bakerstreet | The Other Wordly Meme

The Other Wordly Meme

The Other-Wordly Meme

Words are magical things; they can have so many lovely connotations and varied histories.
Words have family trees just like people. They are linked to each other.
Some words are full of flavor and color and describe things you never suspected there were words for.
Words are why we're here.

The meme is simple: post a comment with your muse's name and canon in the subject line.
List any preferences you may have ("No Shipping," "No Smut," etc.), if you decide to leave the next step up to responders.
Responders (or original posters, if they so decide), go to the Other-Wordly blog and hit 'Random' until you get a word. Use the word as a prompt to write up an RP scenario. Do this several times, if you like. Mix and match. Have fun with it!
Don't stop with a word, though! Words can often have etymologies that are at odds with their current meanings. Words can shift connotations over time. Let your imagination carry you with the words as its wind.

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and perhaps to a lesser extent
two | three

The lab, to Spock, could be much of a small haven. The surfaces were polished and the potential scents muted by fumigation hoods; it was cooler than he generally liked, but the air was crisp and dry. Normally. Unsurprisingly, Spock ran a tight ship, so he could expect to come in and find labeled glassware and tidy workstations, equipment and experiments running alongside one another like downscaled models of universal forces. Walking in to work was walking through exhibits, and on the most efficient days it felt as if he were among the concerted motions of a multicellular organism. The Vulcan Science Academy would have suited him well; just not as well as Starfleet ( at least, that was the idea, most days ).

At the tail of a gamma shift, the tranquil ambiance of one of the chemistry labs is shattered by an accident Spock still doesn't know the full details of. Checking in on the labs before his alpha shift on the bridge had he and two security officers in the area carrying two unconscious lab techs off to medical. If Spock entertained the idea of fate, he'd feel spat on. When he called ahead to report the emergency, he'd reached a nurse, though. Maybe he can count on a certain doctor to deny coming in before his shift begins... Probably as much as one could have counted on him to make the prone woman in his arms wait for medical care in the hallway when her respiratory system might be under arrest.

A certain doctor was already in medical. Of course. It wasn't as if he'd needed to inundate himself with work after a frustrating and confusing argument from the evening before, or anything.

Though, Bones may have wanted a little extra work to take his mind off of other things, he wouldn't have asked for this to happen. He never did wish for emergencies, despite those being the times when he felt the most in control and the most focused. Like now. Even though it's that goddamn Vulcan walking some poor lab tech in, there is hardly a thought for irritation. He knows that Spock is too professional to allow their personal differences to muck up the procedures here. It's a fact that's McCoy counts on; as the remainder of his staff is already dealing with the other victims of the accident and Bones could use a steady hand and keen eye.

"Keep an eye on her vitals, Commander." The biobeds in medical are a wonder of modern technology, and if there was a sudden slide in the woman's readings, some alarm would sound. Right now however, the room was filled with a symphony of beeps and chimes. The sounds all had meaning and made sense to the trained ear, but you had to direct your attention to the ones that you were responsible for. In the back of his mind, Bones also has to listen for that long, harsh, hum that signals a flatline. Which is why it's better to have a back up standing by the bed, even as he works to stabilize the woman's breathing and scan her lungs for damage.

Keeping an eye on equipment is something Spock is decidedly qualified to do, but then what? Now that he's deposited the woman in medical, his use seems served. Still, if he's being told to serve as an extension of the doctor's receptors, he has to comply for the sake of his tech; it is doubtful that the other man is attempting to keep him there after the previous day's snafu, so his help really must be needed. It... bothers him that such a possibility could even dare to cross his mind now.

"She has either inhaled a neurotoxic chemical or suffocated," Watching isn't enough for him at the moment, it seems, nor is watching just the equipment he's been directed to. He is keenly aware that this is an opportunity to watch the other senior officer in his element. The human under control, wrapped under pressure, as opposed to spontaneously spilling his irrational emotions, is a sight to be seen. Spock catches his eyes sliding the man out of his periphery and into his full attention, studying face and posture, before he reigns his gaze back to reading readings.

"The ventilation had to remove the room's oxygen content in order to remove the harmful fumes." So there was a chance consciousness would be regained after enough oxygen was delivered to the brain... but he'd have thought that would have occurred en route to medical, if that were the case. The man carried between the security officers had stirred before his back hit the biobed. But Spock wasn't a doctor. In this instance, he's only an observer.

The additional information is more than welcome. It's rare that the attending physician would get any kind of account of the situation if their patient was unconscious. "Looks like it's the first, there is severe irritation to the throat, larynx and trachea. Alright-"

Though he is talking out loud, he isn't actually having a conversation. This is rapid relay of the facts, hands switch from scanner to hypospray before he even finishes his sentence. "I'm giving her a dose of antitoxin, standard in these cases. It looks like she's got the worst of the symptoms here. Must have been standing close to whatever the hell happened."

Hypo used, and set down, the tech's vitals begin to even out from the slightly erratic pattern of a few moments ago.

"Checking for signs of concussion now." She should have woken up, if it was only the oxygen deprivation at work. None of the techs had been out of air long enough for permanent damage, as far as Bones knew. This one might have hit her head trying to scramble back from the chemical reactions. That was really speculation on his part, though it did look like she took a hard knock to the back of the head.

Unfortunately, it's about as much information as Spock knows at the moment. He'd been further down the hall when the accident, or whatever it was, had occurred, and his clearance had been necessary to reopen the quarantined lab.

"And so the last, but most pertinent candidate for an inquiry. Her readings are beginning to show signs of stability."

His eyes drop to the young woman's unconscious face and get stuck on the hands manipulating her head, the proficient probe of fingers. Spock's hands clasp behind his back. He will likely have to ask the other man to have someone interview the techs while he reports to the bridge, and pursue his own investigation from the answers later.

"Will she live, Doctor?"

McCoy's eyes are glued to the girl's face, he's looking for sighs of activity. He isn't disappointed. Once she'd started to stabilize, her eyelids flickered reflexively.

The question is not an unusual one for him to hear, though most doctors would tell you that it's one of the hardest to answer. Because you could know, or predict, but you couldn't know without some time to see how the patient responded. In this case, Bones pulls his hands back and nods.

"Yeah, Spock. She's gonna be just fine." And he's sure of that. It was a good thing that the Commander got her down here as quick as he did. The damage to her lungs and other sensitive internal parts would have been a lot worse if it hadn't gotten neutralized.

"We'll keep her a few nights for observation, but she's coming around. Give her a minute."

Hearing the woman might wake soon, Spock shifts with ( relatively pleasant ) surprise and leans ever so slightly over the biobed. That was quicker than he'd thought. He's admittedly a bit relieved, too, to know action had been taken in time; she'd been dead weight in his arms, and he hadn't been certain.

"Is she concussed?" He's trying to ascertain the likelihood of lucidity. For now, he's not going to contest the estimate for observation, though he usually suspects they're a little longer than strictly necessary.

"Ensign?" There seems to be a little recognition in the shutter of the woman's eyelids, but it's a dazed sort of thing. Spock's attention shifts, again, back to McCoy.

"The alpha shift will begin soon," The shift they're technically supposed to be doing work on, but no mention of that, "May I entrust your department to have her file an incident when she is able?"

Everyone, commander and captain included, seemed to think that the assignment of hours given for a medical observation was more arbitrary than not. That really wasn't the case, unlike an estimation from engineering on when something would be done. The human body, and the vast majority of humanoid bodies that McCoy saw to were more fragile than they were stout. Injuries didn't take place in isolation either. What caused one problem was likely to cause a host of other assorted issues and bodies liked to keep those tangential side effects secret.

"We'll see to it, Spock." The doctor inclines his head to the side. He doesn't want to draw the girl into a round of questions now, and even as the topic of alpha shift is brought up, one of his nurses comes in and immediately assess the situation. Sliding in to take McCoy's place at the ensign's bedside. That nurse would be Hal, the boy that messed up their tests results before, but seems determined to make up for it in sheer dedication to his current task.

He is actually one of McCoy's favorites, though the doctor would never say it out loud. It's been over a year since Chapel left, and McCoy still feels the tug to call out her name in a crisis or two. Hal is usually the one that steps in to take care of what's needed without even mentioning the slips.

"The best thing for them right now is a little peace and quiet. I'll have them rest and hour or two before we get into the interrogation."

Casting a glance over his little kingdom. McCoy finds things running smoothly and makes up his mind to follow Spock when he does begin to leave.

Spock would have to agree that he would rather not interview the woman ( Tracey was her surname, if he recollected correctly, and he almost always did ), though it'd be more a matter of efficiency than mercy on his part. Answers would come; for now the incident seemed isolated and the danger has long been nullified, so there was no particular hurry.

He notes the doctor's replacement, and watches the nurse work even as he steps aside from the bed, out of the way. He steps toward McCoy, coming to a halt at the man's side. His hands are laced behind his back and his gaze is on his conscious tech, but his head tilts slightly toward the other man.

"At your discretion, Doctor. I trust that you will forward me any pertinent information."

Oh look, he doesn't know Bones is coming with him.

Likewise, Bones keeps his gaze on the pair in front of them, rather that turning to face Spock as they talk. His own arms fold together across his chest habitually, and they do so now. It would be difficult for anyone to tell just by looking that the two of them were tiptoeing the edge of a brink. Then again, when weren't they? On Bones' part at least, he felt like this dance with Spock had come to claim a great deal of his mental attentions.

"You can count on it, Commander." Turning 180 degrees around, so that his back is facing the tech and the nurse now. Head mirror the tilt towards Spock, but eyes still faced forward.

"In about two hours. Actually, since I have to have a talk with Jim, I might as well walk you to the bridge."

Oh look, he's making an effort to keep the surprise down to a minimum.

Mission unsuccessful, but fortunately, the Vulcan's surprise is a muted thing, confined to a mere look askance at the other man. Considering how the other man had stormed out of his quarters the day before, Spock would have thought McCoy would have been just as eager to be rid of him as Spock was to be brief. And was that attempt not apparent? Perhaps not, or perhaps the doctor doesn't choose to observe it.

If he protests in any way, it will suggest he's bothered by it. Spock isn't really paying attention when he passes his tech a delicate frown.

"If it pleases you," Is decidedly not what he should have said after all, but it's out of his mouth now, and Spock believes he has already reached his emotional quota for the week to bother regretting it. He shifts forward, a long and even stride for the turbolift. He runs calculations while he waits for it to arrive, and then subsequently for McCoy to step in with him.

You're my best friend's other best friend.

"May I ask what it is you have to discuss with the Captain?" Perhaps he should know better than to risk provoking an issue with conversation, but Spock is... curious. And possibly the doctor has chosen to set aside his issue with Spock in light of something to do with Jim - it wouldn't be the first time. "Perhaps I could be of some assistance."

Less than a fully day ago, and it might as well already be water under the bridge as far as McCoy is concerned.

Alright, maybe not quite.

Bones is willing to let the matter die down. If it's possible to come to some kind of agreement with Spock. Evidence suggests that is unlikely, but there is always hope. No. McCoy isn't looking to start another round of emotional outbursts anytime soon. His pride is bruised enough from last night.

There is just a niggling little left over from the fact that Spock had basically called him attractive.

"It's nothing all that important." Bones is broken out of the surprisingly comfortable silence by Spock's polite inquiry. That the Vulcan even offered to help sure as hell shocked the CMO. In a good way. Maybe they could make it past the awkwardness of the previous night after all?

"He asked me something a while ago, and I think I finally have an answer to give him." A beat. "Thank you, though, Spock."

In turn, the Vulcan is pleasantly surprised when he isn't told to mind his own business. Granted, he isn't told what the topic is, but the reply he gets is not defensive, like he thought it might be. The other man even thanks him.

All Spock can do is offer a small nod in return, and shift his gaze back to the doors of the lift.

He's quite willing to let yesterday's incident go unspoken about, but he's as unlikely to forget it as he is the dance. At least with the dance, though, things were not so explicit. Now that he's been told the other man is interested in him ( or was, he's not certain now ) it's something he has to handle, even if it's only to tuck it away. A little like Nurse Chapel, except Doctor McCoy wasn't likely to leave them any time soon and there's no longer a solid and clear 'taken' label to seal off the possibility of a returned interest. ~~Maybe Jim could be counted on to take it off of his hands this time, too~~. Things with Nyota at the moment were 'on and off'; he had been informed that this was a common occurrence with humans and relationships with romantic attachments. Not that anyone in the ship would know - the majority never knew they were even a thing.

A part of Spock certainly wishes the doctor would have been good enough to keep his sentimentality to himself, but it's too late now; even if the other man's feelings have changed, it's not something he can ever take back from an eidetic memory. Maybe they could move past the awkwardness, yes. They'll never be quite the same ever again, though. That doesn't have to be a bad thing.

With the somewhat pleasant exchange, Spock might be wondering if joining him was some sort of gesture of good will on McCoy's part. He dares to sneak a glance over at the older man, and is liable to keep looking until he senses he's liable to get caught.

The burden of knowledge, once shared, seemed halved. For McCoy.

A part of him takes a primal satisfaction in the fact that he's shaken up the Vulcan's world in some small way. Even if the majority of his sensibilities still rebel against the idea of Spock being aware of his personal feelings. The universe hadn't sunken in on itself, and McCoy was left remarkably more clear headed. He felt better about things than he had for quite a while. So, in that sense, there was an upside to blurting things out like a schoolboy.

As for Spock's actual interests, as far as the good doctor knew, he was still with a certain lovely communications officer. Not that it was his business to follow along in ship's romances. (well, actually, sometimes it was) Which was why McCoy had been so certain that Spock would have told him to go take a hike last night and they'd all be done with it. Obviously a few of McCoy's assumptions had been false, and were due some reconsideration.

It's only deep into internal musings that McCoy gets the feeling he's being observed. A flicker of a glance from the corner of his eyes confirms it too. Well. Fair is fair. McCoy had plenty of his own turns to watch Spock while the other hadn't known of his interest, so he can't really call the man out, now that he'd made a fool of himself. Maybe Spock was just curious about a human's ability to do the most ridiculous thing possible and still function the next day? It was a valid reason for study.

"...and it helps sometimes, to leave sickbay in the hands of the others for a while. They're all capable individuals, and they need the opportunity to gain confidence in that."

The secondary explanation was volunteered as an olive branch of sorts. McCoy wondered where it would take them.

Funny, because Spock would argue that the burden was doubled. Perspective. No matter which way it could have gone, it would have been a selfish thing for one of them. And no matter what Spock would have chosen to say last night, he is fairly certain nothing would have been the right thing.

He's caught, or almost caught. Spock isn't certain, because his eyes naturally flick away when he first senses a twitch of a gaze toward his. It is not addressed.

"The proverbial fledglings flung from the nest," He offers in turn, "It suits you, Doctor."

It's difficult to tell whether this is an insult or a compliment; the truth, or his truth, indubitably.

Edited 2013-08-14 19:38 (UTC)

It could be either. It could be both. Spock's deadpan deliveries often left a lot up for interpretation from the receiver of such comments. Bones shrugs a little. Willing to let it pass over the realm of offense.

"About last night, Spock." Flinging fledglings wasn't his only habit it seemed. McCoy often flung out his intentions of never speaking of things that shouldn't be spoken of. At least he had the grace to look a little sheepish at the moment.

"I left something with you, and I'd actually rather have it back, if you don't mind."

All kinds of worries pass through McCoy's mind after issuing the request. He can easily see Spock rejecting it, getting distant or saying something intended to verbally fillet him right here in the turbolift. Or he could agree and that might not be much better. Since Bones has an inexplicable urge to stop time and kiss the Vulcan senseless just to see what that would be like.

No. Nothing had changed. Except perhaps, as this attraction to Spock grew, Bones found some measure of peace in accepting it as a fact.

Spock would like to think he's only obvious when he wishes himself to be, but then, many people do, not just Vulcans. If it's any consolation, Spock is having a difficult time understanding what Bones rehashing the incident and requesting his liquor means.

He turns his head, polite, curious, calculating.

"Am I to understand you left the entirety of your alcohol reserve with me?"

Turning a little further toward the older man, the Vulcan leans incrementally closer. He's not being terribly obvious about it, but... yes, he's examining and sniffing the other for signs of drinking. Given the human body's predilection for sweating, it doesn't have to be a close thing.

Even so small as an inch of space negated between them is enough to set McCoy's heart beating at double time. Though whatever sweat that happens to gather over his skin isn't going to be smelling of alcohol. Not to any excessive extent. Aside from the drink he had in Spock's room. Bones hadn't had anything in a good while.

"Not all of it, Spock, but some of my favorite. Yes."

He clears his throat. The slight beep alerts of their soon arrival to the bridge and for just a moment Bones thinks he might be crazy enough to actually do it. To reach over to the stop and slip up to Spock just as smooth as sugar. But that wouldn't be professional. Nor would it exactly be smart.

"If you're crazy enough to let me, I could swing by and pick it up later tonight."

That would be what. A second, third, or fourth chance? Well, what did the count really matter.

There's certainly a minor pinch of brows at the word 'favorite', along with a tilt of head. Remember that analogy sometime back regarding a coondog? With bangs and docked ears. Ears that registered the sound of the sound of the docking lift as only a forewarning to be sure he was composed and ready to step out.

Which he is, and he does. It's dismissive, but it isn't personal - exactly the opposite. Time to minimize the computer games for now. Bones needs his conversation with the Captain, Spock has his station where he'll at least pretend not to listen in.

--

They have reached planetary orbit for their next assignment, an essential skip and a hop backtracking on their exploratory venture. Duty as representatives of the Federation could often call time away from their initial mission, as they were on the outskirts of territories rarely revisited and difficult to regulate from so far away.

The mission? Convince and transport an ambassador out of the planet for Starfleet negotiations. Due to the planet's rings and ionic interference, it was better to send a shuttlecraft rather than use the transporter. As a young Captain, Jim was eager for a chance to get out and prove himself. Uhura, Sulu, and a few security officers went along. It was meant to be routine, simple.

And then, the ship is hit like a bolt from the blue. The shields are barely raised in time to keep the hull from rupturing and jettisoning crewmembers in their cabins into the unforgiving void. Spock is settled in the Captain's chair in his commanding officer's absence and barely avoids being flung several feet across the room; others are not quite so lucky. Evasive maneuvers are put on Chekov and a temporary operations member.

But all is silent. And they can no longer reach their away team. Communications are down, energy stunted. Sensors? Not a peep. And yet, logically, a shot of such a magnitude could not have come from nowhere. The planet? Space?

After questions of engineering and searching out a source, the next question is, naturally: ]

Spock to Sick Bay. Doctor McCoy, your report on casualties.

It wasn't a numbers game. Except, when it was.

With massive damage to the ship, naturally came massive damage to it's crew. The Medical bay is packed and overflowing into the halls with injured crewmen and women, ranging from some fairly serious burns from exploding equipment to serious shrapnel wounds. Those that could suck it up were told to lend a hand to those that couldn't.

It was at times like this when McCoy wondered how a ship even managed to limp along in space. They were so fragile, and if the percentage of crew that couldn't work got too high, the ship would suffer even more.

"We've got a ton, Spock. And they're still coming in. I don't know what the hell is going on up there, but I hope we get a lid on it. Fast."

McCoy spares the briefest of thoughts for Jim, Uhura, and the rest of the away team. Lucky bastards. They better come home in one piece or Bones will have a few choice words on the matter.

Edited (html whoops) 2013-08-22 22:41 (UTC)

"Noted."

The good news was that there would not be another hit, that the red alert would fade to yellow within the hour. The bad news was there was still no contact from the away team. Not just a few of Spock's thoughts were there; the rest were on the assault and what it meant for both parties. With the destruction of an unmanned shuttle, there was little doubt regarding whether or not they were meant to retrieve the lost members of their crew, and who was responsible. A Klingon warbird bobbed out of cloaking just long enough to be seen at the edge of their sensors. There was no saying how many others there were out there.

Hailing fails; it is a cat and mouse game, or at least seems so. Spock's options are few, and none of them are desirable.

"This is Commander Spock speaking. The origin of the earlier attack to the Enterprise has been identified as a Klingon warbird. Due to the destruction of an unmanned shuttlecraft and the failure to respond to hailing, we must assume hostile action will be taken upon the away team, should they try to join us from the planet's surface. We will therefor be taking maneuvers within the hour to eliminate the threat.

Security Chief and Doctor McCoy, report to the bridge. Spock out."

As much as the caretaking in him didn't like the inevitable call to the bridge, McCoy wasn't just a doctor in times like this. He was also a senior officer, which meant that his attentions could be ordered away as necessary. A good thing that he trained his staff to handle emergencies on their own steam.

"Hal, you're in charge here, get as many people back to their stations as you can."

Something told McCoy that they were going to need to manpower before this day was over.

...and when he does get to the bridge, it doesn't take him long to absorb the facts. Klingons. Dammit.

"If there were more than one, you'd think they'd try and finish us off right now." It wasn't like a Klingon ship to pass up an opportunity for victory, no matter how heavy the cost might be. Even injured, the Enterprise was going to be a hard match for one or two warbirds.

"My thoughts precisely, Doctor, but even one cloaked bird of prey is a formidable force to a shuttle," Spock swivels the chair as the doctor approaches, followed shortly by the security chief.

"I will be sending another shuttle, this time with an additional away party to find and possibly rescue the Captain's team. Doctor McCoy, I will need one or two of your medical staff to join and respond to any medical emergency. Mister Giotto, I will need you and three more from your cadre to protect the medical team, as well as take all necessary measures to secure our initial away team."

Lieutenant Commander Giotto moves off accordingly with his orders, and though Spock suspects McCoy will linger, he reaches out to briefly, lightly grip the man's forearm just to be sure he does. It's gone a moment later.

"Pre-emptively, Doctor, I cannot allow you to volunteer for the mission. What I have in mind will require your presence in the sickbay and I will later need you to assist me."

Spock doesn't know if the older man will understand, and it won't much matter so long as he's obeyed, but it's not a command he gives lightly. If Spock could, he'd be in that shuttle, too.

Edited 2013-08-25 17:16 (UTC)

Spock needn't have worried on that point. McCoy was going to stick next to that damn chair until he'd said his peace. The touch is noted absently, not drawn attention to, but logged away in his mind as a positive gesture. Something settling in the wake of.. all of this.

"How exactly do you plan on getting a shuttle past their weaponry?" Voice low and meant only for Spock, Bones is only doing the thing that Jim keeps him around for. Asking the obvious questions to make sure that all the angles have been considered. If there is a tension in his voice, and a flash of anger in his eyes, it's not exactly because Spock had pinned him well and good on predicting exactly who he would send on this mission.

Bones doesn't argue, only because he knows that Spock is right on this one. He knows that the Vulcan would much rather go on the rescue attempt than stay behind. As would Jim.

If the doctor is needed here. Than this is where he will be. Bones didn't have to like it, and he was fine with that, hell; he didn't like being in space, but he was anyway. He did a lot of things that he would rather not in the course of serving Starfleet.

"And then, if you'd be so kind-" He does let the sarcasm slip through, because if he has no outlet for his emotions, it will only get worse. That's been proven only too recently. "Please tell me just what it is you expect me to do to assist you?"

Spock does not need McCoy's approval, does not need to explain his command decisions to the CMO... But a part of him wants it, recognizes his role at Jim's side and what he could provide Spock ( not strictly the same assistance, but nonetheless the role of a confidant ). What he's about to do is not the most logical course of action, even if it's highly likely to work; it's also irrefutably dangerous.

There is a pause at that sarcasm, an arch of a brow that is chastisement and warning both. Check your privilege, Doctor... It's about as empty as that sarcasm, though. Spock is hardly delicate, and would be surprised if the other man hadn't displayed some level of surliness. But, well, appearances. Barking. A bow from either side, before the dance begins.

"The planet is surrounded by particulates," Enough that, upon initial approach, it had looked encrusted in jewels. Scans indicated the presence of dilithium, no doubt a motivation, if not the sole motivation of the Klingon's presence. "And further ringed by ionic interference. If we can deposit a shuttle beyond those barriers, I calculate a 96.721 percent likelihood that it will make it to the planet's surface without interference by the Klingon vessel."

He was proposing to slip the shuttle right behind a natural shield, the rocks making any phaser shot unlikely.

"In the event that the Klingon vessel pursues, their cloaking will be disrupted by the ion interference and we will fire on them."

However... the door swung both ways. Spock was going to have to have the ship piloted into the midsts of asteroids and ionic interference, and it would undoubtedly challenge their systems and shield integrity. It was an extreme risk to take, essentially making the Enterprise into a very tempting target for the sake of six people and an ambassador on the planet's surface. One of those people is James Tiberius Kirk... and it is what, Spock suspects, Jim would do.

"We could break orbit and hail the fleet for assistance, but there is no guarantee that the warbird will follow us instead of setting down on the planet we vacate, or that help will arrive in time to make a difference."

But it would be the safer call, for the rest of the Enterprise crew. He hasn't answered McCoy's question in regards to what they'll do just yet, instead leaving the more important details to sink in. His fingertips twitch lightly on the console.

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