Mike Slattery (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
charlieoscar) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
reverielogs2018-08-21 01:53 pm
charlieoscar) wrote in reverielogs2018-08-21 01:53 pm
Entry tags:
Tide don't know where the river flows
» WHO? Mike and You
» WHEN? Shortly after the sickness plot
» WHERE? Around the station
» WHAT? Mike is not!dead of mystery plague and even got some new duds.
» WARNINGS?None at this time.
Mike thought he was going to die. Then he got so bad, he wished he had. But for all his tempting of Fate, he remained. Enduring, until he found himself waking and thinking that actually, he didn't really feel all that terrible.
That, in and of itself, would have been reason enough to celebrate: the simple joy of being able to cross his own suite without feeling like his knees might be swept from under him, to finally shower the stink of sweat and sick off, to see the dark, spidering veins giving up his body....
And then he found it. Pressed. Folded. As if he himself had put it there. As if it had been waiting for him.
When his hands shook now, it wasn't from illness.
Deck 4:
Plague aside, Mike took care of himself on station. Both as professional habit and personal pride - clean jumpsuit, shaved face, neat hair, his magboots as shiny as he could make them. But somehow he managed to even outdo himself as he stepped from cabin #001 that day. He stands taller in his navy uniform. Stronger for the blue and white silhouette, despite the jagged, black tendrils still snaking from under his collar.
He stands in the doorway - the frame all but engulfed by his shoulders - and smiles at a passerby. He ducks his head, in greeting, as his wrist flicks and the ballcap in his hand snaps open.
Joining them in the flow of foot-traffic, he begins to settle it on his head.
USS Nathan James, it reads. The Spear of the Navy.
"Morning."
It doesn't seem to matter that it actually isn't.
Mess Hall:
He takes the hat off when he eats, but it stays nearby. On the table by his right hand, where he can easily reach it. And see it.
Stare at it, his chest filling with both pride and grief.
And his face too, as the expression he looks up with is clear.
"Help yourself," he gestures with his cutlery to the open seat across from him.
Command Area:
Despite feeling better, he still tires more quickly than he would have liked. Before giving into it and returning to the walls of his cabin, he finds his way to the Bridge. Out of all the places on the station, this was the one he liked the most.
Found the most comfort in.
Understood.
He stands behind the command chair and stares silently at the displays. When footsteps announce someone joining him, he glances back, then nods his head at the large screen.
"Too bad it's not a window, huh?"
» WHEN? Shortly after the sickness plot
» WHERE? Around the station
» WHAT? Mike is not!dead of mystery plague and even got some new duds.
» WARNINGS?None at this time.
Mike thought he was going to die. Then he got so bad, he wished he had. But for all his tempting of Fate, he remained. Enduring, until he found himself waking and thinking that actually, he didn't really feel all that terrible.
That, in and of itself, would have been reason enough to celebrate: the simple joy of being able to cross his own suite without feeling like his knees might be swept from under him, to finally shower the stink of sweat and sick off, to see the dark, spidering veins giving up his body....
And then he found it. Pressed. Folded. As if he himself had put it there. As if it had been waiting for him.
When his hands shook now, it wasn't from illness.
Deck 4:
Plague aside, Mike took care of himself on station. Both as professional habit and personal pride - clean jumpsuit, shaved face, neat hair, his magboots as shiny as he could make them. But somehow he managed to even outdo himself as he stepped from cabin #001 that day. He stands taller in his navy uniform. Stronger for the blue and white silhouette, despite the jagged, black tendrils still snaking from under his collar.
He stands in the doorway - the frame all but engulfed by his shoulders - and smiles at a passerby. He ducks his head, in greeting, as his wrist flicks and the ballcap in his hand snaps open.
Joining them in the flow of foot-traffic, he begins to settle it on his head.
"Morning."
It doesn't seem to matter that it actually isn't.
Mess Hall:
He takes the hat off when he eats, but it stays nearby. On the table by his right hand, where he can easily reach it. And see it.
Stare at it, his chest filling with both pride and grief.
And his face too, as the expression he looks up with is clear.
"Help yourself," he gestures with his cutlery to the open seat across from him.
Command Area:
Despite feeling better, he still tires more quickly than he would have liked. Before giving into it and returning to the walls of his cabin, he finds his way to the Bridge. Out of all the places on the station, this was the one he liked the most.
Found the most comfort in.
Understood.
He stands behind the command chair and stares silently at the displays. When footsteps announce someone joining him, he glances back, then nods his head at the large screen.
"Too bad it's not a window, huh?"
no subject
Twins.
He says nothing about it though, just shrugs his broad shoulders mildly.
"For now. We're in the hanger. Hopefully it's only a matter of time."
no subject
That still twigged Jim out a bit, that they were just hanging there, unprotected. It was an invitation for unsavory types to find them and shoot them out of orbit.
"Most space stations don't just get built for no reason," he wonders aloud, "so I still wonder what the reason for this one was. My guess is something to do with the planet but that's apparently a dead zone too."
no subject
no subject
Jim has to give him that one. And if that's what's happened, he has to give credit to the crew of the station as well for not senselessly endangering other people just because they wanted the station built in a convenient part of space.
He shudders though, a full body thing that makes him grimace. "I hate the thought of experiments. I'm not denying that that's a possibility, not after all that sick shit that just happened but I better not be here to be a lab rat."
He was too pretty for that. But then again, he'd already died so looks really didn't matter, did they? "You hear any reports of what they found down on the planet?"
no subject
no subject
But, he's frowning. He's frowning that it's happened already.
"What video? What experiments?"
no subject
With another tap of his finger, he starts it playing.
A woman orders one crew member to contact mission command. She then informs mission command that they are about to begin test zero-zero-five and to stand by. The crew clearly knows the protocol for running this test; various crew members call out their tasks, from slowing the rings to a stop (after which gravity ceases on the command desk and presumably everywhere on the station) to initiating drive.
There is a tense moment. A crew member keeps calling percentages: “Drive at five percent. Drive at ten percent.”
Eventually: “Drive steady at 60 percent. Steady -”
Several consoles beep. “Drive failed.”
The woman contacts mission command again: “Be advised. Test zero-zero-five failed after a climb to 60%.”
As it finishes, he looks back at Kirk, arms folding again.
"They were testing something here, experimenting with whatever this 'drive' was. And something clearly went sideways leaving the station broken and empty until we were brought here."
no subject
He scowls and shakes his head. "For a second, I thought you were going to show me human experiments. Glad they didn't go that far, at least."
no subject
He trails off, shrugging his broad shoulders.
"Cheery, huh?"
no subject
He cuts off and frowns, thumb worrying along his lower lip. "So, this whole thing could be an experiment? An extraordinarily well organized thing that's meant to test and torture."
It was cruelly elegant, if so.
"This is why I stick to ships. Stationary things like this are bad news."
no subject
He breaks off, tone making his opinion clear.
He'd just hoped for better. That they might have learned, eventually.
no subject
"People are like this everywhere in the galaxy," he shares with a rueful frown. "Not everyone, of course, but enough. Power corrupts and all that philosophy shit. Spock would be better at doling out advice in a situation like this."
no subject
He says in the tone perfected by fathers everywhere.
no subject
Doubtful but Jim really hates that he can't figure this place out. He's usually better at parsing out puzzles and solving them. This station is just a question mark of massive proportions and it bugs Jim so much.
"I hate how confused this place makes me."
no subject
He exhales a long breath, eyes sweeping over the viewscreen, the blinking consoles again.
"At least you've got a basis to work off. We hadn't even made it to Mars yet where I'm from."
no subject
The Federation hadn't even bothered with those planets save for resources. Once hyperspace had been accessible, that's when they'd been able to find other life, both plant and animal, and they'd been able to expand their outreach.
"This is actually the quietest part of space I've been in in awhile."
no subject
A beat after that he offers a mildly amused, "I'll have to take your word for it."