Night 49: Equipment/Chemical Storage

[doneinthree]

[from here]...Or not. After Kirk shook off the sudden disorientation (a side effect of the creature? But it hadn't touched his skin), he felt first the distinct lack of rain on his hood, and then opened his eyes to... a room. "What the-?" He brought his flashlight up, illuminating wall-to-wall cabinets and forbidding warning labels, and feeling a

Comments

[rischiarare]

So he was breaking the rules. It didn't matter anyway, right? Not communicating with the locals (though Roxas was starting to doubt how "local" everyone was here) had been more a rule to protect the Organization, not himself. And he definitely didn't have any problem with breaking their rules now.

The company seemed okay, anyway. Though Roxas had just looked at Chekov through most of his thanks (he was pretty sure that was the name he'd said, anyway), trying to keep up. Weird accents weren't something he'd really come across even in his travels to different worlds - he didn't count Luxord's stupid metaphors as an accent, though he probably should have - so the words had sounded really odd at first. (Maybe it was something you got used to. Jim didn't seem to have any trouble understanding him...)

Speaking of. Captain. That held a lot of promise alone. Captain of what? Was he like Captain Hook? He didn't have a hook, of course, or an alligator trying to eat him, though those frogs had been big enough in comparison. Did that mean Jim

[sewenteen_sir]

Saying Chekov was mildly disoriented was an understatement. Expecting the outdoors and rain, he'd been met with a quieter, more sterile environment, along with a strange feeling as though he'd been spun around a few times. His eyes darted around the room, as though making absolutely sure he wasn't where he had expected to be. Signs pointed to yes

[doneinthree]

While Chekov reviewed his maps, Kirk shifted his flashlight to his left hand and began pulling open cabinets. If this was an illusion, it was a good one: the doors were cold to the touch, and solid under his fingers. The labelled yellow ones clearly contained chemicals, while the blue cabinets appeared to contain the sort of supplies he'd directed Bones and Spock to gather tonight. No doubt antiquated by twenty-third-century standards, but the medical equipment appeared clean and usable and real.

"The second floor," Kirk repeated. He knew the bare bones of the science behind the transporter: his molecules pulled apart and transmitted across space, rematerializing a second later. Bones thought the whole thing was disturbingly unnatural, but Kirk had run through it enough times by now that any discomfort hardly even registered anymore. While stepping through that door had been just as near-instantaneous, it had felt different. No light, no buzzing in his ear, no slight adjustment of the ground underneath his feet. Just... one second,