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trans_92010-03-27 09:16 pm
nerve-pincher.livejournal.com) wrote in trans_92010-03-27 09:16 pm
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S'ti th'laktra*
Spock, as was his wont, had learned a great deal already about this ship and its technology, though his knowledge was far from complete.
Now, however, it was time for reflection.
The Sensoriums had become cavernous, old and temple-like. Large statues lined the walls, while smaller, urn-like ones were scattered in niches here and there. The air was hot and dry, enough to make most humans uncomfortable.
In the center of this space was what appeared to be some kind of altar. It was near this that Spock sat, his legs tucked underneath him as he meditated.
Meditation was fundamental to the Vulcan way of life. It was a tool, used to help focus the mind and provide greater emotional balance. It was also very difficult for Spock to do effectively since his arrival on this ship.
This facsimile of the Katric Ark was as exact a replica as Stacy could provide. In a physical sense, it was perfect - after all, it had pulled the images directly from Spock's eidetic memory. But the arks, the urns which had been made to store the katras of the most important and revered Vulcans in history, were all empty shells. One day, had Vulcan not been destroyed, had his universe not been ripped apart, Spock may have petitioned the elders to be granted access to the katras, to mind-meld with the likes of Surak himself. Maybe, in another life, he had.
There was much to think about, much to learn and do, on this ship, to fight the Ohm and destroy their menace. But first, Spock needed time to reflect on and accept the new emptiness in his mind. The destruction of his planet, the deaths of all those Vulcans and the severing of the telepathic bonds had been a profound shock to his system. That was nothing compared to this.
He was no longer a member of an endangered species. He was, in all likelihood, the last remnant of an extinct species.
*S'ti th'laktra = "I grieve with thee", standard Vulcan statement of condolence.
Now, however, it was time for reflection.
The Sensoriums had become cavernous, old and temple-like. Large statues lined the walls, while smaller, urn-like ones were scattered in niches here and there. The air was hot and dry, enough to make most humans uncomfortable.
In the center of this space was what appeared to be some kind of altar. It was near this that Spock sat, his legs tucked underneath him as he meditated.
Meditation was fundamental to the Vulcan way of life. It was a tool, used to help focus the mind and provide greater emotional balance. It was also very difficult for Spock to do effectively since his arrival on this ship.
This facsimile of the Katric Ark was as exact a replica as Stacy could provide. In a physical sense, it was perfect - after all, it had pulled the images directly from Spock's eidetic memory. But the arks, the urns which had been made to store the katras of the most important and revered Vulcans in history, were all empty shells. One day, had Vulcan not been destroyed, had his universe not been ripped apart, Spock may have petitioned the elders to be granted access to the katras, to mind-meld with the likes of Surak himself. Maybe, in another life, he had.
There was much to think about, much to learn and do, on this ship, to fight the Ohm and destroy their menace. But first, Spock needed time to reflect on and accept the new emptiness in his mind. The destruction of his planet, the deaths of all those Vulcans and the severing of the telepathic bonds had been a profound shock to his system. That was nothing compared to this.
He was no longer a member of an endangered species. He was, in all likelihood, the last remnant of an extinct species.
*S'ti th'laktra = "I grieve with thee", standard Vulcan statement of condolence.
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His hand is likely tiny compared to Spock's but that doesn't stop the warm, peachfuzz-textured hand/paw from curling around two of the Vulcan's fingers.
"Eee. Haow Rrrr-enne hell-p Pock-kit?"
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Blushing a rather insanely bright cyan/robin's-egg blue, the creature's head dips down as a wave of awe comes over him. Briefly, he wonders if Vulcan culture is like his own had been, in their takes on friendship.
Perhaps it might not hurt to ask.
"Pock-kit 'On-nerrr Rrrr-enne. Frrrien-d. Haow do, in Buhl-kin way?"
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He had to consider it for a moment or two.
"What you have been doing - that is friendship, in my culture."
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Logically, he knows it's simply an inanimate stuffed toy. Emotionally, it is close to an icon, representative of the one that had found his way into a jaded little being.
"Th-is be Bee. Is frrrien-d too. Is T'hy'la."
Does he know that word's origin? No, in fact. Pen had never told him where he learned the word. All Renne knows is what he'd been taught and how strongly he takes such things.
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It was a word which bore so many layered and nuanced meanings, it was highly difficult for humans to translate it, and rarely did anyone outside Vulcan culture use it properly.
Spock thought, somehow, that Renne knew. Or perhaps, simply felt.
"You are fortunate," he said quietly.
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Words fail him.
Not really knowing what to say, how to say it or if he should say anything, the oddity simply extends his hand/paw again. The gesture is, as far as he knows, just the ancient hand-position denoting an offering of friendship.
It's the same he'd taught Billy to use but they had developed a unique way of performing it. Right now, the gesture is offered in the way it was learned. The Ancestors had done this and with Renne's own walls nonexistent, his instinct isn't so much held back by the jadedness that used to exist in him.
Three fingers together and extended. The thumb and smallest finger tucked under. Given it's an offering, rather than a teaching method as it had been with Billy, the underside of his hand and wrist face up. Exposed, as should any offering be.
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Perhaps he should have cursed his deplorable verbal English.
Either way, as soon as fingers touch his, the oddity Transcends partially; that is, quite literally becomes not-entirely-solid. Becomes closer to his natural and most vunerable state of being. He's done it before but before, his walls had jaded him, preventing the beastie from daring to do it in front of others.
Still, those walls don't exist anymore. And logic dictates an attempt at this other venue of communication.
The problem is, instincts aren't perfect. Sometimes, they can be wrong. Sometimes, they can frighten away. Yet sometimes, they can bring with them golden ages and for a moment, the oddity pushes back his own fear. There shouldn't be a need to be ashamed of what one is and he can't second-guess his instinct.
In this partial-Transcendence, he's not entirely aware of the green in his eyes. All he's aware of
...is the source of himself partially exposed, that he might convey things. That he understands genocide, understands being just a remnant of What-Once-Was. Words have no meaning here and every meaning here. He can't hide himself, nor the stone memorial. He can't hide the four suns burning in a blood-red sky, nor silvery threads reaching outward without worry of his rationale controlling them. Without his rationale, his logic, his...guard pulling them back.
Much was lost. Much is understood. Much has potential.
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Throughout, was a thread of mutual loss, and mutual gain.
Carefully, Spock tested the limits of this bond. An image of his childhood home, on the outskirts of Shi'Kahr, on Vulcan. The home where his mother had planted a garden, and his father had taught him to program his first computer.
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Beyond instinct, beyond perhaps what many might call the "higher" mind. It floods in and the creature briefly, quietly weeps. When he replies, it might be perceived as words but it's all something...different but not-different. Words, harmonised voices and concept and things that are concrete when they should be abstract.
'Beauty, this. Much beauty. Mourn, One, for thee.'
It's slow. It's careful. With his walls gone, he's in some ways afraid of overwhelming this life-form he's encountered once before and not-encountered. Memories briefly fly outward of one named Spock and a ship. But these people were different. Darker. More....perhaps sinister, even deceitful.
A moment of stillness, and the creature expands, still slowly. Gradually, carefully from one analytical creature to another. Emotion here. It's not simply a state of mind or a concept.
It's living. Breathing. Solid. Out-of-Time and something that the Multiverse attempted to decree "Should Not Exist". But it does exist. Survives. And now, this thing with and without substance extends. One might call it an embrace but who can say in this place/time that turns the tangible and intangible upside-down?
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Shocked, he broke the connection, his brows furrowed as he studied the small creature before him. A pure empath, part of his mind said, and then, "further exploration would be unwise," he heard himself speak.
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Thrown back into the tangible world, the oddity's return to full solidity snaps back into place as fast as the communication snaps apart.
With Humans, he's barely sure on how to deal with them. With this one, he's out of his league perhaps, and rather terrified that he might have caused pain, Renne backs away. Fear blazes in amber and gold across his skin like drug-induced tiger stripes, but fear of what? He can't isolate that. Between fear of harming the other, fear of existing without his walls or fear of being somehow struck...it's hard to tell which one it is.
Perhaps all three.
Without a word, the living anomaly begins to slowly back away. And no. He doesn't risk turning his back on anyone he might be afraid of.
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He did not see Spock standing on the precipice, a hair's breadth away from losing his carefully-constructed emotional control.
After a moment of catching his breath, Spock glanced at the creature again. "You have nothing to fear from me," he said quietly.
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His English isn't great in the best of times. In times when his instinct screams at him to run like hell, said English usually flies out the proverbial window.
So it's probably lucky he manages to get that much out.
It's probably something close to miraculous that the creature doesn't up and flee right that second.
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Right now, though, Renne appeared quite frightened of him. Spock had no intention of allowing that feeling to continue.
"I have not experienced anything like that before. I did not know what to expect. That is all."
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What a time for the proverbial cat to make off with his tongue. Really, he's not sure what to say right now until, as the flaring stripes of gold and amber fade from his skin...a thought occurs.
It might be well to note that Renne knows nothing of "verbal propriety", what should or shouldn't be spoken of. He's just very blunt and yes. That has gotten him into trouble sometimes.
"Haow yeu do it? Haow yeu....cahlm?"
At this point, Renne's face tints with a bit of robin's-egg blue. Embarrassed? A little. It's only been days, maybe a week if that, that his shielding walls have been gone.
With those walls, he'd managed a near-Vulcan serenity, distance of a sort. Yet those walls had become an addiction. A dangerous addiction.
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As he spoke, he recalled the few times he had truly lost control. The rage, the all-consuming bloodlust, an energy that was entirely destructive. And the shame, and guilt which ensued afterwards. There was no doubt in Spock's mind that such control was absolutely necessary.
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Harmony. He's only tried to explain such a thing to one person before now and even then, the concept might be a little strange. Sprung from emotion, unified by it and yet not controlled by it.
His ears flick downward for a moment as he thinks on things -- on Harmony, on the walls.
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It's a question. An offering. A proposal. Just don't tell him that yes, his voice is shaking a little. It's a paradox, needing both unrestrained Harmony, unity and yet at the same beat, needing that same kind of pristine control.
So he asks, in hopes of giving what he can as well as learning what he can.
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It may seem a bit on the formal side but yes, the beastie's head dips down in a sort of bowing gesture. On a path of learning, he takes things rather seriously and treats them as such.
"Rrrr-enne noh hurrr-t Pock-kit."
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