(Untitled)
CHARACTERS: Spock and Chase Kilgannon!
LOCATION: Spock's room
WARNINGS: Nerdery
SUMMARY: 3D Chess and ability swap.
( She'd only played a few games, but she liked to think she was getting the hang of it. )
LOCATION: Spock's room
WARNINGS: Nerdery
SUMMARY: 3D Chess and ability swap.
( She'd only played a few games, but she liked to think she was getting the hang of it. )
She's really glad that Spock doesn't push for things. Even making a move in a game--she allows herself time to reach for her tea, blowing on it one, two, three and then taking a sip. Spock doesn't rush her. Inferno did.
Finally, she brings the tea down and grabs a pawn. Irony, she notes, is a beautiful thing.
"The Vishual, being the harbinger of the Crowing and thus the final judgement of God, will appear at a time of greatest battle. Great will be the Vishual's wrath, because the armies of false Gods will be on the march and reality itself will serve as fuel to the Vishual's energy.
"Woe betide those who stand up against the Vishual, for they will not know what they face until it it is far, far too late. And the Prise, winged soldiers of the Lord, will prepare for God's judgement. And they shall be the word, and the Vishual will be the way, and the path to glory, and to the light. Praise God in the highest."
She takes a deep breath and finally places her piece. "Sometimes, I wonder if anyone has a clue about the Ghansgraad on this ship. It's hard for me to accept that the Word doesn't exist here. Is there something like that among the Vulcans?"
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It is a physical gesture that he has always returned to, a habit he believes is as much due to a nurtured, visual expectation as it is a comfort. Turning his thoughts towards each other, allowing them to taper, before admitting them to the air. So too, he finds, that aboard the Tranquility the frequency with which he reaches towards that gesture increases. There is no shortage of curiosity, and the individuals he's encountered continue to allow Spock's mind to lavish it's attention on them.
The temperature however, is the excuse he selects most readily. While the Enterprise had always been somewhat chilled, the atmospheric controls in his personal quarters compensated comfortably. It is- one more thing to adjust to. The permanent cold in his fingers.
"Vulcans seek understanding through the mind and the mind alone. Few among us believed even in a katra- one's living soul." It is a conscious effort to detach the thought. To separate the idea from what plays out through his memories. The look in his mother's eyes, as she had slipped through his fingers. The cries of six billion Vulcans as their minds reached out from oblivion.
"From what I understand of Earth's history, there are many cultures that hold to prophecies regarding the end of existence." His hands disengage, settling instead on the tea pot to his left as he refills both of their cups. "While the nuances and significances may vary in extremes, I do not believe you are as alone as you perceive."
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Instead, Chase finds herself preoccupied with looking at Spock. She's not the best with people, and certainly not the best with body language, but she likes the way Spock's fingers look when he does that. He seems more calm, more assured, and she even likes the way he pauses, just to make sure he's chosen the right words. It's nice, and after he speaks Chase finds her posture straightening somewhat, trying to mirror the bridged fingers and certain gaze.
"It comes in waves," she says after a while. "I don't dream. I'm incapable of dreaming, actually, it just doesn't happen. Or hasn't ever happened.. But I see it. Visions. I know exactly who is who and what's happening, even if I've never met them before. And one thing is certain, Spock. It's always going to happen."
She's looking worried again, reaching for the tea instead of mimicking his pose; hoping the warmth will, in turn, get rid of the cold feeling she has inside of her.
"I've never just felt things. I've never not known what they meant. It's one of the very reasons I'm worried about this ship."
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A bishop is lifted one tier, and deposited upon an otherwise empty black square. The concern that drifts from her, that reaches his awareness without the necessity of touch, is in his mind- entirely understandable. Further, the idea that her abilities may have been fabricated, or possess a lack of significance, has never occurred to him. Her experiences are her own, and he possesses neither the desire nor compulsion to test them for accuracy.
Her terror and discomfort are evidence enough.
He does however, continue in the only way he is capable. By attempting understanding- a precise and deliberate unraveling of circumstance. An effort to identify what is relevant, and what is not. "Many individuals have experienced a modification to their natural capabilities," he begins. "Thus this is, in all likelihood, an effect of the Tranquility or your relocation itself. Something that will not follow you once you are returned to your native continuum."
This is, he's certain, not satisfactory for either of them. "Would you liken the experience to receiving a vision- while wearing a veil? A dampened, weakened, or unusual vagueness?"
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"I just need to figure it out. I think Inferno would be mad if he realized I jumped into things head first, you know?" It's more to herself than anything, and she leans back on her chair before grabbing onto the table's ledge and tipping the chair so it sits on two legs.
"It's weird, not being aboard the Grail Arbor. Is it weird for you, not being where you come from?"
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A means to present the idea of control in otherwise uncontrollable circumstances. Her question doesn't garner a pause, or in truth any physical tell at all. A pawn lights carefully on an untouched square. "Serving Starfleet requires, at it's basis, a willingness to be separated from one's home planet for several years at a time." Fact is clean. Fact is effortless. And yet, he is somewhat unsatisfied by the answer, and only when his hand returns to his lap does he find words to continue. "I made the decision to enlist because I am uninterested in establishing a sedentary life."
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Family.
Family is a weird concept to Chase and even stranger to hear other people talking about it. Or 'leaving their lives.' It's just strange, something that rings not quite false but not quite unsettling, either. It has an odd sound to it, like something that Chase was afraid of, or worried about.
Or jealous.
She's still staring at the board, not saying a word. She's glad Spock lets the silence stretch on. She has a feeling his friend wouldn't.
"Was it hard?" She asked finally. "Leaving your family? Were you close?"
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It is not the first emotionally based query that he has been offered in his lifetime thus far, and certainly not so aboard the Tranquility- but it touches on so many fine and delicate things that he is unsure where to begin. "My father is ambassador to Earth. To leave behind one's family on a habitual basis is normative."
It is not unlike navigating, and he finds that too, is curious. "He did however, express displeasure with my decision. It is a contradiction to the Vulcan lifestyle I was expected to maintain." His hand moves, and lingers, like a ghost, beside the cup he does not touch. "I suspect my mother was as displeased as she was pleased. I had not, until then, made many decisions for myself." Speaking of her does not conjure her face to his memory, and he holds to that as leverage against all else.
His gaze moves to the girl opposite him. "It was difficult. But I do not believe we were close in the human concept of the term."
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"My mother doesn't exist," she says honestly; earnestly. "And I don't have a father. I have a man who I share DNA with, but he's made it very clear about the fact that we're designed for war. He's my commander, my captain, my leader. But not my father."
There's another smile, then, and a giggle--like she finds something funny. "I've grown up a lot more than Sizer. He's my brother, sort of my twin, but he's an adult male right now. Anyway, I don't think he likes that Inferno--that's, um, my leader's code name, sort of--can be like that. He keeps wanting to get accepted, that he should treat us like his kids. I don't really care, though, I..."
She pauses, blinking. She misses them. That's why she's spilling all of this silly information. She genuinely misses them. Her smile returns to the soft, slightly sad one, and she stops rocking her chair to finish her tea.
"I mean to say, ummm, I can kind of relate, Spock."
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I can kind of relate, Spock.
"I believe," He settles for at last, gaze lingering warmly on her features. "That it is not unwise to choose one's own attachments. Beyond what biology would dictate."
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"I think, then, I'm choosing you. You and Capa, I think. Because I like you both. You're my friend, Spock. I've never had a friend before but you're definitely my friend. I can be yours, you know. If you have friends. I mean, if it's culturally relevant to Vulcans. There's a lot of things I don't know about you and a lot of things you don't know about me, but that's OK, right? Oh--"
She lifts a bishop up a tier, and, smiling, places it where she wants to. She never wins, but sometimes, like this, she gets close.
"Check!"
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And that is acceptable as well.
His rook moves, intercepts the line her bishop can call it's own, and he speaks before the piece hits the board. "It is not a Vulcan habit, to establish friendships. Relations of that nature are considered unnecessary."
In the space between, his hand falls to his cup once more, catching the steam as he lifts it to his mouth- and there is perhaps, the barest ghost of a lift to the corner of his lips. "However. I am also human. As I understand it, such bonds are characteristic of the species."
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