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CHARACTERS: "Todd"/Guide, James T. Kirk, and all volunteers
LOCATION: Medical Bay
WARNINGS: Extensive description of the Wraith feeding process, and internalized self-loathing. Possible profanity.
SUMMARY: You can never win, you can only break even. With a Wraith, you can't break even - even if you are one.

He's growing used to the fire in his bones, and the thought disgusts him more than he would dare to admit. This repetition of siphoning off a bit of life and then slowly starving again is not the way of a Queen's man. It is short-sighted - but the kine are a short-lived species, as it should only be that they cannot imagine so far into the future. Yet he has agreed to this deal, and their short-sightedness is his own. It will not be long before he starves again, and then more humans will have to sacrifice themselves to him. So this vicious cycle will begin anew.

He kneads the dark vein that winds itself abound his wrist so that it does not swell with enzyme, but he closes his fist as he does so. He can grow used to the fire in his bones, but never shall he look upon a hungry hand without shame.

Guide waits in the medical bay, squinting at the too-bright lights. When he has the strength to do so, he stands; when he hasn't, he rests, sitting as regally as one can in torn leathers.

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She isn't sure what brings her here, to be honest. Hayley is a creature of self-preservation and little else. Fractions of an identity she is disinterested in investigating. It might be the ship, the months she's spent aboard, hearing the same song and dance over and over again. Maybe she's desensitized. She has a plan for making it to eighteen, but not much else- and even that's been entirely upended in her arrival here.

Her feet shuffle to a halt just inside the door, and Hayley's gaze sweeps the interior. A careful analysis in the guise of uncertainty, an appropriate amount of concern.

Maybe it's a combination of those things, and maybe the rest is the man himself. If he could be called that at all. He certainly hasn't made an effort to disguise himself, or his nature. Her fingertips slide down the cool metal of the entrance way before falling limp at her side. She's seen her share of cowards.

"I take it I'm in the right place?"

Edited 2012-09-24 05:33 (UTC)

Elves are seldom known for punctuality, being a race that seems to defy the effects of time. But time passes on this vessel, whether thee notice it or not. And with that time goes the health of a passenger. He says he is a predator, and that he is hunted. Perhaps he is; but what is a predator but a survivor? What are they all if not survivors?

Maybe he just enjoyed listening the exchange between the predator and Miles Edgeworth. Or maybe it is simply curiosity. Or respect for one who would ask for aid, grudgingly or not.

Whatever the reason, he is here now, lingering outside the door of the medical bay with Frodo for a moment. He's tried to convince the Hobbit to stay behind, but of course he would have none of it. And short of forcing the little one into a closet, there wasn't much Legolas could do about it.

Give spares another glance at Frodo, a soft smile, before moving to open the door and enter the medical bay silently, barefoot as always.

October wasn't exactly thrilled to be here - the experience was unpleasant, to put it mildly - but she helped the guy before. And if it meant keeping him alive and keeping some kind of peace (because who knows what he'd do if he was denied this), she figured she could handle it again. It's not like she had anything better to do, anyways.

She wanders into med bay quietly, hands stuffed in the back pockets of her jeans, and makes sure to stay out of the way until it's her turn.

Edited 2012-09-24 05:19 (UTC)

Kirk is present because he can't not be here. If given the option, he would gladly continue donating to this cause, but he has the physical evidence proving how much he can't without putting himself at detriment. The glimmer of silver at his temple, soft and barely there, is a constant reminder to him that his life span has been irrevocably shortened. Which is why he's keeping fresh track of people who have signed up as donors.

Nobody else is going to be hurt the same way he let himself be. Systematically killing other people on this ship, regardless of the cause, isn't something he can condone. If, in the end, he needs to make a choice, he knows he'll have to cut Nick off, because Nick is only one person, and it isn't worth the lives of god only knows how many others. Kirk sincerely hopes it won't come down to that, because loathe as he is to admit it, Nick (or is it Todd?) has experience they're going to need.

Especially with a sentient ship.

Still, his mouth is set in a firm line as he oversees the process, and you can bet he'll check on every single person after they've done their part.

He doesn't like this. He made that clear from the way he'd grown a bit tenser while in Legolas' company. Any wraith was hardly good. Thinking of it seemed to bring pain to the wound in his shoulder, never fully healed. Yet he says little of it, only walks quietly beside him. He's here perhaps because Legolas is his friend and even in his weakness he would not let him be alone.

Elvenkind he may be, he remains his friend and just as Frodo willingly chose the path of danger, so did Legolas pledge his bow. It is the very least he can do to accompany him with his strange..interests.

Incidentally, the donation process isn't any easier the second time. It's just as scary, just as overwhelming, just as tiring... She doesn't immediately feel sick like she did the first time, at least, but that just leads her to believe that she was only sick the first time from nerves. She's a little pale, and everything aches, but her stomach isn't rebelling like last time. So that's good, right? Means it won't be as gross tomorrow, and it won't matter that Erik isn't there to help her through it again. Hn.

Raven's up on her feet a few minutes sooner than she likely should be, just because she needs to get away from the line of donors, out of that bed, make it easier to pull away from the situation. It helps that there are mostly different faces than the last time, but then... not really. Because it just reminds her that those people might not even be here anymore. She zips up her jumpsuit all the way, covers up the small bandage that's covering up the marks. Flexes her hands open and closed at her sides, like getting her circulation going will make her feel less tired, cold. She's not sick, no, but this is awful. Not being at her top condition is enough to make her feel weak, and unprepared, and a little bit scared.

But then she sees Jim. So.

Okay, maybe not as scared.

Luckily, there's a chair not to far from where he's standing. It's just as uncomfortable as every other piece of furniture in the medbay, but she's making it her new favorite chair for a while. She sits sideways on it, facing him, her head resting against the wall.

"Hey there, silverfox." Bad joke? Bad joke. She'll smile anyway, like the situation isn't really freaking grim. "You know, I thought I noticed the-" just gesturing with her fingers at her own temple. "-on the comm, but it looks even better in person."

The sharp, sterile smell of the medical bay is unwelcome, as is the alien scent of...he can only assume that's the creature that's going to be sinking teeth into him, because that's like nothing he's ever smelt before. He's frowning, but that can't be helped. He's on edge, more than he'd admit, but he doesn't turn on his heel and leave.

The problem with Derek is the part of him that's all too prone to self-sacrifice. He has a pack to look after, a semi-crazed uncle to wrangle, but he's here because he knows that whatever this creature takes from him, he can heal from it faster than most. Better he be weakened and uncomfortable for a day or so than someone less durable than he take a turn under these lights.

He doesn't say anything. Derek isn't talkative at the best of times, and even less so in moments like this. He just levels a hard-faced stare at the creature, deliberately uncrossing his arms. It's an invitation, as much as he's able to give.

They're all working themselves too hard. That's part of the problem, Sulu thinks. Too few people who know what they're doing, and far too much to get done, and Sulu runs himself ragged but Kirk takes that to a whole new level. There's a streak of grey in his hair that Sulu can't miss. and it freaks him the fuck out, but saying that would be a dick move so he just hovers in Kirk's general area, like just Sulu's presence can ease things.

It's probably not helpful. Sulu's aware of this.

But at least he's on hand in the event Kirk throws all self-preservation to the wind and lets this thing latch onto him again. Sulu's got his katana in his boot. He'll take court martial and the brig if necessary. Yes, that's overdramatic, but he thinks he's allowed to be at this stage in the game.

Funnily enough, it does help. Maybe because Kirk has been here a long time, nearly a year, and for most of that year he'd been on his own. Had dealt with this on his own; shit that he never should have come across. Moral issues that should never have been up for debate.

It would've been so much easier if, like McKay, they'd been at war with one another. At least then the lines would be clearer.

He doesn't miss the way Sulu looks at that shock of grey, but since he doesn't bring it up, neither does Kirk. He folds his arms over his chest as Nick goes on to the next person, and a lesser man might look away, but Jim doesn't, like by watching, he can shoulder the burden of what's happening.

Of what he's convincing people to do.

He wants to go to her, which in itself is a strange feeling. Help her to her feet and wrap her in the blanket the doctors provide (to stop them from going into shock). It isn't his job, though, so he doesn't- or at least, he doesn't until she comes and sits next to him. Then he grabs a blanket and wraps it around her shoulders anyway, before stepping back out of her personal space.

The look he gives her is amused, but wry. "You don't think it makes me look old?"

It's only when she's pulling the blanket around herself a litter tighter that she realizes she needed it, but she won't let herself think about it, not when she's got a perfectly good distraction in Kirk being here.

"I think it makes you look distinguished." She somehow grins and winces at the same time, because no, that's not quiet right. "Like... stripes earned. Do they have stripes and stuff in, um, in Starfleet? For different accomplishments? 'Cause I think by now you would have gotten, like. Four or five, at least." Whaaaat is she talking about. "Yeah, that's what it makes you look like, to me. Somebody that's earned some stripes."

He makes his way towards Kirk silently after entering with Frodo, after making sure the Captain is currently not entertaining company. If he's managed to slip away from his companion, he won't be alone for long. He isn't concerned, though; he'll be nearby if Frodo comes looking. He has yet to meet this Captain in person, so he will do so now, even if it is not, perhaps, the best time for it.

There is age in the sliver of gray in Kirk's hair, in the slight lines on his face, but not in his eyes. Legolas doesn't make a show of inspecting him, but his eyes do stray to Kirk's temple for a moment longer than necessary as he pads over. The aging of Men has always been somewhat.. fascinating. Strange, but fascinating.

"..A gift from a passenger?"

Under the hum of the sharp, clinical light, the places where the darkness should dip and cling to his armor seemed matt, the expensive textiles that make up the outfit only exotic, not crafted as though from the night itself. The Batman looked out of place in the bright corridors of the ship. For almost two days, he had wondered whether to wear the cape and cowl aboard the Tranquility at all, but there were times when it was needed, and perhaps the ship itself had forseen them before him.

As Bruce Wayne he couldn't make this sacrifice, but he had to know, had to satisfy himself that it wasn't the mistake the dissenters said it was. James Kirk's support had been one thing, but it had been the creature's words and then his own presentation on the network which had convinced him. Witnessing his hunger, Bruce had remembered his own. He remembered stealing to live, to survive, remembered how it felt and thought he could see it in the dark hollows where eyes should be.

He appeared without word, without warning, not even the sound of a heel on the ground, dressed to be imposing while the real predator was almost too frail to stand. It was difficult to see without feeling some kind of pity, and yet the same people who fed their dogs and cats on board barely seemed to recognise that one plight was not much different to another. For predators, another creature had to die so that another could live.

He moved closer, not speaking, standing on a ceremony of patience as the outsider, knowing this had all been done before and waiting to be initiated.

There's something endearing about the way Raven goes on, and Kirk is glad that it's not something she's lost since being up here. Like the rest of them, she's aged too, but unlike himself (or so he seems to think) she's held on to that flare of fun she arrived with. That part of her that jumped up the bleachers and dared him to follow.

He smiles, genuine. "They do. Have stripes in Starfleet, I mean. But if these are the only stripes I get from being on the Tranquility I'm not sure if that makes me happy or not."

So long as he doesn't return to his native continuum completely grey, he'll be mostly happy.

Kirk looks up, and just like seeing Arwen for the first time, he's a little thrown by the way Legolas looks in person. At first glance, he might equate him to being Vulcan, but there is something much more ethereal about him that doesn't match up to any race Kirk has learned of. Elves are a beautiful race, and regardless of how he'd read about it in Tolkein's novels, it's utterly different witnessing it in person.

"Sorry?" He asks, because out of context, Jim isn't sure what Legolas is referring to. Though, he might have been slightly distracted with the elf's approach.

He smiles at Kirk's reaction-- it wouldn't be the first time, and as long as he walked Middle-Earth (or anywhere, really) among mortals, it wouldn't be the last. It does get old after a while, even if a while to an Elf could be years or decades to anyone else. But that while has yet to come

With some patience, he tips his head in greeting, then points to the mirrored spot on his own temple.

"Will all who volunteer receive one as well?"

Sulu's vaguely aware that this is the sort of scene that...he doesn't want to call it nightmarish. But it's unpleasant. It's the kind of thing he wishes they didn't have to condone, and the kind of thing he hates that Kirk put himself through. He keeps that opinion to himself, because what good is speaking it? Kirk's had arguments with everyone and their mother on this topic. He doesn't need his own crew raising hell over it.

( Though Sulu might, if Kirk goes another round. Insubordination has its time and place, Kirk taught him that, after all. )

He stands more or less at attention, hands clasped loosely behind his back. The longer this drags on the tighter his grip gets, but Sulu reasons that it doesn't matter, because who can see?

"Staying until it's over?"

It's not really a question. Sulu knows Kirk's here till the bitter end.

"Nah, that's just the first one people might notice. You've got stripes already, though. Other kinds." The longer she's sitting here, the more comfortable the chair gets. Or maybe she's just that tired from the donation, because man she could probably fall asleep right here at this rate. She's trying to keep her body moving though, in little ways, her toes tapping inside of her boots, and her fingers fussing with the ends of the blanket. Anything to keep herself from dozing off, intentionally or not.

"You've changed, you know? Since you got here."

He takes the moment of her settling to pull a chair out to sit down next to her, relenting instead of towering over her, but his gaze doesn't leave her when it doesn't need to. The chair squeaks just a little as he takes a seat, watching her expression. Gauging how she's feeling, watching as the fatigue catches up with her. Being bitten by the wraith leaves a bizarre sensation of being in pain while having the strength to bench press a bus, it's always disorienting.

Kirk knows it far more intimately than he should, according to McKay.

"I think we all have," He confesses heavily, leaning his elbows on his knees. "Anyone who's been here for a while."

"Until everyone is stable and he's left," Kirk says, his gaze trailing after Nick, who becomes steadier and steadier as he moves through the line of volunteers. It's minimal, Kirk knows, what the wraith takes from them. That he's living on the smallest rations, and he isn't sure what's more difficult to watch: the deterioration of the wraith, the way his mind starts to go and he becomes weaker and weaker, or watching his people line up like cattle to be fed on.

It turns his stomach, for both reasons. His fingers dig into his bicep, just for a moment, before he forces himself to relax.

"Oh," He says, and reflex has Jim lifting his hand to his temple, as though he's going to touch the silver before his fingers drop away, shying from the gesture. Embarrassed by it, maybe.

"No," Is the firm answer that comes, and Kirk straightens, looks at the elf. "This happens when someone has given too much." He says it like a statement, factual, and not like he's literally shortened his life span, that he's literally given too much of himself for this cause. But the flicker in his gaze, toward the wraith, and then back, might give him away to someone particularly empathic.

"We have steps in place to prevent that from happening, now."

"It's not all bad, though. At least I don't think so."

Not right at this very second, at least. She's sure she's changed in as many good was as bad, but she's not really thinking about it like that right now. It's difficult to really focus on anything for very long right now, but not as much if she just tries to remember what it was like talking to Jim for the first time, compared to how it is now. Different, but not a bad different. And she's about to comment with something regarding just that, but when she turns to look at him again she sees he's already looking back.

"I'm fine." If not just sounding a little bashful - she doesn't hate that he's watching her. "Bet I could still kick your butt right now if I had a reason to."

"Thought so."

It's sort of typical. Everyone in the Academy knew about James T. Kirk and his view on no-win scenarios. But Sulu is pretty sure they might have stumbled on to one. This can't go on forever. And even if it could, he's not sure the passengers would tolerate it. Anyone can see that streak of gray in Kirk's hair, and it's...

Well, all of this is unsettling, but picking and chosing things to focus on is the way people get through this.

His gaze flicks away from the wraith for a moment, just to catch on the silver at Kirk's temple, then the clench of his fingers. Sulu exhales, steps forward just enough to bump his shoudler against Kirk's. It's pretty paltry, as far as phsyical comfort goes, but Sulu isn't really sure how you go about telling your captain everything is going to be okay in a professional manner, so this will have to do.

"No?" He purses his lips briefly and follows the flicker with little more than a moment of disappointment. He sees the predator but says nothing; the predator has pride, despite his apparent hunger. There is strength and weakness in humbling oneself, asking for aid. He could respect this creature, or grow to, if he doesn't already. "..That is rather unfortunate. I have little love for fineries, of course, but it is an extravagance I do not think would not mind."

His attention is turned back to Kirk just as quickly as it was diverted. The predator is but another being in this room, for now; there will be time enough for him later.

"Nothing to prevent it. But also nothing to ease its clutches once it has taken hold, either." It's more of a statement than a question, though he knows next to nothing of this science they live by. Perhaps the situation might be different had they a solution for this aging. Less panic. Less controversy. Or perhaps it is the idea of being fed upon they despise. "What else may come of this?"

As she strode towards the medical bay, River enjoyed a pleasant buzz of anticipation. She was quite prepared to handle physical discomfort and in any case it was a small price to pay to experience something new and helping someone out into the bargain. She'd been wracking her brains for species that needed to feed on sentient beings. After discarding some possibilities (the apparent lack of a limit on species that could be fed on ruled out quite a few) she'd come up with a short list of guesses as to the identity of her soon-to-be-beneficiary. And of course she was extremely curious to see what sort of people her fellow donors would turn out to be.

Arriving at her destination, she took in the somber atmosphere. Was anyone else at all happy to be there? It was easy to guess the one who was going to be doing the feeding (not a species she'd seen before, how interesting), and even he looked like he'd rather be elsewhere. Then again, it seemed like most of those aboard the ship weren't used to dealing with non-humans, so maybe they'd been less than understanding of his needs. In any case she judged it best that she dial down on her eagerness a little as she approached him and waited for what might be a good time to introduce herself.

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(no subject)

open to your mom

legolas, frodo, todd?

completely open ( because i forgot to add that orz )

open to all you bitches

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sits here

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gave those bitches an open thread, bitches love open threads

ota

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tmw kirk thinks ur pretty legos

take a picture kirk it'll last-- actually no it won't..

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ota