( @ofcommand. ) | KIRK, JAMES TIBERIUS // STARTER. -------------------------------------
“Never again.”
It’s the third time he’s said this. Today. In the past hour, in fact.
“Never again, Jim Kirk!” ( Four. ) He’s starting to get his breath back, which helps add some proper volume to his words, to really make his point known. ( Not that his point could at all be misconstrued, with the consistent repetition and the number of times he’s sworn exactly this, and has always, always been talked out of it. )
“Do you hear me? No more away missions! Not one! Your puppy eyes be damned, I’m too old for this --- “ In truth, he’s not so old at all. Not old enough for his old bones to start creaking, except when it rains, not old enough to worry about much except his blood pressure, which is currently, he’s certain, through the roof. But God, does running around with this kid make him feel old, chasing at his heels, avoiding death at every turn. McCoy has never been a thrill-seeking man. He’s a man of simple things, simple pleasures, simple desires. One of those desires is not to die so damn far from home.
“If we get out of this,” he starts, rubbing his hands over his face, caked with sweat and dust kicked up from their hasty flight through the local countryside. Not the leisurely stroll he prefers, and not much good for sight-seeing. Zero out of ten, would not try again. “I’m goin’ to --- to wring your neck myself, kid.” No, he’s not. “Or put in for a transfer.” Again, no.
“And I am certainly not goin’ on anymore away missions with you!”
Put it down as a solid probably will do so despite protestations.
