Fic: "Not With Your Face"
Title: Not With Your Face
Fandom: ST:AOS/XI
Summary/Prompt: Tell me about XX, the Federation hand-to-hand combat instructor who teaches Kirk how not to get his face punched in. She's the one who taught Kirk how to do things like use your skydiving helmet as a weapon.
Characters: OC Yvonne Campos, Kirk, McCoy
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Content Advisory: Nothing I can think of.
Word Count: 600 words
Notes: So leupagus and traveller are having Promptfest '11, wherein they prompt you to write about awesome women who may or may not be OCs and who may or may not be Mary Sues, depending on your precise definition of a Mary Sue. It's going on over here, and here's my submission!
Commander Yvonne Campos looked at the line of new Starfleet Academy recruits--the mid-year batch--in front of her and groaned. "What the hell were those jackasses thinking?" she said, starting the casual stroll to her left. "I swear, it looks like about two-thirds of you were in a bar fight Saturday fucking night." A safe comment, as Chris Pike had told her about the incident at breakfast that morning.
The blond one on the near end snickered. She snapped around to look at him. One cheekbone was purple; his nose was still swollen, and he stood a little gingerly. Probably one of the instigators of the fight; no wonder the Med Center had done such a crap job at fixing his injuries. "Do you think this is funny, Cadet?"
"No, ma'am," he said, his tone just riding the edge of insolence.
The dark-haired cadet next to him looked at the ceiling, not quite rolling his eyes, and Yvonne might have laughed if it wouldn't have undermined her entire tough-guy persona. "Good," she said, ignoring the dark-haired cadet's borderline insubordination for a moment.
(The dark-haired one was kind of cute. She might have gone after him had, well, had she been younger, not an instructor, and back in her self-destructive days. That one was trouble, possibly even more trouble than the blond, who was still young and painfully shiny, even though he desperately wanted to pretend that he wasn't.)
"I'm certain you all know this is Hand-to-Hand Combat I. I'm also certain that approximately fifty percent of you think that you're significantly too good for Hand-to-Hand Combat I. Guess what. You can't test out of Hand-to-Hand Combat I. There isn't an advanced section. Believe me when I say that I'm good enough to figure out what you need to know and teach it to you before the end of the semester, to have you ready for Hand-to-Hand Combat II. You, for example." Yvonne turned and pointed a finger at Blond Cadet. "You need to learn how not to get your face punched in."
Someone else in the class let a snort slip out, and she whipped around to pin the perpetrator--a tall, broad cadet with a prominent nose--with a Glare of Death. "And you need to learn to control your temper," she said, keeping her voice even.
The cadet flushed, and she knew she'd guessed right--he'd been one of the people punching Blond Cadet in the face.
(Great. Because all she needed was both halves of the bar fight in her damn class.)
"All right," she said. "Pair off and we're going to start with some basics. I don't care if this stuff is easy for you; we're still starting with these particular basics. Blondie, you're with me." She snapped her fingers and pointed to the spot beside her, as if he were a dog.
Fortunately, he was smart enough to obey. "I can actually fight, ma'am," he said, low enough for only her to hear. "And my name is Kirk, Jim Kirk."
"Kirk," Yvonne said, "I hope to impart two things into you by the end of this semester. First, that good Starfleet officers do not get into bar fights, and second, that your face is the worst thing to stop a fist with."
He grinned at that. "So what do I stop it with, then?"
Insolent boy. She'd beat that out of him. "Anything else on hand, up to and including your lunch or a . . . a fucking skydiving helmet," she said. "All right." She raised her voice. "Kirk here is going to throw a punch at me, and you'll all get to see what I want you to do."
Turning back to Kirk, she said, "Come on, Kirk, let's see what you've got."
Fandom: ST:AOS/XI
Summary/Prompt: Tell me about XX, the Federation hand-to-hand combat instructor who teaches Kirk how not to get his face punched in. She's the one who taught Kirk how to do things like use your skydiving helmet as a weapon.
Characters: OC Yvonne Campos, Kirk, McCoy
Rating: PG-13 (language)
Content Advisory: Nothing I can think of.
Word Count: 600 words
Notes: So leupagus and traveller are having Promptfest '11, wherein they prompt you to write about awesome women who may or may not be OCs and who may or may not be Mary Sues, depending on your precise definition of a Mary Sue. It's going on over here, and here's my submission!
Commander Yvonne Campos looked at the line of new Starfleet Academy recruits--the mid-year batch--in front of her and groaned. "What the hell were those jackasses thinking?" she said, starting the casual stroll to her left. "I swear, it looks like about two-thirds of you were in a bar fight Saturday fucking night." A safe comment, as Chris Pike had told her about the incident at breakfast that morning.
The blond one on the near end snickered. She snapped around to look at him. One cheekbone was purple; his nose was still swollen, and he stood a little gingerly. Probably one of the instigators of the fight; no wonder the Med Center had done such a crap job at fixing his injuries. "Do you think this is funny, Cadet?"
"No, ma'am," he said, his tone just riding the edge of insolence.
The dark-haired cadet next to him looked at the ceiling, not quite rolling his eyes, and Yvonne might have laughed if it wouldn't have undermined her entire tough-guy persona. "Good," she said, ignoring the dark-haired cadet's borderline insubordination for a moment.
(The dark-haired one was kind of cute. She might have gone after him had, well, had she been younger, not an instructor, and back in her self-destructive days. That one was trouble, possibly even more trouble than the blond, who was still young and painfully shiny, even though he desperately wanted to pretend that he wasn't.)
"I'm certain you all know this is Hand-to-Hand Combat I. I'm also certain that approximately fifty percent of you think that you're significantly too good for Hand-to-Hand Combat I. Guess what. You can't test out of Hand-to-Hand Combat I. There isn't an advanced section. Believe me when I say that I'm good enough to figure out what you need to know and teach it to you before the end of the semester, to have you ready for Hand-to-Hand Combat II. You, for example." Yvonne turned and pointed a finger at Blond Cadet. "You need to learn how not to get your face punched in."
Someone else in the class let a snort slip out, and she whipped around to pin the perpetrator--a tall, broad cadet with a prominent nose--with a Glare of Death. "And you need to learn to control your temper," she said, keeping her voice even.
The cadet flushed, and she knew she'd guessed right--he'd been one of the people punching Blond Cadet in the face.
(Great. Because all she needed was both halves of the bar fight in her damn class.)
"All right," she said. "Pair off and we're going to start with some basics. I don't care if this stuff is easy for you; we're still starting with these particular basics. Blondie, you're with me." She snapped her fingers and pointed to the spot beside her, as if he were a dog.
Fortunately, he was smart enough to obey. "I can actually fight, ma'am," he said, low enough for only her to hear. "And my name is Kirk, Jim Kirk."
"Kirk," Yvonne said, "I hope to impart two things into you by the end of this semester. First, that good Starfleet officers do not get into bar fights, and second, that your face is the worst thing to stop a fist with."
He grinned at that. "So what do I stop it with, then?"
Insolent boy. She'd beat that out of him. "Anything else on hand, up to and including your lunch or a . . . a fucking skydiving helmet," she said. "All right." She raised her voice. "Kirk here is going to throw a punch at me, and you'll all get to see what I want you to do."
Turning back to Kirk, she said, "Come on, Kirk, let's see what you've got."