[FANFIC] Please Type the Words You See In the Box -- Crackfic
Fandom: Star Trek (this seems like a legit tos episode...but the characterizations are 2009)
Title: Please Type the Words You See In the Box Rating: pg-13 (captcha is naughty)
Pairing: Kirk/Mccoy in the epilogue-if you don't want, don't read that part.
Warnings: Strong captcha language! Crackity crack. Snort it good. slight fluff with k/m
Summary: For this prompt on the kink meme: "Instead of saying 'Captain Kirk' today, I said 'Captchan Kirk'. I LOLd and then realized *light-bulb moment* Prompt! So yes, Captchan Kirk who is only capable of communicating by using two random words/phrases."
Please Type the Words You See In the Box
"Assume spaghetti." The captain barked. Chekov shot a look back over his shoulder, the panic and adrenaline that wreathed the young navigator (currently, just as much as the rest of the bridge crew) were suspended momentarily in deference to intense perplexity.
"Keptin-" Chekov began, before Sulu punched him slightly in the arm. Chekov turned to find the pilot still focused intently on the controls as he punched multiple buttons and pulled levers, his mouth set in a grim line. Pavel found himself wondering if the japanese man had even been the one who punched him, before Sulu spoke, still appearing absorbed in what he was doing.
"Eyes on the screen, ensign. We're under attack. Either the Captain's pulling his usual bullshit in an unusual situation, or that last shot they hit us with did something really strange to him." Chekov's eyes widened, but he gave a sharp nod and returned his attention to the controls.
"98-billion Weasels!" Kirk sounded offended, and slightly confused himself. Obviously, the captain had heard the pilot. Uhura, on the other hand, obviously hadn't.
"Captain. They're ignoring our hails, and any try at communication is blocked...they seem to be broadcasting an...'error message'. What should we do?" Her voice was extra calm, extra smooth-the exact tone that signified, for Uhura, near-panic.
"Breadstick Johnson!" Kirk replied with an air of authority, before he realised what he'd said. His hand flew to his throat momentarily, and an expression of extreme frustration crossed his face, then retraced its steps and camped there. "Erotic blood-letting!" Kirk cursed. Uhura swiveled in her chair to shoot the captain what would have been a death-glare, had there not been obvious panic behind her eyes.
"It's not his fault." Sulu had to shout to be heard over the sound of explosions, and the rattle of instruments shaken nearly loose by the violent rocking of the ship.
"Saunaing McCarthy!" Kirk confirmed, with slight hurt in his voice, shooting a glare back at Uhura. The communications officer threw up her hands in frustration, before making a necessary decision, and turning back to her console.
"I'll just pretend I know what the hell you're saying, sir." Uhura stated, voice level.
Spock, finally looking up from what he'd been engrossed in on his console, shot a silencing look around the bridge. Everyone paused in whatever they were shouting to listen. Kirk leaned forward in his chair, his expression of frustration layered with curiosity.
"I have been conducting basic research on our current attackers. Our ship is apparently being treated as if-" and Spock had to pause while the ship rocked with another hit, and Sulu cursed, and typed desperately, trying to boost power to the shields. "-The Enterprise is being treated as a foreign entity, the nature of which is unknown. To ascertain whether there is a sentient crew on board, or if this ship is, conversly, crewed simply by AI and intruding upon this sector simply for the purpose of polluting the space with useless transmissions, our attackers are conduction some sort of cognizance tests."
"Blue entrails?" Kirk enquired.
Spock looked at him for a moment, one eyebrow twitching as if the vulcan was tempted to raise it in condescension. The black haired first officer restrained himself, and, with a slight nod to the captain, responded; "I have thusfar been unable to determine the parameters of this test, and therefore overcoming it may be a difficult task. I suggest that the personnel unnoccupied with in-ship repairs, and damage control, focus their attention on trying to find a way through this impasse." Spock shot a pointed glance at Chekov, and the russian quickly fumbled his controls into the correct position, and commenced a general ship-wide broadcast to the effect of what Spock had just said, his accent only confusing things slightly.
Kirk's gaze flicked alertly between the vulcan, who had turned back to his calmly desperate research, and Chekov, who was just finishing the broadcast. With a sudden furrowing of his brows, Kirk reached for one of the buttons next to the command chair, and added his own advice to the end of Chekov's transmission.
"Diegle Leonard." Kirk said. His eyes widened slightly in shock, and then, failing fantastically to turn off the broadcast button, the captain cursed vehemently, "Wiener multiply!"
Chekov covered his face with one hand, and cut the broadcast with the other. There was little he could do at this point to help things; he was a navigator and his job was long-term course plotting. The ship was in Sulu's steady hands for the moment, and Chekov really wanted to take this moment to wallow in embarrassement.
"Do you realise," Sulu had to shout above the noise of explosions, still keeping his gaze fixed intently on his console as he punched buttons, "That you'd probably be better off not talking at all, Captain?"
Uhura's slight snort was lost on almost everyone as the ship shuddered and groaned. Spock, however, shot Uhura one of his meaning-filled, yet emotionless looks, and the communications officer once again reminded herself to remind herself in future of excellent Vulcan auditory perception capabilities.
"Captain!" Scotty's voice pushed its way through the bridge speakers, accompanied by slight static and the sound of background explosions. "Ach, I dinnae how much longer our lovely Lady can take this! S'not the kind of thing I want to ask our Enterprise for, cap'n." The engineer sounded desperate, and there was a slight twinge of pain in his tone as well.
"Bubble canopy?" Kirk queried with concern. There was perplexed silence from the speakers.
"He wants to know if you are physically stable, Chief Engineer Scott." Spock said into one of the microphones at his console, before turning back to his research.
"...I'm fine, cap'n. It's just, my ship ain't. You gotta get them to stop, even if we have to surrender. We'll never get past 'em, and we might fall apart tryin'." Scotty's voice held a despairing finality that sent shivers down the entire bridge crew's spines (or some of the more exotic crewmember's species' anatomical equivalent of vertebrae.) "We cannae even run. Warp drive's busted. If we go back now, we'll lose all we've worked for." Kirk's hands tightened on the arms of the command chair, knuckles whitening with tension.
"Captain," Spock began, but Kirk interrupted him.
"Adolescent caviar! Sweater Blatantly! Baggage-claim fallopian, Cardinal failure, broad-side silverware!" The litany of curses continued, as if one the captain really allowed it to start, he couldn't stop. There was a panicked look in Kirk's eyes, as his tongue contiued to rattle of randomly matched duos of words in Standard. "Cantaloupe running! Zebra excavation, corinary stoplight, Bitch 10,000!"
Spock was looking as close to alarmed as a vulcan could, and was in the process of stepping away form his console to cross the brige, while Kirk scrabble with mad fingers at his throat, eyes popping, mouth working.
"Cabbage woman! Arthritic rodents! Steak fight! Incapacitated Premenstrual!" Uhura jumped slightly at the last, and shot a look at Spock. Chekov found himself wondering momentarily if they'd been using protection, before hurriedly crushing the thought.
"Bandage papoose, Hindi impeccable, rapturous fuck," Spock nearly frowned when Kirk let out a slightly hysterical giggle at the last statement, and then turned to gaze imploringly at the vulcan as he continued. "Pinto non-Fallacious, capricorn blinding, bastard alien!"
Spock paused on his way to assist the captian, expression darkening.
"Bland soup!" Kirk apologized, pleading with his eyes. "Attack bunker, fantasy breakup, cannot 69!" Kirk frowned, obviously finding sinister personal meaning in the semi-nonsense falling from his lips. the words started coming faster, and Kirk's voice rose above the roar of engines and each new explosion that shivered through the failing Enterprise.
"Balking note! Auditory blatant! Eugenic toothbrush!" The captain was shaking now, and clutched desperately at Spock's bicep as the vulcan reached the command chair.
A shiver went through the ship, and the captain simultaneously seemed to ripple from inside out, as he drew in a deep breath, eyes pained and panicked, flicking helplessly around the bridge. His nails dug into Spock's arm, as the captain opened his mouth to deliver the largest exclamation yet.
"CAPTAIN SEX!!!" Kirk shrieked, voice breaking near the ending of 'captain', body jerking spasmodically.
Suddenly, the barrage of laser fire from the attacking ship ceased. The Enterpise hummed slightly and stabilised. An identical exhausted sigh of relief swept through the bridge crew. Chekov collapsed against his console, burrowing his face in his crossed arms, and Sulu quickly crouched next to the russian, rubbing a comforting hand across the teenager's back and muttering something unintelligible in a tone of voice that meant more than the words. Spock's eyebrows unfurrowed themselves, as Kirk extracted his fingernails from the Vulcan's bicep, managing to look up at his first officer apologetically through the shudders that seemed to be slowly wringing their way out through the captain's body.
Uhura spun in her seat to face away from the console, and the whole bridge crew's attention was suddenly riveted on the communications officer. She tapped a manicured nail against her earpiece, shoulder's slumped slightly in boneless relief. Uhura swept her gaze across all the waiting faces, and then, without needing to glance back, pressed the shipwide broadcast button on her console.
"Okay. Everyone. They're letting us through now. Finally. The broadcast of the 'error message' has now changed to 'successfully posted.' Whatever that means. Seems like the last thing the Captain said was the trigger to whatever test they were running."
Kirk's face broke out into a slow, smug, grin.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--
EPILOGUE
Over the intercom, McCoy broke in from medical; "It's amazing, isn't it? How every thing we encounter in this damned vaccuum only serves to inflate your ego more, Jim. Medical is prepared to take all casualties."
His grin now mutated into a complacent smirk, Kirk leaned to the side and pressed the intercom button.
"Thanks for your diagnosis, Bones, but I don't think that a, in your own words, 'swollen head' can harm me much. At least we know now that the whole universe wants me." Spock quirked an incredulous eyebrow at the captain, and Kirk responded with a smoochy face. And then avoided Uhura's death glare by ducking down into his chair and speaking again into the intercom, this time switching on a private channel and commanding it to connect to wherever Bones was.
"Wanna know what else the universe wants? If I can recall correctly, one of the things I said was 'Diegle Leonard.' Can you use your medical expertise to possibly, erm, translate that?"
"Actually, Jim, I heard that. It was a shipwide broadcast. And I hope you explain things to the crew quickly, because if that was taken as an ORDER, I may be uncomfortably busy soon."
Kirk's brow furrowed in vexation. "Hadn't thought of that. That had better be 'busy turning people away', Doctor Mccoy."
"...Jim, what does Diegle even mean?" The doctor replied, tone drier than Vulcan desert in summer.
"It can mean whatever you want it to, once this is fucking over, my crew's patched up, I'm off-shift, and you're in my bed." Kirk glanced up momentarily to find Chekov staring at him in slight horror. He winked, and the navigator blanched visibly.
"......So. WHATEVER I want?" The doctor sounded slightly incredulous. Kirk looked up again, noticing Spock gazing at him, his expression the vulcan equivalent of amused resignation. The captain waggled his eyebrows at the vulcan, and, pitching his voice lower and more gravelly, and smoothing the tones in a slight mockery, he leaned to the intercom and responded; "Precisely."
"Okay, I'm positive that, first off, if 'Diegle' is whatever I want it to be, it does not include you trying pathetically to imitate Spock."
"It is only logical for me to convey my meaning to you by way of using standard dialect. Any discrepancies in colloquial characteristics of speech may simply be caused by the onset of post-traumatic shock." Kirk stated matter of factly.
Spock managed, with slight difficulty, to look like he wasn't consciously fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Chekov wondered under his breath to Sulu if 'the captain had been zapped with some new, and worse, speech-morphing shock'.
Mccoy snorted over the intercom. "Jim, I have more patients coming in right now." There was the murmur of background noise; calm yet fast voices requesting and cataloguing information, coupled with nearly inaudible, feeble moans of pain. "Some of us actually do jobs around here."
"Kay, Bones. Look after my crew. But really, as soon as you're done patching everyone up good. I want to celebrate the fact that I can talk. Among other things, like most of the crew, including us both, being alive."
"...I'll get patching then. Mccoy out."
--*--*--*--*--*--*--
END
A/N: I cannot even tell you how much I enjoyed writing this....hee. What a brilliant idea. *smoochies to the requester*
ON ANOTHER NOTE. Those of you who like ME and not just my fic (XD this not meant to be offensive..) I'M GONNA BE AT KUMORICON IN PORTLAND, OREGON, THIS WEEKEND. Sept. 4-6th or whatever it is. ANYHOO. Drop me a line (a pm would be great) before friday morning and maybe we can exchange phone numbers, or whatever and see if we want to meet up at con? ANYONE? ANNNYYONE? BUELLER?
I'm gonna get offa my ass, and stop writing fic, and go finish my captain kirk shirt now. The wigs came in-all need styled, but they're perfect colors =D and good quality. *hums happily* BUT WHY THE HELL I'M SEWING COSTUMES, STYLING WIGS, AND GETTING PROPS FOR NOT ONLY ME BUT ALSO MY SPOCK AND MCCOY I HAVE NO IDEA. D:< ah well. School starts for them before it does for me. MUAHAHAHA. FALL QUARTER DOESN'T START TILL SEPT 21, I WIN.
but liek liek...cosplay now is making me sad...and apparently i've gained weight (AUGH WTF) probably from lack of sleep. THAT'S WHAT SUCKS. ABOUT ME. I love staying up late, writing for you guys, but it MAKES ME FAT. and SICk. D: and even though I run, swim, do strengthening (100 pushups at least, when i do pushups), play soccer, do competitive ballroom dance, don't eat refined sugar/cane sugar, don't eat gluten, and avoid diary mostly, I'M STILL CHUBBY. Fucking insulin. AT LEAST KIRK ISN'T THE STICK MAN. I can pull it off...maybe?
By the way, fuck you, livejournal. (not the staff, the programming) I Had to redo this about FIVE TIMES because the lj-cut CONTINUED TO MESS THE FUCK UP. I EVEN WENT AND RE-DID THE HTML MYSELF AND IT MESSED UP AGAIN. AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THIS TRY IS GONNA WORK. But i'm not gonna type anymore. so possibly in excess of five tries to get this fucking formatting right. And it's supposed to be helpful.
Title: Please Type the Words You See In the Box Rating: pg-13 (captcha is naughty)
Pairing: Kirk/Mccoy in the epilogue-if you don't want, don't read that part.
Warnings: Strong captcha language! Crackity crack. Snort it good. slight fluff with k/m
Summary: For this prompt on the kink meme: "Instead of saying 'Captain Kirk' today, I said 'Captchan Kirk'. I LOLd and then realized *light-bulb moment* Prompt! So yes, Captchan Kirk who is only capable of communicating by using two random words/phrases."
Please Type the Words You See In the Box
"Assume spaghetti." The captain barked. Chekov shot a look back over his shoulder, the panic and adrenaline that wreathed the young navigator (currently, just as much as the rest of the bridge crew) were suspended momentarily in deference to intense perplexity.
"Keptin-" Chekov began, before Sulu punched him slightly in the arm. Chekov turned to find the pilot still focused intently on the controls as he punched multiple buttons and pulled levers, his mouth set in a grim line. Pavel found himself wondering if the japanese man had even been the one who punched him, before Sulu spoke, still appearing absorbed in what he was doing.
"Eyes on the screen, ensign. We're under attack. Either the Captain's pulling his usual bullshit in an unusual situation, or that last shot they hit us with did something really strange to him." Chekov's eyes widened, but he gave a sharp nod and returned his attention to the controls.
"98-billion Weasels!" Kirk sounded offended, and slightly confused himself. Obviously, the captain had heard the pilot. Uhura, on the other hand, obviously hadn't.
"Captain. They're ignoring our hails, and any try at communication is blocked...they seem to be broadcasting an...'error message'. What should we do?" Her voice was extra calm, extra smooth-the exact tone that signified, for Uhura, near-panic.
"Breadstick Johnson!" Kirk replied with an air of authority, before he realised what he'd said. His hand flew to his throat momentarily, and an expression of extreme frustration crossed his face, then retraced its steps and camped there. "Erotic blood-letting!" Kirk cursed. Uhura swiveled in her chair to shoot the captain what would have been a death-glare, had there not been obvious panic behind her eyes.
"It's not his fault." Sulu had to shout to be heard over the sound of explosions, and the rattle of instruments shaken nearly loose by the violent rocking of the ship.
"Saunaing McCarthy!" Kirk confirmed, with slight hurt in his voice, shooting a glare back at Uhura. The communications officer threw up her hands in frustration, before making a necessary decision, and turning back to her console.
"I'll just pretend I know what the hell you're saying, sir." Uhura stated, voice level.
Spock, finally looking up from what he'd been engrossed in on his console, shot a silencing look around the bridge. Everyone paused in whatever they were shouting to listen. Kirk leaned forward in his chair, his expression of frustration layered with curiosity.
"I have been conducting basic research on our current attackers. Our ship is apparently being treated as if-" and Spock had to pause while the ship rocked with another hit, and Sulu cursed, and typed desperately, trying to boost power to the shields. "-The Enterprise is being treated as a foreign entity, the nature of which is unknown. To ascertain whether there is a sentient crew on board, or if this ship is, conversly, crewed simply by AI and intruding upon this sector simply for the purpose of polluting the space with useless transmissions, our attackers are conduction some sort of cognizance tests."
"Blue entrails?" Kirk enquired.
Spock looked at him for a moment, one eyebrow twitching as if the vulcan was tempted to raise it in condescension. The black haired first officer restrained himself, and, with a slight nod to the captain, responded; "I have thusfar been unable to determine the parameters of this test, and therefore overcoming it may be a difficult task. I suggest that the personnel unnoccupied with in-ship repairs, and damage control, focus their attention on trying to find a way through this impasse." Spock shot a pointed glance at Chekov, and the russian quickly fumbled his controls into the correct position, and commenced a general ship-wide broadcast to the effect of what Spock had just said, his accent only confusing things slightly.
Kirk's gaze flicked alertly between the vulcan, who had turned back to his calmly desperate research, and Chekov, who was just finishing the broadcast. With a sudden furrowing of his brows, Kirk reached for one of the buttons next to the command chair, and added his own advice to the end of Chekov's transmission.
"Diegle Leonard." Kirk said. His eyes widened slightly in shock, and then, failing fantastically to turn off the broadcast button, the captain cursed vehemently, "Wiener multiply!"
Chekov covered his face with one hand, and cut the broadcast with the other. There was little he could do at this point to help things; he was a navigator and his job was long-term course plotting. The ship was in Sulu's steady hands for the moment, and Chekov really wanted to take this moment to wallow in embarrassement.
"Do you realise," Sulu had to shout above the noise of explosions, still keeping his gaze fixed intently on his console as he punched buttons, "That you'd probably be better off not talking at all, Captain?"
Uhura's slight snort was lost on almost everyone as the ship shuddered and groaned. Spock, however, shot Uhura one of his meaning-filled, yet emotionless looks, and the communications officer once again reminded herself to remind herself in future of excellent Vulcan auditory perception capabilities.
"Captain!" Scotty's voice pushed its way through the bridge speakers, accompanied by slight static and the sound of background explosions. "Ach, I dinnae how much longer our lovely Lady can take this! S'not the kind of thing I want to ask our Enterprise for, cap'n." The engineer sounded desperate, and there was a slight twinge of pain in his tone as well.
"Bubble canopy?" Kirk queried with concern. There was perplexed silence from the speakers.
"He wants to know if you are physically stable, Chief Engineer Scott." Spock said into one of the microphones at his console, before turning back to his research.
"...I'm fine, cap'n. It's just, my ship ain't. You gotta get them to stop, even if we have to surrender. We'll never get past 'em, and we might fall apart tryin'." Scotty's voice held a despairing finality that sent shivers down the entire bridge crew's spines (or some of the more exotic crewmember's species' anatomical equivalent of vertebrae.) "We cannae even run. Warp drive's busted. If we go back now, we'll lose all we've worked for." Kirk's hands tightened on the arms of the command chair, knuckles whitening with tension.
"Captain," Spock began, but Kirk interrupted him.
"Adolescent caviar! Sweater Blatantly! Baggage-claim fallopian, Cardinal failure, broad-side silverware!" The litany of curses continued, as if one the captain really allowed it to start, he couldn't stop. There was a panicked look in Kirk's eyes, as his tongue contiued to rattle of randomly matched duos of words in Standard. "Cantaloupe running! Zebra excavation, corinary stoplight, Bitch 10,000!"
Spock was looking as close to alarmed as a vulcan could, and was in the process of stepping away form his console to cross the brige, while Kirk scrabble with mad fingers at his throat, eyes popping, mouth working.
"Cabbage woman! Arthritic rodents! Steak fight! Incapacitated Premenstrual!" Uhura jumped slightly at the last, and shot a look at Spock. Chekov found himself wondering momentarily if they'd been using protection, before hurriedly crushing the thought.
"Bandage papoose, Hindi impeccable, rapturous fuck," Spock nearly frowned when Kirk let out a slightly hysterical giggle at the last statement, and then turned to gaze imploringly at the vulcan as he continued. "Pinto non-Fallacious, capricorn blinding, bastard alien!"
Spock paused on his way to assist the captian, expression darkening.
"Bland soup!" Kirk apologized, pleading with his eyes. "Attack bunker, fantasy breakup, cannot 69!" Kirk frowned, obviously finding sinister personal meaning in the semi-nonsense falling from his lips. the words started coming faster, and Kirk's voice rose above the roar of engines and each new explosion that shivered through the failing Enterprise.
"Balking note! Auditory blatant! Eugenic toothbrush!" The captain was shaking now, and clutched desperately at Spock's bicep as the vulcan reached the command chair.
A shiver went through the ship, and the captain simultaneously seemed to ripple from inside out, as he drew in a deep breath, eyes pained and panicked, flicking helplessly around the bridge. His nails dug into Spock's arm, as the captain opened his mouth to deliver the largest exclamation yet.
"CAPTAIN SEX!!!" Kirk shrieked, voice breaking near the ending of 'captain', body jerking spasmodically.
Suddenly, the barrage of laser fire from the attacking ship ceased. The Enterpise hummed slightly and stabilised. An identical exhausted sigh of relief swept through the bridge crew. Chekov collapsed against his console, burrowing his face in his crossed arms, and Sulu quickly crouched next to the russian, rubbing a comforting hand across the teenager's back and muttering something unintelligible in a tone of voice that meant more than the words. Spock's eyebrows unfurrowed themselves, as Kirk extracted his fingernails from the Vulcan's bicep, managing to look up at his first officer apologetically through the shudders that seemed to be slowly wringing their way out through the captain's body.
Uhura spun in her seat to face away from the console, and the whole bridge crew's attention was suddenly riveted on the communications officer. She tapped a manicured nail against her earpiece, shoulder's slumped slightly in boneless relief. Uhura swept her gaze across all the waiting faces, and then, without needing to glance back, pressed the shipwide broadcast button on her console.
"Okay. Everyone. They're letting us through now. Finally. The broadcast of the 'error message' has now changed to 'successfully posted.' Whatever that means. Seems like the last thing the Captain said was the trigger to whatever test they were running."
Kirk's face broke out into a slow, smug, grin.
--*--*--*--*--*--*--
EPILOGUE
Over the intercom, McCoy broke in from medical; "It's amazing, isn't it? How every thing we encounter in this damned vaccuum only serves to inflate your ego more, Jim. Medical is prepared to take all casualties."
His grin now mutated into a complacent smirk, Kirk leaned to the side and pressed the intercom button.
"Thanks for your diagnosis, Bones, but I don't think that a, in your own words, 'swollen head' can harm me much. At least we know now that the whole universe wants me." Spock quirked an incredulous eyebrow at the captain, and Kirk responded with a smoochy face. And then avoided Uhura's death glare by ducking down into his chair and speaking again into the intercom, this time switching on a private channel and commanding it to connect to wherever Bones was.
"Wanna know what else the universe wants? If I can recall correctly, one of the things I said was 'Diegle Leonard.' Can you use your medical expertise to possibly, erm, translate that?"
"Actually, Jim, I heard that. It was a shipwide broadcast. And I hope you explain things to the crew quickly, because if that was taken as an ORDER, I may be uncomfortably busy soon."
Kirk's brow furrowed in vexation. "Hadn't thought of that. That had better be 'busy turning people away', Doctor Mccoy."
"...Jim, what does Diegle even mean?" The doctor replied, tone drier than Vulcan desert in summer.
"It can mean whatever you want it to, once this is fucking over, my crew's patched up, I'm off-shift, and you're in my bed." Kirk glanced up momentarily to find Chekov staring at him in slight horror. He winked, and the navigator blanched visibly.
"......So. WHATEVER I want?" The doctor sounded slightly incredulous. Kirk looked up again, noticing Spock gazing at him, his expression the vulcan equivalent of amused resignation. The captain waggled his eyebrows at the vulcan, and, pitching his voice lower and more gravelly, and smoothing the tones in a slight mockery, he leaned to the intercom and responded; "Precisely."
"Okay, I'm positive that, first off, if 'Diegle' is whatever I want it to be, it does not include you trying pathetically to imitate Spock."
"It is only logical for me to convey my meaning to you by way of using standard dialect. Any discrepancies in colloquial characteristics of speech may simply be caused by the onset of post-traumatic shock." Kirk stated matter of factly.
Spock managed, with slight difficulty, to look like he wasn't consciously fighting the urge to roll his eyes. Chekov wondered under his breath to Sulu if 'the captain had been zapped with some new, and worse, speech-morphing shock'.
Mccoy snorted over the intercom. "Jim, I have more patients coming in right now." There was the murmur of background noise; calm yet fast voices requesting and cataloguing information, coupled with nearly inaudible, feeble moans of pain. "Some of us actually do jobs around here."
"Kay, Bones. Look after my crew. But really, as soon as you're done patching everyone up good. I want to celebrate the fact that I can talk. Among other things, like most of the crew, including us both, being alive."
"...I'll get patching then. Mccoy out."
--*--*--*--*--*--*--
END
A/N: I cannot even tell you how much I enjoyed writing this....hee. What a brilliant idea. *smoochies to the requester*
ON ANOTHER NOTE. Those of you who like ME and not just my fic (XD this not meant to be offensive..) I'M GONNA BE AT KUMORICON IN PORTLAND, OREGON, THIS WEEKEND. Sept. 4-6th or whatever it is. ANYHOO. Drop me a line (a pm would be great) before friday morning and maybe we can exchange phone numbers, or whatever and see if we want to meet up at con? ANYONE? ANNNYYONE? BUELLER?
I'm gonna get offa my ass, and stop writing fic, and go finish my captain kirk shirt now. The wigs came in-all need styled, but they're perfect colors =D and good quality. *hums happily* BUT WHY THE HELL I'M SEWING COSTUMES, STYLING WIGS, AND GETTING PROPS FOR NOT ONLY ME BUT ALSO MY SPOCK AND MCCOY I HAVE NO IDEA. D:< ah well. School starts for them before it does for me. MUAHAHAHA. FALL QUARTER DOESN'T START TILL SEPT 21, I WIN.
but liek liek...cosplay now is making me sad...and apparently i've gained weight (AUGH WTF) probably from lack of sleep. THAT'S WHAT SUCKS. ABOUT ME. I love staying up late, writing for you guys, but it MAKES ME FAT. and SICk. D: and even though I run, swim, do strengthening (100 pushups at least, when i do pushups), play soccer, do competitive ballroom dance, don't eat refined sugar/cane sugar, don't eat gluten, and avoid diary mostly, I'M STILL CHUBBY. Fucking insulin. AT LEAST KIRK ISN'T THE STICK MAN. I can pull it off...maybe?
By the way, fuck you, livejournal. (not the staff, the programming) I Had to redo this about FIVE TIMES because the lj-cut CONTINUED TO MESS THE FUCK UP. I EVEN WENT AND RE-DID THE HTML MYSELF AND IT MESSED UP AGAIN. AND I DON'T EVEN KNOW IF THIS TRY IS GONNA WORK. But i'm not gonna type anymore. so possibly in excess of five tries to get this fucking formatting right. And it's supposed to be helpful.