Brain Spew (Part 2)
Brain Spew:
It's like Drabble, but worse.
In fact, it's so bad: you're not supposed to read it yet. If you do (although I advise against it), let me know if you think it has potential. If you think it doesn't have potential I kindly ask you to sod-off, because it's not supposed to be read yet (or just let me know nicely, I'm down with that). ;)
...except for my beta. Who doesn't exist. But will need to be able to access my brain spew to nudge me in the right direction.
Includes ramblings from Cadence (Shika & Neji), Less Spoken; More Read (Gaara & Lee - part of the "Tattoos & Memories" universe), Disturbia (Kirk & Spock), and After the Fox (Kakashi & Iruka).
Part I
Part II
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DISTURBIA (or A Disturbing Look into the Wasteland of Time/Space Through the Broken Looking Glass of a Logical Mind)
(Star Trek: Spock x Kirk)
It's interesting how different fandoms create certain ... expectations of couples. This couple is violent, this couple is into S&M, this couple is sweet... Jim and Spock intrigue me, and I was interested to find that there is quite a bit of slavery in the fandom. I suppose the setting makes it readily available. And of course Pon Farr, but even more than Pon Farr (which is a delicious bit of Cannon really... sci fi writers are all perverted <3 --except maybe Philip K. Dick; I love him anyhow) I see taverns/bars/pubs. Really, I now associate the song [i]Closing Time[/i] (by Semisonic) with this series. But I digress.
A bit ago (who knows how long) I was watching the music video for [i]Disturbia[/i] by Rihanna and was thinking that it was ridiculously fun (my friend sent it to me 'cause he told me it reminded him of me--little shit). So I was looking at Rihanna in her little cage freaking out and thought, "Hey... that's almost Spock's hairstyle." Okay, so it isn't, and I'd been reading too much fanfiction, and, you know, that's how [i]these things[/i] happen. So caged Spock seemed to fit damn well into this whole genre. And I love space oddities (/snerk). My favorite type of rp is probably Space Opera, and all the fun shenanigans that it implies. Anyway! That's how this started. Spock with orange hair in cage: started this nonsense. Haha. My first full-blown fanfiction.
Oh yeah. And [i]Mad Max[/i] (okay, so maybe [i]Road Warrior[/i], but I always just call [i]Road Warrior[/i], [i]Mad Max[/i] anyhow 'cause who cares about the first one, eh?). Something about this whole fic screamed "Post-Apocalyptic Wasteland" and so I ran with it. I wasn't going to, because it makes the whole thing rather ... messy, but, well, it's my fanfic and I love that setting so [i]meh[/i] whatever. Besides, Post Apocalyptic Scotty is hot as a crazy snake-charmer. And Bones deserves a Plague Doctor mask, because he's just [i]that[/i] cool.
Also: I kept writing "Spoke." Poor Spock. Damn typos.
_
James T. Kirk, captain extraordinaire, did not like the position he found himself in. He did not like it, one bit.
They had... collided with some sort of mental anomaly. Something terrible had happened to his head science officer, and while he wasn't going to try to understand the garble of the situation that [i]Scotty[/i] had explained, he needed the basics so he could fix his broken crew-mate... friend... colleague. He wasn't [i]exactly[/i] sure where he stood with Spock. Perhaps 'wary friend' was a good description. After their first, rather explosive, adventure--the "getting to know you" period--they had begun to work rather well together.
The reassurance from the elder Spock that eventually Kirk and his half-Vulcan would be an inseparable team was looking less like a tall-tale and more like a distant possibility. They [i]did[/i] seem to work well together under pressure, and when they were in agreement, and sometimes even when they weren't in agreement. He had never regretted keeping the solemn Vulcan on board. He was even growing to like the enigmatic man. Especially after he found out that that Uhura and Spock had come to the conclusion that they "were not meant to be more than close friends."
Jim was not entirely sure why [i]that[/i] mattered, and he tried not to think about it too much. The idea of the long (endless) legs of his communications officer not being 'taken' was somehow a reassurance. She seemed better independent of any romantic attachment--something unattainable. That was how it was [i]supposed[/i] to be.
Now that both of the sexually unattainable crew-members were stationed behind him, and [i]not[/i] in a relationship; he was more at ease. It made Jim comfortable--as though the world was closer to where it was supposed to be.
Since the ship had left Earth a year ago everyone was closer to where they were 'supposed to be'--in Kirk's (humble) opinion. His life, and the lives of his crew had begun to fall into a routine... although it was, paradoxily--illogiclly, a [i]routine[i/] of adventure. Jim was hardly ever bored. He found the various people and creatures he got to interact with quite enjoyable, and when he wasn't harassing alien fauna, he was harassing his crew: his friends.
He loved harassing McCoy up until he was threatened with bodily harm to leave sickbay. Listening to Scotty was enjoyable until his brain started to hurt from following the man's thought patterns. Sparring with Sulu hurt his pride a bit, but it was well worth it. Beating Spock at chess was a surprising, and very pleasurable, experience. One he repeated as often as possible. Kirk was a social butterfly, and spent every free moment (and some moments where he should have put his time to better use doing, say, the ludicrous amount of paperwork his job required) mingling.
Jim loved going planet-side. He was the most comfortable on his own ship, in his very own captain's chair, but he loved acting as an ambassador, and seeing parts of the universe that no human before him had ever seen. And so, while Spock grumbled loudly about the inadvisable habit of a Captain leaving the ship for Away Missions, Jim continued to do so. Occasionally, he even managed to get the stoic man to go with him. Having Spock around to soundboard off of while he met with delegates and exotic women was priceless. He even managed to find reasons for McCoy to leave sickbay and come planet-side--although he admitted that half those reasons were probably not ones he would have chosen: Jim was... accident prone. Bones would tut and bitch and stab him with hypos, and Spock would project a sort of 'I-told-you-so' cold disdain from his emotionless facade.
He could almost see the look now, or maybe a disdainful eyebrow.
But he was not, currently, experiencing something routine. Adventuresome? Yes. In the realm of probability? No. He was sitting on a small chair with his hands bound and bolted to the floor at his feet. His feet were also cuffed together, and his back ached from being bent over. Not that he could have straightened out if he'd been free--the ceiling grazed the back of his head even while he was hunched over.
He curled himself further and stood, yanking violently at the chains. He could feel the ropes that knotted around his wrists burn as he struggled, and he banged his head on the ceiling painfully. His back, a part of his body which had taken most of its prior damage from nails during 'fun activities,' was aching and sending sharp pains down his spine and across his shoulderblades. He grunted unceremoniously as he sat back onto the chair. The pressure on his spine did not abate. He couldn't even slide the chair away so that he could sit more comfortably on the ground--it was bolted to the cold metal of the floor.
A small light in the small corner of the room flickered, and he hoped that it wouldn't go out and leave him in the dark in his unfortunate position. He groaned to himself and let his arms fall limp between his legs. Clearly, Spock didn't view him as a friend.
_
From the strange explanation Scotty had given him he had gleaned that they had entered a mental anomaly that blurred reality and scrambled everything within your mind with everything that the anomaly had previously encountered. Jim Kirk, besides being in a small room with a single light and hard chair with his legs and hands bolted to the ground, was in Spock's mind. He knew he wasn't the only one who was in there either.
Spock had gone comatose when the anomaly had hit--evidently it hit the mentally-attuned a lot harder than the thick-headed humans, but whenever anyone had fallen asleep they had twitched, moaned quietly, and dropped into a deep coma--somehow *linked* with Spock. Spock acted as an amplifier, a go-between, between the powerful mental anomaly and the "dense" humans.
Jim had ordered McCoy to keep as many people awake as possible, and had decided--after the briefing his various science, medical, and engineering teams had, had--that he needed to wake Spock up. Evidently, the only readings that made any sense in relation to the anomaly were the ones relating to multi-universe theory, which was why the person who had made the most sense--illogically--was Scotty. Who, all-in-all, seemed very excited at the prospect of a huge mathematical brain somehow spanning several thousand realities. Jim could appreciate the excitement, but mostly just wanted his senior science officer back, and everyone else who had fallen into the coma.
And so, Jim Kirk had willingly dived head-first into Spock's mind. But he wouldn't let the anomaly take away his freedom, he would get to be [i]himself[/i], because before he dove into the amalgamation that was Spock/Mental Anomaly, he would [i]first[/i] jump into the anomaly and work his way [i]back[/i] to Spock--thereby ensuring his secured sense of self. In theory.
And it had worked, as far as Jim could tell (unless he had somehow lost himself, or remembered himself different, but he wasn't going to start worrying about that at this stage). But he was in Spock/Anomaly world, and had to play by its rules, and by those rules he had to start his adventure sitting on a cold metal chair, in a cold metal room, with a flickering light and his hands bolted to the ground. Clearly, Spock hated him. "Jim has entered my mind. It is only logical that I place him in a box." Jim groaned as he pictured Spock--full uniform--with his hands clasped lightly behind his back, and a calm expression; maybe an eyebrow raised if Jim wanted to complain about being put in such a small-ass room-box.
Maybe he should reconsider his own feelings of friendship. He would have at least given the man space to sit up. Jim, is not a cold, heartless, bastard. Although... Spock would probably be naked in his mind. He was curious as to what the Vulcan looked like, and that curiosity would probably have manifested in nudity. Actually, Jim thought, if everyone had been dragged into [i]his[/i] mind they would have had a right good time of it. Nudity for everyone! Or maybe just enough clothing to make it interesting. But no, they ended up in [i]Spock's[/i] universe. Jim looked at the small room again... maybe this came from the anomaly and not Spock. Or maybe he should let Spock win at chess occasionally.
Jim winced. He had managed to rotate his hips until his phaser was resting on a thigh, used his elbows (expertly, he thought) to nudge the weapon out of it's holster, and managed to get it trapped between his knee and his chin... mouth. Now, he'd probably spent a good half hour adjusting the settings, wiggling into the exact right position (without dropping the damn thing), and was being nervous about shooting. Everything in this world felt real, the pain around his wrists felt real, he wasn't gonna go for a phaser-burn. Especially not so close to his nether-regions, or his hands.
[i]Vvvvshiap! Creish[/i]... and the smell of burning. The phaser dropped after he had burnt through the wrist restraints, and he slumped. He was sore all over, the muscle aches from holding himself so still for so long were screaming, and so after he had snapped the restraints on his ankles he slid off the chair and gasped for air as he stretched on the floor. The floor was cold, hard, and felt wonderful--his back protested, and he smiled in relief when he heard his spine adjust back into a shape.
_
And there was Spock... no, Kirk could tell it still wasn't Spock. This one was probably an amalgamation of Spock and the Anomaly. It sat on a large black throne with legs made of some large beast's horns. Everything about this Spock oozed power, and control. Two figures were tied to either side of him... as Jim walked closer he frowned and examined the two to either side of the central figure.
On either side of the elaborate throne were solid slabs of blackened concrete. On the left side sat a full-blooded Vulcan. After a moment's inspection Kirk decided that this was a full-blooded Vulcan version of Spock.
The Vulcan wore the traditional Vulcan robes, except they were fringed with red feathers. The skin of his legs was stained a startling red. He sat cross-legged, meditating. The Vulcan had black metal chains that snaked up his body and wrapped around his neck, these connected to thick cuffs around his upper arms and wrists. The metal chaffed the skin and smudged the white flesh with green. The stoic figure made Jim's breath catch in his throat, something about this Vulcan was more primal, and the intense control the chains and meditation provided seemed inadequact for the intensity just under the surface. Jim teared his eyes away from the bowed head and swiveled his vision to the other block--knowing what to expect.
This block had Human Spoke. His hands and legs were bound by a thick fraying rope. His hair was disheveled and far from the perfectly smooth bowl-cut Jim was so used to, so fond of. The man wore leather pants that had been ripped, and a similarly ripped leather jacket over a tight black shirt. His body was highlighted by the clothes so foreign to it, and made Jim swallow at the sight. His left, rounded, ear was pierced with a dangling silver ball. Human Spock struggled uselessly against the ropes, hopping and jerking against his restraints. While the other was completely still and silent, this one was constantly making small noises of struggle as he moved. The expressive face gritted it's teeth and pulled harshly against the thick weave of the rope bruising the wrists and soaking the harsh material with red blood.
Jim breathed harshly as he tried to ignore the two tethered figures on either side of the man in the center. This [i]wasn't[/i] Spock, but it did a damn good job of looking just like him. Anomaly Spock stood and approached Jim, long legs covered in tight black pants, torso covered in some sort of black leather belted contraption. He had a smear of black that ran in a line across his face level with his eyes. His hands looked as though he'd dipped them in black ink--the long fingers tipped with long black lacquered nails, the ink fading towards the large central knuckles of each digit.
Kirk took a tightened breath as he watched the mesmerizing hands move expressively as Spock stood.
"Jim."
Jim's back straightened, and he had the unnatural urge to correct this hybrid of his first officer--James Tiberius Kirk was Captain.
Anomali-Spock actually smirked at him, raised an eyebrow and took several steps forward so that he was just at the edge of Jim's personal space, "Captain. I should have known that you'd find a way into my mind without my consent. It is neither logical, nor possible."
"You're not actually Spock. You're like... some [i]puppet[/i] Spock. I'm here to find the real one, and shut this operation down for good."
"You wound me Jim. I *am* Spock, I am more Spock than you've ever known. Every version of myself that [i]is[/i] and [i]will be[/i] and [i]has been[/i] is present. And yet, you are still the singularity of you. I do not understand how this came to be if you are here, but I can assure you that I--he--we will never be able to forget the eons which is our--my true existence."
So, this Spock didn't speak with as much scientific jargon or Vulcan logic as the other, but he was just as hard to follow. Jim was fairly certain he understood, but he was also fairly certain that he was probably missing some vital point. Hopefully, it wasn't a point that mattered in his whole 'saving my first officer' plan.
_
Jim sighed and stood. He wasn't really partial to inaction, and while stretching out did a good deal of good for his back, it didn't do too much for his piece of mind. He began a slow jog, with his head bent to accommodate the low ceiling, away from the restraining char.
It soon became apparent that he was stuck in some dreadful rat-maze. So maybe Spock saw him as some sort of horrible science experiment. Great. Just what he'd always wanted and aspired to.
Kirk jogged onward. Small and twisty, the ongoing tunnels, dead ends, and forks-in-the-road made him feel more claustrophobic then the small room had.
His brain tried to piece together what the purpose of such a maze might be--what the logical function of something so absurd would likely be--but his mind reminded him that he was within a mind, or an expanded mind, and that really--emotions and minds really weren't that logical. Even if this was Spock. He was still a bit startled to think that Spock's mind wasn't just a well-ordered cube. Neatly stacked files in various filing cabinets in a pristine sterile room. The freezing floor, the slightly grimy cracks where floor met wall and wall met ceiling were strange. And very real.
His wandering mind wasn't helping him solve the damn maze though.
_
The dry heat of the air was cloying, and Jim coughed as he surfaced. The light was almost blinding in its intensity, and he squinted at the dust and sun. He was standing on a vast plain of dry red cracked earth with hints of mountains in the distance, and a thick dust gusting through the air. The heat, which he had thought staggering before, was now oppressive. However, it was not a wet heat, and he thanked no one in particular that the humidity did not match the scorching intensity of the sun.
He sighed heavily and retreated a few steps back into the maze, just under the shadow. He would wait until the sun was setting to start moving. Vulcan had been a desert planet, and there was no reason for him to assume that this was not the also the case here. He was hungry, tired, and his body ached.
Jim sat heavily on the ground, and watched the light move across the entrance to the maze.
_
There were people, and a good amount of alien species, milling about... among stalls where people shouted their wares, and bargained in loud voices. Everything was heat and dust, leather and fur, and this ... post apocalyptic market dropped Jim's jaw. Where had this come from? The Anomaly. Must be.
Jim looked down at himself for the first since arriving and noted that he was wearing the jeans he used to wear on Earth, and the black undershirt he wore in Starfleet. In some ways it made sense that he'd be wearing a combination of both his lives, but some small part of him was sad that he didn't get to show off how he looked in leather. He looked damn fine in a leather jacket.
The dust swirled, and he coughed roughly into his shirt sleeve. This was an entire world! How the hell was he supposed to find Spock? He got some strange looks--probably for his apparent cleanliness, and his odd clothing--but mostly appreciative glances. Didn't matter the where or when--or the who--Jim Kirk radiated charisma like Orion's radiated pheromones. But his worked better.
Jim started walking through the market looking at the various wares and the locals. He flirted with a few ladies, but kept moving searching for some vague hint as to where he was supposed to go to find his missing friend.
Down the street there were raised voice, and then the eruption of disruptor fire. Kirk sped up his pace and snuck up on the action. A group of men were arguing, and as Jim drew closer he could see one frantically gesticulating and waving about what appeared to be an elephant gun. He was vocal and pissed off. And familiar.
"Shit." It was Bones. A post-apocalyptic version of his best friend, complete with archaic doctor's tools slung in a satchel over one shoulder, animal fur over the other shoulder, and half the hair on his head shaved off. But he was in really good shape. Kirk spared an appreciative glance.
Well, it made sense in a way. The wife had taken everything, and so really--Bones was well suited for a world with nothing... Plus, as much as Bones loathed to admit it and would skin Jim alive for knowing it, Bones was an amazing shot. Kirk's mind stuttered to a halt, and he shook himself free of the strange hypothetical. Bones was talking... ranting... lecturing... and waving a rather large gun--not an Elephant Gun exactly, but maybe one crossed with a Klingon Disruptor Rifle.
"...Furthermore, I'm a doctor, not a mercenary damnit! And I won't have you going about endangering the lives of perfectly healthy citizens because you think they're infected with some newfangled plague which [i]doesn't[/i] exist; and trying to use me as some sort of assassin-for-hire because you've made an unqualified diagnoses based on your own personal blood-lust. And this is a damn dirty witch-hunt and you damn-well know it you--"
"Um... Bones?"
"What?"
"You have a gun."
"Yes."
The orange light of the desert filtered through the dust kicked up by the crowd, and his friend stared at him incredulously--completely cut off mid-tirade.
"Wait. Do I know you?"
The other guy threw the first punch. At Jim. Now, if Jim didn't know any better he'd think this was unfair, but so was appearing in a post-apocalyptic wonderland in his own personal rat-maze. So it seemed to make perfect sense that the guy who had started the doctor's tirade would decide that [i]Jim[/i] was clearly the right target. Later, Jim would tell Bones that he'd taken the attack for him, and make the doctor feel some sort of guilt before he inevitably began to lecture Jim on proper street-brawling ethics, and how a Starfleet captain should avoid such things altogether.
There were a couple screams, but mostly the crowd seemed anxious to join in. The fight spread through the narrow dusty streets, and Jim doubted if most people knew why it was happening, or who was friend and who was foe. Jim didn't know besides the fact that he wasn't going to hit McCoy, and he was probably going to hit the jackass who slugged him first. He couldn't find the 'ass after a while, and a sharp tug brought him out of the street and into a side-alleyway.
McCoy's face was set in a grim line, "Follow me."
Jim followed McCoy through winding side-streets, tall buildings turned brown-orange in the constant swirl of dust. They traveled in silence, and quickly left the noise of the brawl and the market behind them. Eventually Bones lead him down an alleyway to a door with a wooden placard swinging above above it on a black hook with the crudely burnt image of a bird-mask and a vial.
"So the Anomaly got you. I'd have thought you'd keep yourself awake the longest, or have figured out how to induce that less-than-sleep, sleep-thing you'd been muttering about."
"You'll have to find the Oracle. He will answer your questions."
_
His mouth was uncomfortably dry, his hands dug into the grit of the ground, and he thought that it was not logical to feel more dirty than when he got in his normal brawls. Dirt was, all things considered, probably a lot cleaner than most bar floors. Maybe, he was just more accustomed to ignoring what was there, but the sand from the dry earth got under his nails and made him feel sloppy.
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CADENCE
(Naruto: Shikamaru x Neji)
The dancer, he thought, was good. Especially for an assassin. And if the information he’d received was correct, the man undulating before him wasn’t even an assassin trained in seduction-he was the single most powerful warrior of the Hyuuga Clan. A clan that had a history of great warriors and leaders. It was only known to a very small few that the clan used the Slave Curse on their own. It was how the assassin had come this far. No self-respecting murderer would have the curse seal, no self-respecting warrior would bow before his own honor to have it administered. But the dark Hyuuga secret was that they branded all of those not in the direct line to inherit the title of Lord when they were still too young to walk. And so, the most powerful general from the eastern reaches had managed to infiltrate into the bosom of the West to kill the famed war adviser: Shikamaru Nara. The Nara’s were a famous clan in their own territory, but none had earned the hatred of the eastern states quite a thoroughly as the eldest son of the current head of family. He was not feared as a mighty warrior as his father was, but was loathed and feared for his startling intelligence which had orchestrated some of the greatest losses the East had ever seen.
Covered in a sheen of sweat the supple body before him began to waver and lean as the deep drums of the assembly hall began a low steady cadence.