fic: joke starts here
title: the joke starts here
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: slight kirk/mccoy
rating: pg13
word count: 1332
notes: OH FUCK I LOST THE PROMPT FOR THIS ONE. HELP ME, it was like "a doctor, a captain and a vulcan walk into a bar."
“How did you convince the greenblood to go anyway?” Bones asks, taking a sip of his beer and staring idly at one of the TV holos broadcasting the news. It’s not very exciting, especially because it’s Earth-centric, and they don’t have much use for news that’s only on one planet these days. Even so, it’s something to catch up on every so often. “I mean, didn’t he think coming to a place like this would be illogical and irresponsible?”
“Don’t call him that, Bones,” Jim says automatically, because he’s been saying it for two years now at least four or five times a day. “His name is Spock, you should use it. How would you like it if I called you red-blooded southern hypospray-excited hick?”
“I would tell you that you’re way more red-blooded than I am, and I think I’m somewhat of an expert on the subject. And you haven’t answered the question,” his brown eyes drift from the tv to his captain, who is also nursing a beer near him, though the man’s eyes are focused elsewhere.
“Oh, are you?” Said captain laughs, turning to face Bones and plant a little kiss on his cheek. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I told him he should come and spend some time with us, maybe see what was going on in human culture. He replied that he figured this was a clever way for me to see him drunk or making a fool out of himself. And although I agreed, I also said that he could probably avoid drinking and fooling because he’s a smart cookie.”
“To which he replied that no, he is not a dessert created with flour, sugar, water, and Earth chicken eggs?”
Laughing again, Jim orders another beer. “Right. For someone who doesn’t get along with him, you know him pretty well.”
“Seeing a guy every day will get you to know the guy,” Bones grumbles. “Where’d he go, anyway?”
“He’s over there,” The beer becomes a pointing device, and both officers study the pool table. “Either being totally destroyed or doing the total destroying. What do you think?”
“Well, given that pool is a pretty straight-forward game without any strange rules, I’ll say he’s winning.”
“Why don’t you go over and talk to him?”
“I don’t want to talk to him, Jim I’d rather sit here and drink beer and enjoy my real planetary gravity and watch some bad TV and listen to crappy live music. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to come here with you. Of course, you take all the fun out of everything.”
Jim laughs and hops up from his stool. “Come on, let’s go talk to Spock. I want to see how good he’s doing at pool so I can feel proud of having such a good first officer. You should come too. Captain’s orders. No, just kidding.”
When Jim gets up and walks over, Bones grumbles before following.
The guy Spock is playing against looks like a townie - he doesn’t have any marks or signs of ever being off planet. He’s wearing jeans and a muscle shirt, with close-cropped hair and a well-trimmed beard. Jim can tell that those guys over there are with him, too, and he makes a note in case something happens. They all look generally friendly, though, which is good. He’s trying to cut down on getting into bar fights. It’s not really becoming of a flagship captain. Also, he’s tired of Bones coming after him viciously with hyposprays. “How’s it going over here?” He asks the vulcan, who is (as usual) standing in perfect posture with one hand on the pool cue. “Are you kicking ass or getting your ass kicked?”
“My ass, captain, is not related to the matter at hand,” Spock watches his opponent take his shot (missing), and then moves, speaking as he does so, “However, it is I who is currently winning. I find that this game only requires a basic knowledge of geometry and physics to be good at. The calculations required to create a successful shot I could have made in my head as child.”
With that, he sinks another ball. “Once the weight of the balls is properly estimated, which admittedly, took me a few turns to do, the only variable is human error. If I am capable of applying the proper amount of force to the proper space on the cue ball, then the equation completes itself.” He moves again, aiming for a second, the yellow one. “For example, I need to cover approximately nine inches of space. If the kinetic friction of the green felt is f, and the balls weigh approximately a hundred and fifty grams, I simply need to establish how much force I need to place on the cue ball, y, for it to dissipate through the cue ball, hit the one ball, and travel nine inches.”
“It’s shocking how much fun you can take out of a game,” Bones grumbles. “Pool’s about the way the balls hit and here you are going on and on about numbers and equations.”
“Pool is about the geometric forces at work, Doctor McCoy. Calculating those geometric forces is essential to victory,” Spock replies, and sinks the one ball as well.
“Your friend here’s pretty smart,” Spock’s opponent says, looking at Bones, and he sits back with a beer of his own. He seems to be taking it pretty well that he’s being destroyed in the game, which is good. “Is it in the ears, like they say?”
“Yes,” the doctor says.
“No,” the captain says, at the same time. They both laugh - even Spock’s lip twitches, mildly amused.
“My ears are in no way related to my intelligence. Vulcans are humanoid, and quite similar to humans, especially in that our brains house our intelligence. Furthermore, it would be illogical and quite impossible, as vulcan ears, like human ears, are primarily muscle and cartilage. There simply is no room for brain matter.” When he takes his next shot, though, he misses, even if only by a fraction.
“It’s just math,” Jim says. “Just complicated math. Not by vulcan standards, but vulcans don’t have any fun standard, so their standards are, in general, not to be trusted. There’s another genius on the ship who could do the same thing who’s human. Only, because he’s human, he probably wouldn’t. He’d probably just aim and fire and lose to Spock here. Which says something about vulcans and humans, really.”
“I agree with your assessment of Ensign Chekov, though I am unsure if a profile of myself and him would qualify as valid for the rest of our respective races, as we are both somewhat unusual.”
“But enough of that,” he reaches over, takes the pool cue out of Spock’s hand, “Quit beating this guy at his own game and let’s head out. Something I gotta show you before we go.”
“Not very nice to drag your friend away in the middle of the game,” his opponent says, as he lines up his second shot.
“He’s never been to a titty bar,” Jim says, by way of explanation.
“Well, in that case, don’t let me get in the way.”
The guy matches grins with Jim. Bones rolls his eyes. “Christ, Jim. Don’t drag Spock to a fucking titty bar. You know he’s not going to enjoy it.”
“What is a titty bar?” Spock asks.
“Come on, Spock,” Jim grins at Bones (who now looks totally exasperated), “Let’s head out. You should come too, Bones.” He heads towards the exit, paying for all their drinks on the way out. “What are you waiting for?”
“Damnit,” the doctor hisses, watching the confused vulcan follow his captain out. He sighs once, starts to voice a protest, and allows himself to be dragged along.
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: slight kirk/mccoy
rating: pg13
word count: 1332
notes: OH FUCK I LOST THE PROMPT FOR THIS ONE. HELP ME, it was like "a doctor, a captain and a vulcan walk into a bar."
“How did you convince the greenblood to go anyway?” Bones asks, taking a sip of his beer and staring idly at one of the TV holos broadcasting the news. It’s not very exciting, especially because it’s Earth-centric, and they don’t have much use for news that’s only on one planet these days. Even so, it’s something to catch up on every so often. “I mean, didn’t he think coming to a place like this would be illogical and irresponsible?”
“Don’t call him that, Bones,” Jim says automatically, because he’s been saying it for two years now at least four or five times a day. “His name is Spock, you should use it. How would you like it if I called you red-blooded southern hypospray-excited hick?”
“I would tell you that you’re way more red-blooded than I am, and I think I’m somewhat of an expert on the subject. And you haven’t answered the question,” his brown eyes drift from the tv to his captain, who is also nursing a beer near him, though the man’s eyes are focused elsewhere.
“Oh, are you?” Said captain laughs, turning to face Bones and plant a little kiss on his cheek. “Yeah, I guess you’re right. But I told him he should come and spend some time with us, maybe see what was going on in human culture. He replied that he figured this was a clever way for me to see him drunk or making a fool out of himself. And although I agreed, I also said that he could probably avoid drinking and fooling because he’s a smart cookie.”
“To which he replied that no, he is not a dessert created with flour, sugar, water, and Earth chicken eggs?”
Laughing again, Jim orders another beer. “Right. For someone who doesn’t get along with him, you know him pretty well.”
“Seeing a guy every day will get you to know the guy,” Bones grumbles. “Where’d he go, anyway?”
“He’s over there,” The beer becomes a pointing device, and both officers study the pool table. “Either being totally destroyed or doing the total destroying. What do you think?”
“Well, given that pool is a pretty straight-forward game without any strange rules, I’ll say he’s winning.”
“Why don’t you go over and talk to him?”
“I don’t want to talk to him, Jim I’d rather sit here and drink beer and enjoy my real planetary gravity and watch some bad TV and listen to crappy live music. I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea to come here with you. Of course, you take all the fun out of everything.”
Jim laughs and hops up from his stool. “Come on, let’s go talk to Spock. I want to see how good he’s doing at pool so I can feel proud of having such a good first officer. You should come too. Captain’s orders. No, just kidding.”
When Jim gets up and walks over, Bones grumbles before following.
The guy Spock is playing against looks like a townie - he doesn’t have any marks or signs of ever being off planet. He’s wearing jeans and a muscle shirt, with close-cropped hair and a well-trimmed beard. Jim can tell that those guys over there are with him, too, and he makes a note in case something happens. They all look generally friendly, though, which is good. He’s trying to cut down on getting into bar fights. It’s not really becoming of a flagship captain. Also, he’s tired of Bones coming after him viciously with hyposprays. “How’s it going over here?” He asks the vulcan, who is (as usual) standing in perfect posture with one hand on the pool cue. “Are you kicking ass or getting your ass kicked?”
“My ass, captain, is not related to the matter at hand,” Spock watches his opponent take his shot (missing), and then moves, speaking as he does so, “However, it is I who is currently winning. I find that this game only requires a basic knowledge of geometry and physics to be good at. The calculations required to create a successful shot I could have made in my head as child.”
With that, he sinks another ball. “Once the weight of the balls is properly estimated, which admittedly, took me a few turns to do, the only variable is human error. If I am capable of applying the proper amount of force to the proper space on the cue ball, then the equation completes itself.” He moves again, aiming for a second, the yellow one. “For example, I need to cover approximately nine inches of space. If the kinetic friction of the green felt is f, and the balls weigh approximately a hundred and fifty grams, I simply need to establish how much force I need to place on the cue ball, y, for it to dissipate through the cue ball, hit the one ball, and travel nine inches.”
“It’s shocking how much fun you can take out of a game,” Bones grumbles. “Pool’s about the way the balls hit and here you are going on and on about numbers and equations.”
“Pool is about the geometric forces at work, Doctor McCoy. Calculating those geometric forces is essential to victory,” Spock replies, and sinks the one ball as well.
“Your friend here’s pretty smart,” Spock’s opponent says, looking at Bones, and he sits back with a beer of his own. He seems to be taking it pretty well that he’s being destroyed in the game, which is good. “Is it in the ears, like they say?”
“Yes,” the doctor says.
“No,” the captain says, at the same time. They both laugh - even Spock’s lip twitches, mildly amused.
“My ears are in no way related to my intelligence. Vulcans are humanoid, and quite similar to humans, especially in that our brains house our intelligence. Furthermore, it would be illogical and quite impossible, as vulcan ears, like human ears, are primarily muscle and cartilage. There simply is no room for brain matter.” When he takes his next shot, though, he misses, even if only by a fraction.
“It’s just math,” Jim says. “Just complicated math. Not by vulcan standards, but vulcans don’t have any fun standard, so their standards are, in general, not to be trusted. There’s another genius on the ship who could do the same thing who’s human. Only, because he’s human, he probably wouldn’t. He’d probably just aim and fire and lose to Spock here. Which says something about vulcans and humans, really.”
“I agree with your assessment of Ensign Chekov, though I am unsure if a profile of myself and him would qualify as valid for the rest of our respective races, as we are both somewhat unusual.”
“But enough of that,” he reaches over, takes the pool cue out of Spock’s hand, “Quit beating this guy at his own game and let’s head out. Something I gotta show you before we go.”
“Not very nice to drag your friend away in the middle of the game,” his opponent says, as he lines up his second shot.
“He’s never been to a titty bar,” Jim says, by way of explanation.
“Well, in that case, don’t let me get in the way.”
The guy matches grins with Jim. Bones rolls his eyes. “Christ, Jim. Don’t drag Spock to a fucking titty bar. You know he’s not going to enjoy it.”
“What is a titty bar?” Spock asks.
“Come on, Spock,” Jim grins at Bones (who now looks totally exasperated), “Let’s head out. You should come too, Bones.” He heads towards the exit, paying for all their drinks on the way out. “What are you waiting for?”
“Damnit,” the doctor hisses, watching the confused vulcan follow his captain out. He sighs once, starts to voice a protest, and allows himself to be dragged along.