taxonomites | 004 ¤ [Visual | Location: Sanctuary for All]

Entry tags:

004 ¤ [Visual | Location: Sanctuary for All]

Bones had woken up that morning feeling vaguely disorientated. But thankfully for all who knew the surly southern doctor, finally back in the appropriate body for the alternate timeline he hailed from, instead of the wry old man from ’85 with the blue eyes and penchant for confusing Taxon's favourite ~~infant~~ maturing Captain.

McCoy was none the wiser to his elderly, primetime shenanigans until about... oh, I don't know, five minutes ago. The unsettled haze was soon replaced with snatches of different conversations he had shared with people, which became exasperatingly more comprehensible and vivid to recall as the effects of sleep dissipated and left him with a week full of memories crammed fit to burst; but in the wrong head.

A glitch, he deduced with dread as he rubbed the side of his face with a long-suffering groan. It probably explained why he had woken up in a room that should have been unfamiliar to him but wasn't, instead of the familiar biobeds he camped out on in Sickbay in the North of this damn city.

"I need a drink."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Kirk made a very childish noise of frustration as he cast his eyes upward at the ceiling. "I am not making this up, Bones! Remember that no lying day I told you about?" Bringing that up tasted bitter, given how the last time they talked about the truth glitch, it had been about the brother Kirk had never mentioned. "She first told me about vampires and being the Slayer on that day, when none of us could shut up about things we wouldn't talk about. Spike's a vampire, so is that Eric guy -- but I think he's from a different world. Too many worlds here."

Far too many. He knew how many there were, approximately, but couldn't be relied upon to recall that number at the moment.

Feeling like being sarcastic back, Jim laced on a thick Irish accent and quipped, "Aye, m'lord, but I'mma 'fraid All Hallow's Eve tis still quite a ways 'round the corner. An' we both know of me distaste for the trick-or-treatin'. We'll just hole ourselves up in me castle and get our horror on away from the rest of these here victims."

McCoy was not surprised by the infantile groan from his best friend and his eyes swivelled down to his feet, in order to see whether he would stamp his feet to accompany his frustration at the doctor's scepticism, but found himself disappointed and looked back up at Jim instead. And tried to refrain from rolling his eyes.

"Too many worlds, too many opportunities for you to be fooled Jim." He replied, "I'll believe it when I see it, which I am content will be oh, never. Because I'm a doctor and you're a love struck fool with a girl you've found to read you your bedtime stories. Better than the alternative, I suppose."

That amused smile on his lips faded as he picked up the pillow in his lap and threw it with surprisingly accurate aim at his friends face. "That is the worst Irish accent I've ever heard." McCoy said, hamming up offence.

"I'm drunk," he reiterated, still in that horrid Irish accent. "Sure Mister Spock's is far worse than me less than best attempts now, Doctor. Can't hold it against me now, can ya?"

Dropping it, he laugh-- And got nailed in the face with the pillow. He fell back dramatically. Mostly for dramatic affect with a side of that floaty, drunken feeling making his balance not what it should be.

Seizing the pillow, he tossed it back and missed, hitting a lamp, but thankfully only tipping it over and not knocking it all the way to the floor. "I am not love struck." Because frankly, the 'l' word was a little terrifying, especially when it was coming from him. Applied to him from someone else, he could handle, but not the other way around.

"I'll hold whatever I want against you, Liam Potato Kirkington."

McCoy was startled out of his seat as the pillow hit the lamp next to him and tipped over nosily on the desk by his chair and he pretty much stumbled to his feet, smoothing down his clothes, placing the bottle of ale next to the slain lamp. That had a faint, red tinge to the base of the lamp... huh.

He staggered over to his best friend and held out his hand for the infantile Captain to help him up. And taunt him while the man was down, of course. "Both worlds, both alike in something in other, in loathsome Taxon, where we lay our scene." McCoy began to recite in a drunken slur as he flexed his fingers out with a silly smirk on his face, "A pair of star-crossed lovers take their romantic bullshit to their respective country doctors and cause no end of strife."

"Liam? The best you can come up with is Liam?" He made a pffftt sound at his friend. Somewhere in Taxon, Angel was probably twitching over the use of his human name -- not that these two drunken idiots knew that. Or anyone, for that matter. "And Kirk is Irish, dumbass. I'm Irish!"

Kirk glared at the hand that was offered, but soon rolled his eyes and accepted it, allowing Bones to help him back to his feet. His eyebrows shot up at the doctor's utterance. "You're a poet now?"

Edited 2009-10-20 22:18 (UTC)

"Watch your mouth or I'll push you back over." McCoy threatened him albeit only half-heartily. It only required a firm prod in the chest and he was sure the Irish man would fall back over, but with his luck, probably hit his head and then bleed to death on the Romulan ale splattered carpet. If he still held the inflatable hands thing against him, he doubted a concussion and memory loss would tide over any better.

He narrowed his eyes and instead jabbed the empty air in front his best friend's sternum and used his outside voice. "No. I am a doctor. A surgeon. A physician! A psychologist! I can even cure a rainy day. Not that we have rainy days in this fucking city."

"And I'll throw you in the brig for assaulting your commanding officer," Kirk replied with a goofy grin on his face that faltered a bit as he realized he didn't have the brig with him. Maybe he'd end up with it if Cupcake or someone from security showed up. "Since we don't have a brig, I'll just lock you in the transporter room, oh mighty psychologist."

He revelled in his short-lived victory (of a battle he had forgotten but shhh) as Kirk oh-so-flippantly mentioned a room he wanted to avoid at all costs and the threat of being locked in there.

"No." McCoy gasped as drink-induced panic caused that gasp to become hitched in his throat. It was fear incarnate. "You wouldn't dare. Besides, you're unfit for duty, so I refuse to let you lock me in there."

Edited 2009-10-21 02:39 (UTC)

Oh, but Kirk was winning! And he knew it. Hence why he was holding his hand out and looking all smug as he demanded, "Then give me the bottle, Bones."

No. No, it could not end like this! McCoy would not let it. He glared at Jim and his holier than thou smirk before walking over back to the table and snatching up the ale and holding the neck in a white knuckled grip. This was mutiny. An odd case, but mutiny none the less.

"No."

"Bones." His tone was firm...well, as firm as he could manage in this inebriated state. "Give me the ale. Quit hogging it!"

"You're Irish." McCoy replied with a firm voice of his own although it sounded wry and more mocking. "I'm saving you from a life of alcoholism. It's in your blood to be a violent drunk. You'll thank me and so will your liver."

"We have sickbay and the hatches. You can grow me a new liver, asshole. It's the 23rd Century, not the Middle Ages!"

"You make it sound so easy. I'm a doctor, not a gardener!"

"Oh, you'll learn," and with that same grin he gave Guy Krupki back in that bar on Iowa years ago, lifting a hand to pat Bones' cheek in much the same condescending manner. "I'll get you gardening tools for Christmas."

McCoy had heard second-hand snippets of this infamous encounter with Guy Krupki and his pert, similar intelligent friends, which had somehow led Jim to join Starfleet the following morning and the two meeting on the shuttlecraft. Uhura had made references to it whenever the then-Cadet decided to be shameless with the woman.

He did not appreciate the condescending slap on his cheek or the promise of receiving gardening shaped gifts awaiting him under the tinsel wrapped Captain's chair. In his drink-addled mind, he did the only thing that seemed appropriate as response... and tried to headbut the shorter man.

But coupled with the amount of ale they had both ingested, that was probably a bad idea as he lost his balance quite easily.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

004 ¤ [Visual | Location: Sanctuary for All]

[ location: sanctuary for all ] pretend i can write an irish accent.

[ location: sanctuary for all ]

[ location: sanctuary for all ] KEEP PRETENDING.

[ location: sanctuary for all ] I WILL NOT USE MY IMAGINATION YOU CANNAE MAKE ME!

[ location: sanctuary for all ] JENNY. CRAIG.

[ location: sanctuary for all ] Good thing we've seen this episode

[ location: sanctuary for all ] but, we're gonna have to land in the hudson.

[ location: sanctuary for all ] keep on hangin' and bangin'

[ location: sanctuary for all ] but my nephew's bar mitzvah!

[ location: sanctuary for all ] KHAAAN! ... what are you doing?

[ location: sanctuary for all ] we've been hijacked by somali pirates :|

[ location: sanctuary for all ] set phasers to conquering the universe

[ location: sanctuary for all ] no, set them to ~fabulous~!

[ location: sanctuary for all ] but this might cause the Star Trek Wars

[ location: sanctuary for all ] ...nimoy is going to cut me.

[ location: sanctuary for all ] What is wrong with me