August 06 - Bound in Story
Title: Bound in Story
Author: koohii_cafe
Rating: FR7
Crossover: BtVS/ Star Trek: The Original Series
Disclaimer: Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Star Trek: The Original Series are mine. ^^;
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Summary: Inside a locked antique chest, a story waits for Jim. Jim has never been the type to just watch, but he is the type to see for himself.
~*~*~*~*~
His ship was docked at the San Francisco Fleet Yards in orbit above the planet, his crew spread out and scattered across not just the planet, but the system and beyond, some on leave after their completed mission, some on new assignments, and Jim? Jim was at his mother's home in Riverside, Iowa, the old farm a sanctuary after the last chaotic five years spent soaring through the sky, through space and the universe, tumbling from one danger to the next constantly. A sanctuary from the pressing politics of Starfleet as well.
At least, it should have been a sanctuary. What it seemed instead, if he was honest with himself, was a restless prison as he waited for the fleet admiral to make his next move regarding Jim's next assignment and position. It had been pleasant, relaxing, for a little while, to enjoy the relative peace of the farm and the company of his mother and nephew, to settle back and not have to worry about what emergency might hit next, what threat might strike while his guard was down... but only for a little while. Five years of being on almost constant alert, five years of captaining a beautiful ship and leading a dedicated crew, five years wandering and exploring space could change a man, especially a man who'd never been destined for peace to begin with.
He was in town today, to relieve some of the wanderlust that had started to set in, meandering through shops and stores to pass the time. It was in one of the older stores, full of antiques and pieces from times long gone by, that an old chest caught his eye. It was brown, old faded leather with aged metal trim, an old lock latched firmly into place, and something about it just called to him. It was a simple inquiry to the shop owner to find out how much it would be; the chest was locked, but the key that came with it didn't work, the old woman told him, so she was willing to offer a significant discount. It had been donated to the shop by a curious young man just the week before, the shop keeper had said; she'd remembered him mostly because of his outlandish outfit, a brown suit that looked like it belonged in the twentieth century with a bright green patterned shirt and brown hat. When she'd asked how much he wanted for it, the man had grinned, shrugged, and said not to worry about it, that he'd be happy as long as someone found it a good home.
A good home, huh? Jim wasn't 'home' all that often anymore, but- it was a beautiful chest. It would fit right in with some of the other antiques he'd collected over the years. And the mystery of it- a locked chest with a broken key, contents unknown, with a mysterious donor... It was intriguing. As Spock would have said- fascinating. If nothing else, it would pass a bit of the down time trying to crack that mystery, and the chest itself. Perhaps more curious with it than he had a right to be, he bought it.
He got it home that evening, setting it atop the old, antique coffee table that graced the farmhouse living room, then settled down onto the couch before it to contemplate. The key to the chest he held in his palm for a moment, old, brass to match the chest trim, engraved with a stylized 'S' laid over a matching 'W' on the head of it.
Setting the key on the table beside the chest, he kneeled before it first. Lock picking everything from old fashioned physical locks to more modern electronic locks was a skill he'd learned years ago, when he'd still been a wild young teenager rebelling against his straight-laced Starfleet father, and it had been a skill that had served him well to this day, had gotten him out of more than one jam. Picking the lock of an old, antique chest should have been child's play, really, something he could do in his sleep. Except that, inexplicably, it wasn't. The lock was stubborn, refusing to succumb to every single trick and tactic he knew, refusing to open to let him have access. It was an hour later, an hour of trying to pick a lock he should have been able to pick in mere minutes, that he decided another tactic might be better served.
Something a bit more modern, maybe. He fetched a tricorder and returned to the chest, opening the top flap to run a few basic scans. Cheating, perhaps, to find hints to what was inside using modern technology, but it wasn't as if there were any set rules here. But then, after several minutes of scanning- and a little fiddling with the controls- there were no readings.
His eyebrows furrowed, confusion coming over his features. An old antique chest that resisted lock picking... and didn't show anything after a tricorder scan? Because while the tricorder picked up the chest itself, it couldn't pick up anything beyond that. If the chest was simply empty- and it certainly hadn't felt empty when he'd carried it out of the store, then into the house- he would have expected at least readings on the air content. Instead there was- nothing. Strangely nothing at all.
"What... are you," he murmured softly, closing the tricorder and setting it aside. Unsure how to proceed. There had to be a way, of course, he didn't believe it could be impenetrable, the question was just- what that way was. Nothing that involved force, he didn't want to damage it; he wouldn't have wanted to even if the previous owner hadn't been sentimental about it, it was simply too lovely a piece. But how...
Then his eyes fell to the key, laying abandoned on the coffee table beside the tricorder, where he'd set it to start off. Granted, the shop keeper had said it didn't work, but it was worth a try, wasn't it? He knelt again, to take the key, the engraving pressing into the palm of his hand as his fingers closed around it, and slid it carefully into the lock. Inhaling briefly, he turned it carefully, and-
There was a click, soft to his ears, and firm at the same time, and the key turned in full, until he could pull it free. When he did, the latch came free with it, and he grinned a little, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement.
"The simplest approach is often the best, isn't it." The key was set aside again with a chuckle, as he reached to open the lid gently, to swing it back to reveal-
Crosses and wooden stakes, piled on top of each other, almost spilling out as the lid was lifted, strewn out across several aged, leather-bound books, interspersed with little corked bottles of some clear liquid. And, to one side, bound to one of the thicker books with a leather cord, an old lockbox with no lock. One eyebrow raised at the contents, the combination reminiscent of some old stories kids told around campfires even to this day, about creatures of the night that could be driven off with such implements as crosses and stakes, but- it was the lock box that got his attention. The lock box- and the book it was bound to- that called to him just as the chest itself had in the shop.
"Well alright," he chuckled, lifting the pair from the box carefully, heedless of the stakes and crosses that spilled down further into the chest with their absence. "I suppose I find out what you are next."
A locked chest with a lock-less lockbox within. Out of space on the coffee table, he moved to the dining room table now, setting the leather cord bound package on it gently before he tugged at the tie to undo it. It took a couple minutes, the cord old and curled into place tightly, but then it was undone and he was placing the lockbox on the table beside the book. There was a bookmark in the book, which he opened first, curious. And the text on the page...
"'You can't just watch... you have to see.'" The repeated words were soft on his tongue, but the air seemed to thicken as he read them. As if, by reading them, some strange shift had begun to occur. "Interesting," he mused, scanning over the page the book had come open to. "Very interesting."
A story of some kind. One that tied- to the contents of the lockbox, perhaps? He lifted the lid to it next, fully, to lay it back on the table as he reached within and pulled out- a flat metal figure, in the detailed shape of a girl. His head tilted, his curiosity deepening, and he set it aside. Beneath it, within the lockbox, were several more pieces. Four of them that matched the figure of the girl, in varying shapes and designs, with a flat, five sided base of some kind with a wick in the center. The five stylized pieces matched, and seemed like they would fit into grooves that lined each side of the base. He'd seen something like this before, although he couldn't remember where. A long time ago, when he'd been younger. Before Starfleet.
"I always enjoy a good story. Let's see how you go." There was curiosity, and a little sense of adventure, alight in his eyes, and he set the base in the center of the table before moving away, to get something to light the wick. If he understood it correctly, the flat figures would cast shadows out from the lighted wick, and should match the text of the book. He was about to find out. With the wick lit, he dimmed the house lights, set the book out before him, and, after a quick look over the figures to determine what order would match the story, selected the first one; a piece with a crescent moon shape jutting out. He read, his words slow, purposeful, as he slotted the first piece into place.
"'First there is the Earth. Then,'" A pause, reaching for the second piece, a distorted depiction of a creature reaching out, and adding it, "'there came the Demons. After Demons, there came men.'"
The air had thickened again, by the time he reached for the third piece, the figure of several humanoids gather together, and Jim paused; there was a sound, low, almost imperceptible, coming from- somewhere. It echoed, seemingly with no clear source, a beat to it, steady, almost- tribal. Both eyebrows arched a little, but as he slotted the figure of the men into place, he continued, reaching next for the figure he had first pulled out. The girl.
"'Men found a girl. And the men took the girl to slay demons,'" he intoned the words, his eyebrows raising a little higher as he skimmed the next line ahead. Then, the next figure, a chain that snaked out ominously, as ominous as the next line, as ominous as the low sound that was increasing. Increasing steadily and- joined by a new sound, as he slotted the fifth figure into place, the sound of a high pitched scream.
"'They chained her to the Earth. Filled her with Dark. The girl broke the chain and split the line.'" The scream- no, screams now- the sound of voices, an increasing crescendo of sound, loud enough that he had to shout to hear himself, his eyes narrowed, the air around him thick enough to cut. The air crackled with some strange energy, and the figures on their base spun by their own will, spinning out shadows that shifted and crawled up the walls as he continued to read.
"'You cannot be shown. You cannot just watch, but you must see. See for yourself, but only...'" He paused, gaze darkening, his expression pinched, and then- the last words, loud, shouted; "'Only if you're willing to bring her home.'"
Lightening, crackling, the tableau spinning out shadows on the table before him speeding, and twirling, and the energy cracked suddenly and- there. Before him, a portal of some kind. Beyond it, the sound of a voice- a woman, shouting wordlessly, and the book was forgotten, the figures forgotten, but the story- the story was not. He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but the story had someone come to life, and it's words were explicit.
He had to see. And he had to bring her home. Whoever she was, whoever this girl was- she was depending on him.
There wasn't a second's pause before he was moving, through the crackling portal, and then he was gone.
Author: koohii_cafe
Rating: FR7
Crossover: BtVS/ Star Trek: The Original Series
Disclaimer: Since I am a poor chickadee with no wealth to speak of, I think it's safe to say that neither BtVS nor Star Trek: The Original Series are mine. ^^;
Written for: TtH August Fic A Day Challenge
Summary: Inside a locked antique chest, a story waits for Jim. Jim has never been the type to just watch, but he is the type to see for himself.
~*~*~*~*~
His ship was docked at the San Francisco Fleet Yards in orbit above the planet, his crew spread out and scattered across not just the planet, but the system and beyond, some on leave after their completed mission, some on new assignments, and Jim? Jim was at his mother's home in Riverside, Iowa, the old farm a sanctuary after the last chaotic five years spent soaring through the sky, through space and the universe, tumbling from one danger to the next constantly. A sanctuary from the pressing politics of Starfleet as well.
At least, it should have been a sanctuary. What it seemed instead, if he was honest with himself, was a restless prison as he waited for the fleet admiral to make his next move regarding Jim's next assignment and position. It had been pleasant, relaxing, for a little while, to enjoy the relative peace of the farm and the company of his mother and nephew, to settle back and not have to worry about what emergency might hit next, what threat might strike while his guard was down... but only for a little while. Five years of being on almost constant alert, five years of captaining a beautiful ship and leading a dedicated crew, five years wandering and exploring space could change a man, especially a man who'd never been destined for peace to begin with.
He was in town today, to relieve some of the wanderlust that had started to set in, meandering through shops and stores to pass the time. It was in one of the older stores, full of antiques and pieces from times long gone by, that an old chest caught his eye. It was brown, old faded leather with aged metal trim, an old lock latched firmly into place, and something about it just called to him. It was a simple inquiry to the shop owner to find out how much it would be; the chest was locked, but the key that came with it didn't work, the old woman told him, so she was willing to offer a significant discount. It had been donated to the shop by a curious young man just the week before, the shop keeper had said; she'd remembered him mostly because of his outlandish outfit, a brown suit that looked like it belonged in the twentieth century with a bright green patterned shirt and brown hat. When she'd asked how much he wanted for it, the man had grinned, shrugged, and said not to worry about it, that he'd be happy as long as someone found it a good home.
A good home, huh? Jim wasn't 'home' all that often anymore, but- it was a beautiful chest. It would fit right in with some of the other antiques he'd collected over the years. And the mystery of it- a locked chest with a broken key, contents unknown, with a mysterious donor... It was intriguing. As Spock would have said- fascinating. If nothing else, it would pass a bit of the down time trying to crack that mystery, and the chest itself. Perhaps more curious with it than he had a right to be, he bought it.
He got it home that evening, setting it atop the old, antique coffee table that graced the farmhouse living room, then settled down onto the couch before it to contemplate. The key to the chest he held in his palm for a moment, old, brass to match the chest trim, engraved with a stylized 'S' laid over a matching 'W' on the head of it.
Setting the key on the table beside the chest, he kneeled before it first. Lock picking everything from old fashioned physical locks to more modern electronic locks was a skill he'd learned years ago, when he'd still been a wild young teenager rebelling against his straight-laced Starfleet father, and it had been a skill that had served him well to this day, had gotten him out of more than one jam. Picking the lock of an old, antique chest should have been child's play, really, something he could do in his sleep. Except that, inexplicably, it wasn't. The lock was stubborn, refusing to succumb to every single trick and tactic he knew, refusing to open to let him have access. It was an hour later, an hour of trying to pick a lock he should have been able to pick in mere minutes, that he decided another tactic might be better served.
Something a bit more modern, maybe. He fetched a tricorder and returned to the chest, opening the top flap to run a few basic scans. Cheating, perhaps, to find hints to what was inside using modern technology, but it wasn't as if there were any set rules here. But then, after several minutes of scanning- and a little fiddling with the controls- there were no readings.
His eyebrows furrowed, confusion coming over his features. An old antique chest that resisted lock picking... and didn't show anything after a tricorder scan? Because while the tricorder picked up the chest itself, it couldn't pick up anything beyond that. If the chest was simply empty- and it certainly hadn't felt empty when he'd carried it out of the store, then into the house- he would have expected at least readings on the air content. Instead there was- nothing. Strangely nothing at all.
"What... are you," he murmured softly, closing the tricorder and setting it aside. Unsure how to proceed. There had to be a way, of course, he didn't believe it could be impenetrable, the question was just- what that way was. Nothing that involved force, he didn't want to damage it; he wouldn't have wanted to even if the previous owner hadn't been sentimental about it, it was simply too lovely a piece. But how...
Then his eyes fell to the key, laying abandoned on the coffee table beside the tricorder, where he'd set it to start off. Granted, the shop keeper had said it didn't work, but it was worth a try, wasn't it? He knelt again, to take the key, the engraving pressing into the palm of his hand as his fingers closed around it, and slid it carefully into the lock. Inhaling briefly, he turned it carefully, and-
There was a click, soft to his ears, and firm at the same time, and the key turned in full, until he could pull it free. When he did, the latch came free with it, and he grinned a little, the corners of his lips tugging up in amusement.
"The simplest approach is often the best, isn't it." The key was set aside again with a chuckle, as he reached to open the lid gently, to swing it back to reveal-
Crosses and wooden stakes, piled on top of each other, almost spilling out as the lid was lifted, strewn out across several aged, leather-bound books, interspersed with little corked bottles of some clear liquid. And, to one side, bound to one of the thicker books with a leather cord, an old lockbox with no lock. One eyebrow raised at the contents, the combination reminiscent of some old stories kids told around campfires even to this day, about creatures of the night that could be driven off with such implements as crosses and stakes, but- it was the lock box that got his attention. The lock box- and the book it was bound to- that called to him just as the chest itself had in the shop.
"Well alright," he chuckled, lifting the pair from the box carefully, heedless of the stakes and crosses that spilled down further into the chest with their absence. "I suppose I find out what you are next."
A locked chest with a lock-less lockbox within. Out of space on the coffee table, he moved to the dining room table now, setting the leather cord bound package on it gently before he tugged at the tie to undo it. It took a couple minutes, the cord old and curled into place tightly, but then it was undone and he was placing the lockbox on the table beside the book. There was a bookmark in the book, which he opened first, curious. And the text on the page...
"'You can't just watch... you have to see.'" The repeated words were soft on his tongue, but the air seemed to thicken as he read them. As if, by reading them, some strange shift had begun to occur. "Interesting," he mused, scanning over the page the book had come open to. "Very interesting."
A story of some kind. One that tied- to the contents of the lockbox, perhaps? He lifted the lid to it next, fully, to lay it back on the table as he reached within and pulled out- a flat metal figure, in the detailed shape of a girl. His head tilted, his curiosity deepening, and he set it aside. Beneath it, within the lockbox, were several more pieces. Four of them that matched the figure of the girl, in varying shapes and designs, with a flat, five sided base of some kind with a wick in the center. The five stylized pieces matched, and seemed like they would fit into grooves that lined each side of the base. He'd seen something like this before, although he couldn't remember where. A long time ago, when he'd been younger. Before Starfleet.
"I always enjoy a good story. Let's see how you go." There was curiosity, and a little sense of adventure, alight in his eyes, and he set the base in the center of the table before moving away, to get something to light the wick. If he understood it correctly, the flat figures would cast shadows out from the lighted wick, and should match the text of the book. He was about to find out. With the wick lit, he dimmed the house lights, set the book out before him, and, after a quick look over the figures to determine what order would match the story, selected the first one; a piece with a crescent moon shape jutting out. He read, his words slow, purposeful, as he slotted the first piece into place.
"'First there is the Earth. Then,'" A pause, reaching for the second piece, a distorted depiction of a creature reaching out, and adding it, "'there came the Demons. After Demons, there came men.'"
The air had thickened again, by the time he reached for the third piece, the figure of several humanoids gather together, and Jim paused; there was a sound, low, almost imperceptible, coming from- somewhere. It echoed, seemingly with no clear source, a beat to it, steady, almost- tribal. Both eyebrows arched a little, but as he slotted the figure of the men into place, he continued, reaching next for the figure he had first pulled out. The girl.
"'Men found a girl. And the men took the girl to slay demons,'" he intoned the words, his eyebrows raising a little higher as he skimmed the next line ahead. Then, the next figure, a chain that snaked out ominously, as ominous as the next line, as ominous as the low sound that was increasing. Increasing steadily and- joined by a new sound, as he slotted the fifth figure into place, the sound of a high pitched scream.
"'They chained her to the Earth. Filled her with Dark. The girl broke the chain and split the line.'" The scream- no, screams now- the sound of voices, an increasing crescendo of sound, loud enough that he had to shout to hear himself, his eyes narrowed, the air around him thick enough to cut. The air crackled with some strange energy, and the figures on their base spun by their own will, spinning out shadows that shifted and crawled up the walls as he continued to read.
"'You cannot be shown. You cannot just watch, but you must see. See for yourself, but only...'" He paused, gaze darkening, his expression pinched, and then- the last words, loud, shouted; "'Only if you're willing to bring her home.'"
Lightening, crackling, the tableau spinning out shadows on the table before him speeding, and twirling, and the energy cracked suddenly and- there. Before him, a portal of some kind. Beyond it, the sound of a voice- a woman, shouting wordlessly, and the book was forgotten, the figures forgotten, but the story- the story was not. He didn't know how, and he didn't know why, but the story had someone come to life, and it's words were explicit.
He had to see. And he had to bring her home. Whoever she was, whoever this girl was- she was depending on him.
There wasn't a second's pause before he was moving, through the crackling portal, and then he was gone.