poly_chromatic | [video | memory theater]

[ The memory kicks in with Jim and Leonard in their cadet uniforms, the latter trying to get through to his distracted friend. There's a sense of needing to be active and occupied until he takes the Kobayashi Maru test again tomorrow, higher stakes pitted on his side this time; his feet lead him to Gaila's room where he wastes some time before Nyota Uhura returns ("You can hear me breathing?") and kicks him out.

The scene flickers to the set of the Kobayashi Maru, Spock's old program, and from Jim's perspective he's being more attentive than he looks where he's lounging in the captain's chair. The subroutine goes as planned while he holds off inputting any more commands, thereby activating it via newly installed pathways through Gaila's stolen codes, and he munches cheerily on an apple as he swans around his bewildered fake crew, chomping loudly and obnoxiously as he glances up to the instructors above.

Third time's a charm, he thinks smugly, taking a bigger bite. ]

( OOC: Jim's memories are broadcasting of the Kobayashi Maru, an exam at Starfleet Academy. It runs at 29:32-33:11 on the nosvideo link, not including the hearing after. If the HD link doesn't work, try this! Jim is unaware of the post at the time of it hitting the network. )

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Because I'm not marooned here with you? C'mon.

[She sighs, heavy, like the world is ending.]

I got dumped by my ex-girlfriend, went to my ex-fiance for comfort sex, and a shrink told me I keep confusing sex for love. There. I think he's completely wrong, by the way. It's bad enough he looks twelve; I know the difference between the two.

I've never understood why people pay someone else to tell them why they're feeling the way they are. They can't experience anything like you, it's such a crock.

Did they tell you not to have sex?

I didn't pay him. He came with the job. As in, he is something like a co-worker at this point.

[She loves Sweets, even if his advice is shitty and he looks like he can't drink legally.]

Well... he didn't tell me, per se. It was more like advice and I saw it as a challenge to prove him wrong.

That's really dumb. If it isn't hurting you or anyone else, just do whatever you want.

Probably. Either way, I'm dying. Not literally, but it feels like it.

I'm not saying anything, I already get it in the neck for trying to help out with this stuff.

[She's squinting suspiciously at you now, Jim.]

Say what you have to say.

I don't think so. Look, just ... Relax? I don't know. Ask someone out.

[A twist to her mouth, she's looking amused.]

Stick to captaining. Your romantic advice stinks.

Captaining's a lot like dating. Like ... being on your own ship, and you have to gauge a situation with everything you've got. Weapons aren't torpedoes, they're your looks and how they get utilized, your personality, playing to your strengths and what you feel comfortable enough to do to make first contact, or just a casual rendezvous.

And I do suck at helping people out with dating advice because I don't know the first thing about what they want to get out of it. I just know what I want and what I'd do in their situation. I can't react for someone, only to them.

Which is ... basically, I suppose, why I think shrinks are crocks. They won't admit that.

People aren't ships, though. Ships don't have feelings to be hurt.

[That sure was a lot of words just to say "I have no idea what the hell I am talking about.", Jim.]

And they have to pay their rent somehow.

[ He was giving advice, gah. Or advice about advice? He whips up a brief smile, nodding. Right. Not ships, although he wasn't really intending to imply that, it must've sounded ... weird. ]

Yeah, you're right. Good luck with that, anyway.

And now on a similar yet different note, how pathetic does it make someone to drink and entire bottle of bourbon by themselves? I mean, sure, I can eat this entire box of chocolates myself, but the bourbon's different.