guard who'd been waiting on the other side.
--
Jessep rethought, pretty quickly, his assessment that the kid wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. Mostly because by the time that they literally threw him in a cell in the brig, not a single one of the three guards had escaped unscathed.
Between the three of them, there were two black eyes, one split lip, one cracked tooth, many bruises and a number of sore or pulled muscles.
Jessep had almost forgotten how pissed he was when the kid had looked up, hiding in a space too small for the guards to get into, wide-eyed and obviously startled and scared. For that instant, the guard thought that this was just some frightened, baby-faced kid, barely an adult, who was in over his head. Just give him a good talking to, and take him back to sickbay.
And an instant later, that sort of sweet, scared look vanished into something considerably more dangerous and the fight was on. And it didn't stop. And size sure didn't come into play. It took all three of them to half-carry, half-wrestle the kid to the brig, and not once in that entire time did the kid quit fighting.
For their part, they handled themselves admirably and didn't give him any tune-ups along the way. Even if he was a crazy little bastard, they weren't thugs. But by the time they chucked him into the cell, every one of them hoped that they would never have to deal with him again.
"Send a message to Mister Scott that we have his... charge down here," Jessep said. "Don't interrupt him, just send a message." Then, casting one last look at the brig cell, he muttered to a man who couldn't hear, with a small smirk, "Have fun, Chief."
Whatever was happening to this ship, whoever she was, wasn't good. It sounded like a battle; all around him, he could practically hear the energy shift through her as power was redirected from one place to another, and the shudders of shots taken.
It was a strange place to be trapped, on a ship with no name, surrounded by humans wearing unknown uniforms, in the middle of a battle.
How the bloody Hell did he get here from San Francisco?
Scotty didn't move from his spot, despite the chaos. Whatever had happened that found him waking up in some strange medical facility and required him to be under guard implied one of two things: Either he was under arrest for some crime he didn't commit and this was some sort of civilian vessel, or he was captured by an enemy that he had hitherto not known about. In none of those scenarios did he plan on sticking around to get all of the fine details.
He was a little more calm now than he had been when he'd known for certain he was being pursued; then, he had been so frantic that he fumbled quite a bit when he was pulling these... touch-screen panels off of the access doorways to hot-wire them. If not for the fact that his mind could trace those connections and piece together what was what even in that state -- sometimes especially in that state -- he would have probably been caught.
But he was a swift study; after the first few, he got good enough to spend only about thirty seconds on each one, and replaced the panel like new again once the door was opened. Not out of any sense of duty. Just because he knew better than to leave a trail that could be followed.
Now some calmer, though his head was still hurting and he had realized he was half-starved, he tried to work out some sort of battle plan. If this was a ship, given her size, she was bound to have shuttles. If he could figure out where the shuttle bay was, he might be able to use all of this chaos to his own advantage.
Unfortunately for Scotty, he never quite got the chance.
Between the headache and the fact that he was actually a bit more calm and therefore not running on pure instinct, he didn't hear the approach. A shadow fell across the narrow edge of light between the bulkhead and the sensor probe he'd hidden behind.
He looked up and went from mostly calm, to entirely afraid, to mostly feral just that fast, scrambling backwards with narrowed eyes and tensing for the run, or the fight.
And ran smack into the guard who'd been waiting on the other side.
--
Jessep rethought, pretty quickly, his assessment that the kid wouldn't be able to put up much of a fight. Mostly because by the time that they literally threw him in a cell in the brig, not a single one of the three guards had escaped unscathed.
Between the three of them, there were two black eyes, one split lip, one cracked tooth, many bruises and a number of sore or pulled muscles.
Jessep had almost forgotten how pissed he was when the kid had looked up, hiding in a space too small for the guards to get into, wide-eyed and obviously startled and scared. For that instant, the guard thought that this was just some frightened, baby-faced kid, barely an adult, who was in over his head. Just give him a good talking to, and take him back to sickbay.
And an instant later, that sort of sweet, scared look vanished into something considerably more dangerous and the fight was on. And it didn't stop. And size sure didn't come into play. It took all three of them to half-carry, half-wrestle the kid to the brig, and not once in that entire time did the kid quit fighting.
For their part, they handled themselves admirably and didn't give him any tune-ups along the way. Even if he was a crazy little bastard, they weren't thugs. But by the time they chucked him into the cell, every one of them hoped that they would never have to deal with him again.
"Send a message to Mister Scott that we have his... charge down here," Jessep said. "Don't interrupt him, just send a message." Then, casting one last look at the brig cell, he muttered to a man who couldn't hear, with a small smirk, "Have fun, Chief."
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no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 09:56 pm (UTC)The pain is catching is sensitive Vulcan fingers in a slamming door. It is the sudden wrench of a rockslide. It is the ghost of what he will experience if his bondmates die. Spock clenches his jaw, grits his teeth, outwardly stoic. Jim has given no indication that he was affected and the throbbing passes with an almost audible pop of pressure equalizing in Spock's ears.
He realize he has been holding his breath, inhales and makes up the step he lost as Kirk and Moreau moved deeper into the brig.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 10:05 pm (UTC)Something had happened, but he needed to focus, now. He wasn't even sure if he'd felt anything or just Spock, through the bond. Was it always so difficult to tell? Was this a liability, or an asset?
He wanted to turn to Spock, offer him comfort or at least a query as to his well-being, but there was Marlena watching. Jim tried to send reassurance through the bond, not sure if he had the hang of this, yet.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 10:17 pm (UTC)He could feel Kirk's thoughts on him and took a deep breath through his nose. Bearing the brunt of the unexplained pain would be worth nothing if Jim were distracted anyway.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 04:12 am (UTC)He can't fathom why he feels like this. He can't even think of it in words, only through senses, and right now it feels like having something cut open.
It never once occurs to him to ask someone for help, for sympathy; he doesn't even show any to himself. Just exists, in whatever singular moment is now. He never so much as whispers a complaint.
He's still ready to bolt or fight and listening for any approach. His hearing's above average, and he uses it about as much as he does sight to process things.
But he blocks out the lights, hiding his head, as though that would somehow fix it; firmly closes out sight of the world and reminds himself to breathe.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 04:23 am (UTC)It's a last-ditch attempt to retain her freedom; she knows it's clumsy and desperate, but it is the last card she has to play.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 04:28 am (UTC)"I know," he said. "And I'm not unaware of the favor I owe you. This isn't how it's going to be repaid, however. Not now, anyway. You'll be as comfortable as possible. It won't be for long. I'm not interested in seeing you rot away here."
He smiled at her, not his full-on charm but something quieter and compassionate.
"I promise. No harm will come to you, so long as you cooperate."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 06:55 am (UTC)She leans closer to the forcefield between them, lowering her voice. "Jim. Please..." She pauses, offering a sad smile. "Please ask the captain to go easy on Spock. He meant well."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 03:21 pm (UTC)"You know very well we have no choice, under the circumstances. The captain isn't me, but neither is he your version of Jim Kirk. You, and Commander Spock, will both be treated fairly."
Frankly, Jim couldn't imagine was Spock had been thinking. Knowing where she was from... What could Lt. Moreau have done to sway him? To sway a Vulcan?
"I'll... come and see you soon, Marlena."
With that, he smiled and turned away to attend to the new Scott.
no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 06:24 pm (UTC)Marlena gives the cell a quick once-over. It's fairly well-designed, as far as she can tell, but then she's not an engineer. Perhaps once the officers leave, she'll conduct a more thorough investigation.
She sits on the narrow bunk and allows herself to slouch back against the wall. She stares up at the bare ceiling and says to no one in particular, "I want my sash back, damn it."
no subject
Date: 2009-08-05 10:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-06 04:19 am (UTC)She opens her mouth to speak, but reconsiders and closes it. Jim's attention is obviously on Spock; this is certainly not the most opportune time to appeal to his feelings for her.