ST:TOS - General Fanfic

[SLWatson]

Nerys Dukat wrote:

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What a wonderful image...the story itself feels more like a painting than a narrative.

Just curious--did you have a particular painting in mind when you wrote this?

You know, you're the second person to ask me. And I can see it in my head, but I'm not sure if it's a real painting... if that makes sense. Y'know? I can picture it right to the brushstrokes, but I'm not sure if it's something I saw once, or just a mish-mash of similar works.

Thanks for the comment! I was worried to bits about this story, because it was my first attempt at writing Spock; I never quite feel confident when I do.

[Mistral]

How about this(click to enlarge)
http://www.ownapainting.com/Gauguin/...duct_info.html

Nice bit!

[SLWatson]

Mistral wrote:

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How about this(click to enlarge)
http://www.ownapainting.com/Gauguin/...duct_info.html

Nice bit!

Nah, that wasn't it... but it's a beautiful painting, thanks for the link!

[DavidFalkayn]

A very moving and well done piece of scenery painting--something that is, unfortunately, becoming somewhat of a lost art in this day of MTV and fast pace. There's something enjoyable about taking the time to truly visualize the picture and scene a writer paints with words.

[SLWatson]

DavidFalkayn wrote:

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A very moving and well done piece of scenery painting--something that is, unfortunately, becoming somewhat of a lost art in this day of MTV and fast pace. There's something enjoyable about taking the time to truly visualize the picture and scene a writer paints with words.

Thank you! I could picture it pretty well in my head from start to finish, and was very glad to be able to put it down into words.

[SLWatson]

Title: Decimal
Rating: G
Pairing: None
Timeline: 2266ish
Words: 712
Disclaimer: They're all Paramount's property, not mine.
Notes: Cheer-up fic for my friend InfiniteViking! Tax season is still strong in the 23rd century.

--

The computer lab was very quiet when Spock walked in. Deep into the ship's night, the graveyard shift tended to be essential personnel only, and those often most suited to working those hours consistently. There were a surprising number of non-humans on the midnight watches; Spock had found, much to his interest, that even after years in deep space in some cases, humans were still rather strict in adhering to the diurnal cycles of planet Earth. He had no such requirements himself -- in fact, he preferred to do a good amount of his focused research at night, when he would not be disturbed from his concentration.

The computer lab was not empty this evening, however. Spock stopped immediately inside of the door, taking measure of his captain.

Captain Kirk was sitting at one of the terminals, a large carafe of coffee next to him, as well as a mug in his hand. He looked disheveled; his hair was a mess, and there were dark circles under his eyes. The sight of his friend in this state disturbed Spock somewhat, but he leapt to no conclusions. After a moment, he stepped over. "Captain. Is something troubling you?"

Kirk looked up with tired eyes, and then smiled in a manner Spock had long since identified as mildly self-deprecating. "Nothing of universal importance, Spock. I'm just having a hard time trying to file my taxes."

Spock looked at the screen for a moment. While credits had replaced money as the primary currency, taxes were still a fundamental part of funding the Federation. In as such, those who earned above a certain amount were required to file an income tax return once a year. If he recalled correctly, the final date it had to be transmitted by was... in less than two hours. His, of course, had been done the same hour that filing had opened, several months before.

"According to this, I owe more than I actually make in an entire year!"

"Did you use the input forms?" Spock asked; while he preferred to work out the mathematics of his taxes on his own, the Interstellar Revenue Service provided calculators and forms to help those less inclined to take that route.

Kirk nodded, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "Somehow, it still comes up like this."

There was a long moment while Spock considered the wisdom of the next decision he had to make. But finally, he spoke again: "I would be willing to go over your input values."

Kirk nodded again, obviously trying to muster some level of enthusiasm, though he merely looked more tired and defeated. He got up, taking his coffee mug and leaving the pile of data disks containing his taxes. Spock sat down at the terminal, about to go through the disks and find where the error was, but after one long look at the screen, he found the answer.

He raised an eyebrow and moved the decimal point once space on the primary value of the captain's annual earnings statement, then hit 'execute'. "While I will check the rest of the variables, this now says that you will be due back one hundred and sixty four point five credits."

There was silence. It went on so long that Spock was forced to look away from checking the rest of the captain's taxes to see why.

Kirk was standing there, just staring at him. His eyes were oddly shiny. His hand trembled slightly as it clutched the coffee mug.

"Captain?" Spock asked, concerned.

That broke Kirk's stance. He carefully set the mug down on a table, then looked back at Spock, his stance strangely stiff and that liquid quality of his eyes growing more pronounced. He cleared his throat, but his voice still sounded rough. "Thank you, Spock. I... I believe it would be in my best interest, and in the interests of the Enterprise, if I retired."

"I shall transmit your tax return as soon as I have finished verifying the data," Spock replied. After the door closed behind the captain, he was certain that he had heard a sound not unlike what a wounded animal would make in the corridor.

But when he went to check, he found no one there.

[Nerys Ghemor]

Hmm...2266...that seems like it was still in the middle of the five-year mission. Was Kirk just showing the effects of staying up WAY too late, or was he really doubting himself that much?

[SLWatson]

Nerys Dukat wrote:

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Hmm...2266...that seems like it was still in the middle of the five-year mission. Was Kirk just showing the effects of staying up WAY too late, or was he really doubting himself that much?

I think he was probably a little of both. Kirk's always an odd subject for me; I get really irritated when authors turn him into a gold-shirted messiah, who always has all the answers, when even in canon he was obviously flawed. They all were in some way or another, that's why they're so compellingly human. Then again, there's no denying that he was confident in a lot of arenas.

So, I think part of it was a late night, and being tired, but also part of it was that this just wasn't Kirk's strong suit -- mathematics, and then the frustration of it not turning out exactly how he can guess it should (which... well, obviously, no one likes that but I think he REALLY doesn't like it), and then missing this really simple mistake with tired eyes after hours of trying to figure it out. I think anyone would probably get a bit messed up in the head.

::laughs:: Or, a much more simple answer: InfiniteViking was pulling her hair out over math, and I wanted to write a story to make her laugh, showing her that even the best have been occasionally stumped by it.

[Nerys Ghemor]

"MAAAAAAAATH!"

I've certainly been the one to make those kinds of errors. Very frustrating indeed!

[SLWatson]

Nerys Dukat wrote:

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"MAAAAAAAATH!"

I've certainly been the one to make those kinds of errors. Very frustrating indeed!

Absolutely. Math gave me fits in high school, a lifetime ago -- the only subject I ever got a D on.

[Nerys Ghemor]

Yeah, the worst I ever bombed a test was in Finance. I managed to crawl my way painfully back up to a B by the end of the semester, but that was HORRIBLE.

[SLWatson]

I'll bet it was! Just not geared that way, at all.

[SLWatson]

Title: Magnanimous
Pairing: None
Rating: G
Words: 349
Disclaimer: Paramount's characters, though they don't get nearly enough love from Paramount. Not for profit.
Notes: Ha! A Chekov story, written for my little sister Karen, prompted by the word 'magnanimous'. Really short. Humor. Originally posted here: here. Yes, I can and do write much longer stories. ;-) But with the ensemble cast, I usually revert to humor and short.

--

His quarters were a disaster. Actually, 'disaster' would be too weak a word. It was like the chaos theory incarnate. If it weren't for the fact that he'd actually stepped back out and double-checked the name plate to make sure he really was in his quarters, Chekov would have thought that he had stepped into another dimension.

The only thing that made total sense about it was the fact that, at the center of the chaos, was Sulu.

He stepped around a dash of white powder on his carpet, staring wide-eyed at the contraption in the middle of his living area. It looked disturbingly like a stove. Disturbingly like one of the galley stoves, no less.

As if to forestall any explosions, Sulu put down what looked like a gooey blue rope and smiled. "I promise, I'll clean it up... in a few hours, you'll never even know I was here."

Chekov just stared. He had a galley stove in his quarters. He had goo on his table. There was white powder on his floor.

"I would have used my quarters, but it's a lot farther to drag the stove..." Sulu paused, waving a hand towards his friend's face, and was rewarded with a blank look. Then he smiled again. "Don't worry, when I'm done, we'll sneak the stove back--" Chekov thought there that he hoped he wasn't included in the 'we' part of that statement. "--and the end result will be a whole month's worth of salt water taffy."

After another very long moment, Chekov blinked once or twice. "I am going to the rec room. For a few hours."

Sulu went from smiling to positively beaming. "I knew I could count on you to be magnanimous."

Chekov shook his head, slowly, then turned and walked out of his quarters. He could have probably blown up, but it wouldn't have done any good. He had already learned to resign himself to the fact that his best friend would have fifty hobbies at once, and forty-nine of them would be messy.

He only hoped that Sulu realized that the chef would be far less magnanimous than he was.

[Nerys Ghemor]

That's funny! For some reason, I would've pegged Chekov as the messy one, not Sulu!

I love how you repeat the "facts of the case" to drive home Chekov's indignation.

"Chekov just stared. He had a galley stove in his quarters. He had goo on his table. There was white powder on his floor."

You can just feel him getting more and more steamed!

[Mistral]

*snicker* This would have been good for our humor challenge a few months back.