"What the hell are you doing to the furniture, Scotty?" asks Jim, leaning his ass back against the pool table and folding his arms across his chest. "I mean, seriously. You going to take the place down around our ears? It's been what? A month? You cannot seriously be this bored already."
Scotty laid down his hammer and grinned up at the Captain. He'd been so absorbed in trying to take apart the damn thing he'd not heard him come in.
"Oh, it's no' boredom, sir, it's research. I'm trying to take it apart to see how it works," he explained. He reached to the floor behind him, and held up a crowbar. "Any chance ye could lend a hand? This thing's a lot more solidly put together than I'd anticipated."
"I'll put it back together when I'm done," Scotty said, with just the slightest hint of a pout. He wouldn't like to be thought of as destructive; everything he took to bits, blew up or vaporised, he did to for a purpose.
He moved round and tried with all his strength to prise a shelf from the backing with the crowbar, but it was impossible to get any purchase.
"I'm trying - without much luck so far - to find out what makes it do what it does," he said, wiping his brow on his sleeve. "It changes the books depending on who's looking at it, but I can't see where it stores them, or where its power supply is. It's not at the same level as the rest of the island's machinery, that's for sure."
McCoy's almost tripping on the books as he steps into the room and sees the whole goddamn thing turned ass-on-end. "Oh for..." he manages to mutter and doesn't know why he's surprised. If anything, it should be a dead giveaway that if something absolutely chaotic or strange or vandalistic is afoot, someone from Enterprise is responsible.
"Scotty, what the hell are you doing," McCoy sighs.
"Isn't that obvious?" Scotty said, carefully examining the wooden surface for any signs of screws or glue, any possible weak point to get a start on. "I'm trying to dismantle the bookcase."
Not that most people would consider that an adequate explanation, but Scotty's mind wasn't really on the conversation.
"You're trying to dismantle..." he echoes and it doesn't have to make sense, he supposes, because geniuses don't have to make sense and McCoy's been working on a goddamn ship of them. Too young for their own good and too cocky and too theoretical. "Well, when you give yourself a dozen splinters, I hope you don't think I'm gonna take each and every one out for you and kiss it better," he notes sarcastically.
"Aw, and here I was looking forward to that bit," Scotty shot back without even having to think. "Will ye at least give me a lollypop if I'm a good lad and don't cry?"
He sighed. This was useless; he hadn't a clue where to even start. "Anyway, I don't think you'll have to patch anything up today. This thing's tougher'n a Klingon's forehead."
"D'ye know where I could find one?" Scotty said hopefully. He was seriously beginning to think that might be the only feasible option. Of course, that'd make it more of a pain to put back together again, but never let it be said there wasn't a mess Montgomery Scott couldn't fix. And that went double for the ones he'd caused to begin with.
He leaned over the bookcase and stretched out a hand. "We've not talked before, have we? I'm Scotty."
"Kendra Shaw," she said, stepping over to shake his hand, firm and brief. "There's a storeroom a few levels down," she informed him crisply. "I believe there's a sledgehammer in there, if you really want to destroy that thing."
"Great!" Scotty said, scrambling to his feet. It was a shame to have to resort to such drastic measures, but if that was what the situation demanded, that was how it'd have to be.
He paused by the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "Coming along?"
He'd seen people yell at it, throw things at it, but this was the first time Michael had walked into the rec room to find the bookcase completely emptied and upended. If it hadn't happened already, he was pretty sure the next step was finding the thing being set on fire.
"I'll just, uh, put this here..." he said, placing the book he'd been planning to return to the shelf down on one of the piles.
"Don't worry, I'll put 'em all back when I'm done," Scotty said, and grunted as he tried to pry a shelf loose with a screwdriver. It wasn't coming free; it was like the whole thing had been made out of one solid piece of wood, but that made no sense at all.
He sighed, and flopped back onto his backside, looking thoroughly put out.
"This thing is a right royal pain in the proverbial, and no mistake."
"You know, I've heard the jukebox over there has been shot at in the past. Not a dent or ding in its surface to show for it, though." Which was to say that Michael didn't think the man stood a chance against the bookcase, even with the powers of brute force and a screwdriver combined.
"Really?" Scotty said, glancing over his shoulder at the jukebox. He turned back, shaking his head, brow deeply furrowed. A sudden idea came to mind, and he perked up instantly.
"I wonder if everything here is indestructible, or if it's only the items that randomise their output," he muttered, more to himself than to the other man in the room. He leapt to his feet, and was halfway to the door before he realised that it'd only be polite to tidy this place up before he set about taking apart something else.
He put his hands under the bookcase and heaved, gritting his teeth. It was much harder to push upright than it'd been tipping it over.
"Um, I might need a bit of help here," he said, shooting a sheepish look at the newcomer.
Natalya didn't do a very good job of keeping the amusement from her tone, as she strolled into the rec room with a book in hand, hair wet from the shower, and took in what the engineer was up to.
"You are not thinking maybe this will be inconveniencing for some people?"
Scotty's head snapped up when he heard the lilting Russian accent, and he smiled warmly at Natalya.
"Aye, but sometimes the search for knowledge requires ye to be a bit inconvenient," he said. He had another go at trying to work one of the shelves loose, but it didn't look promising. He sighed. "I think I'll probably be finished soon, anyway." He rested his elbows on the wood and looked over at Natalya. "And how've you been?"
Scotty shrugged. "Well, there's always things need fixing, and when there's not, there's stuff worth taking apart." He scowled at the bookshelf, and thumped it with his fist. "Even if some of it won't let me."
He looked at Natalya again. "Ye just need to find a hobby, that's all. Too much time doing nothing isn't good for you, y'know."
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He smirks.
At least Scotty's keeping busy.
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"Oh, it's no' boredom, sir, it's research. I'm trying to take it apart to see how it works," he explained. He reached to the floor behind him, and held up a crowbar. "Any chance ye could lend a hand? This thing's a lot more solidly put together than I'd anticipated."
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Instinctively, Kirk's liked Montgomery Scott since the first moment he met him, and now he's crew, so it's very different.
"What are you trying to work out, anyway?"
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He moved round and tried with all his strength to prise a shelf from the backing with the crowbar, but it was impossible to get any purchase.
"I'm trying - without much luck so far - to find out what makes it do what it does," he said, wiping his brow on his sleeve. "It changes the books depending on who's looking at it, but I can't see where it stores them, or where its power supply is. It's not at the same level as the rest of the island's machinery, that's for sure."
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"Scotty, what the hell are you doing," McCoy sighs.
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Not that most people would consider that an adequate explanation, but Scotty's mind wasn't really on the conversation.
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He sighed. This was useless; he hadn't a clue where to even start. "Anyway, I don't think you'll have to patch anything up today. This thing's tougher'n a Klingon's forehead."
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"Maybe if you found a sledgehammer," she said, in a tone that suggested she didn't believe that would work either.
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He leaned over the bookcase and stretched out a hand. "We've not talked before, have we? I'm Scotty."
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He paused by the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "Coming along?"
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"I'll just, uh, put this here..." he said, placing the book he'd been planning to return to the shelf down on one of the piles.
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He sighed, and flopped back onto his backside, looking thoroughly put out.
"This thing is a right royal pain in the proverbial, and no mistake."
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"I wonder if everything here is indestructible, or if it's only the items that randomise their output," he muttered, more to himself than to the other man in the room. He leapt to his feet, and was halfway to the door before he realised that it'd only be polite to tidy this place up before he set about taking apart something else.
He put his hands under the bookcase and heaved, gritting his teeth. It was much harder to push upright than it'd been tipping it over.
"Um, I might need a bit of help here," he said, shooting a sheepish look at the newcomer.
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"You are not thinking maybe this will be inconveniencing for some people?"
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"Aye, but sometimes the search for knowledge requires ye to be a bit inconvenient," he said. He had another go at trying to work one of the shelves loose, but it didn't look promising. He sighed. "I think I'll probably be finished soon, anyway." He rested his elbows on the wood and looked over at Natalya. "And how've you been?"
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"I am finding there is little here for to occupy my considerable time what is lacking having structure. You, no seem to be having same troubles."
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He looked at Natalya again. "Ye just need to find a hobby, that's all. Too much time doing nothing isn't good for you, y'know."
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