James T. Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
doneinthree) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
damned_institute2011-09-25 11:15 pm
doneinthree) wrote in damned_institute2011-09-25 11:15 pm
Night 58: Pantry 1
[from here]
Momentum carried Kirk forward even as the scene changed: snow gave way to tiled floor and the field to a row of shelves, which they all got to experience intimately as Kirk slammed into Glasses and Wichita, and the two of them slammed into an assortment of soup cans, which tumbled off the shelf and down on their heads. Being the tallest, Kirk caught the brunt of the assault, because that was really all he needed right now on top of a gunshot wound and disorientation from the sudden teleportation. "Ow, ow, ow—"
Vaguely, he was aware of how deeply unheroic this whole thing had been, just as he'd been aware of how ridiculous he probably looked to the transporter technicians after he'd gotten trounced on the drill by Romulans and nearly killed himself and Sulu after losing his 'chute. But they were alive, or so Kirk judged from the echoes of ow from beneath him, and he'd take a ridiculous rescue any day of the week over an unsuccessful one. He let the pipe drop from his fingers, where it clattered on the floor alongside the last of the rattled soup cans, and grabbed his flashlight as he stepped away from the other two. They were in some sort of pantry... he remembered storage rooms marked on the map beside the first floor kitchen. Interesting.
It appeared they were— No. Kirk turned to point his flashlight at the exit, and frowned. He thought he'd saw someone darting from the room — short, with long pale hair — but the door stood firmly closed, and he hadn't heard anyone or anything in here except Wichita and the other guy. Funny. The last time he'd been in this area, he'd been with... okay, never mind, those cans hit in the head harder than he thought. The three of them were alone. Kirk finally allowed himself to prod at his bloody arm and grimaced. The bullet had passed clean through and hadn't hit bone, but his shirt sleeve was a mess. So much for his shiny new uniform.
But as much as it hurt, he knew he'd gotten off inexplicably lucky. Wichita had probably been shot worse. Kirk clamped a hand over his wound and looked over at the other two. "Everyone in one piece?" he asked, trying for a tone of confidence.
Momentum carried Kirk forward even as the scene changed: snow gave way to tiled floor and the field to a row of shelves, which they all got to experience intimately as Kirk slammed into Glasses and Wichita, and the two of them slammed into an assortment of soup cans, which tumbled off the shelf and down on their heads. Being the tallest, Kirk caught the brunt of the assault, because that was really all he needed right now on top of a gunshot wound and disorientation from the sudden teleportation. "Ow, ow, ow—"
Vaguely, he was aware of how deeply unheroic this whole thing had been, just as he'd been aware of how ridiculous he probably looked to the transporter technicians after he'd gotten trounced on the drill by Romulans and nearly killed himself and Sulu after losing his 'chute. But they were alive, or so Kirk judged from the echoes of ow from beneath him, and he'd take a ridiculous rescue any day of the week over an unsuccessful one. He let the pipe drop from his fingers, where it clattered on the floor alongside the last of the rattled soup cans, and grabbed his flashlight as he stepped away from the other two. They were in some sort of pantry... he remembered storage rooms marked on the map beside the first floor kitchen. Interesting.
It appeared they were— No. Kirk turned to point his flashlight at the exit, and frowned. He thought he'd saw someone darting from the room — short, with long pale hair — but the door stood firmly closed, and he hadn't heard anyone or anything in here except Wichita and the other guy. Funny. The last time he'd been in this area, he'd been with... okay, never mind, those cans hit in the head harder than he thought. The three of them were alone. Kirk finally allowed himself to prod at his bloody arm and grimaced. The bullet had passed clean through and hadn't hit bone, but his shirt sleeve was a mess. So much for his shiny new uniform.
But as much as it hurt, he knew he'd gotten off inexplicably lucky. Wichita had probably been shot worse. Kirk clamped a hand over his wound and looked over at the other two. "Everyone in one piece?" he asked, trying for a tone of confidence.
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It should have bothered her more that she sounded all wrong, but she was too distracted to question it beyond the idea that she was probably just over-reacting due to the fact that she'd never been in a situation like this before. Her mouth opened to protest when Riverside started pulling off his shirt, because what no she didn't want to use his uniform to mop up her blood. He had his own wound to take care of!
But. She was selfish enough not to turn the offer away.
Wichita turned her body enough so that the other man could get to assessing her shoulder, but once the door was open she was moving again.
"We're coming with you." Because yes, she could speak for the both of them, apparently. At least, she thought it was a safe assumption he wouldn't want to hang out in the pantry the rest of the night. She turned to look back to the man that was now stuck with looking after her, gesturing towards her shoulder with her other hand. "If you could just show me where to press, I can hold the shirt there. I can't actually tell where the bullet went in, it all just hurts."
At least she wasn't panicking like she was a couple minutes ago. And again, it was weird how fast she went from crying to adrenaline-induced action mode, but maybe she was the only one that noticed. "And you," She turned to face Riverside again. "what the hell was that all about? The blipping we just did? You can teleport? That's fancy."
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Billy had thought he was beyond this. He'd seen too much to get caught up on weirdness now. His life was weird. He, Billy, was weird. But all the same, his mind emptied of any thoughts that were not tied up in Star Trek. It had only been in jest that Billy had called the man Captain Kirk, and it was strange enough to have it echoed back at him. What shocked Billy the most was his face. Billy nearly shivered when his eyes met with the actor's. Hell if Billy could remember his name, though, so apparently whats-his-face was going to reprising his on-screen role tonight. He wished Simon could have seen this, maybe kicked his last ghost out of excitement. But on the other hand, Simon seemed like the sort of fan that had more venom than love for the reboot. Billy had been ambivalent.
Composing himself, Billy accepted the shirt. He tried not to react to how detailed and high quality the garment was, but he did spare it a couple glances before he applied it to the now very visible wound on Wichita. There was already blood on it, and his confusion was tainted with a concern that Kirk, like his T.V. counterpart, wanted to play the hero. Again. His eyes briefly moved down to the action star's arm.
"Right here." Billy told Wichita, stumbling out of his reverie. He folded the gold cloth, then pressed it gingerly to her back. He waited for her to reach around and take the shirt from him, and prayed he wasn't going to make anything worse. She didn't seem particularly at a loss to Kirk's Kirkness, and was only somewhat puzzled by his knacking.
"Whatever you did, thank you." Billy released any questions he might have about his rescuer, or his rescue. It was looking like one step forward, and two steps back. They were inside, but inside where? Billy felt like his feet were tangled up, and every time he tried to run, it dragged him back. The Angel was silent and undisturbed, or maybe still out on that field, rolling and clattering its way to him. "Thanks for stepping in in the first place. But she's right, we're not staying here."
Each for their own reasons, of course. He glanced at Wichita, but gained no clue to what she wanted out of this.
no subject