Spock (logicalapproach) wrote in escape_logs, @ 2009-06-30 01:17:00 |
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Entry tags: | angela mercy, lounge, spock |
RP: Muses!
Who: Spock
Where: The Couch
When: Mid-afternoon
Status: Whatever you'd like it to be
Warnings: TBD
Summary: Spock arrives.
The moment he returned to consciousness, he knew that there was something entirely out of place.
It wasn't simply the smells, though they were unfamiliar to him. More... earthy, than he expected. Everything was crisp and clean on the Enterprise, and still had a mostly 'new equipment' scent to it. The smells he was experiencing now made him feel as though he were planetside. And likely close to some sort of food production plant. Not to mention heavy overtones of what smelled like some enhanced form of a strong disinfectant that caused his nostrils to flare slightly. He decided not to continue his inhalations.
It wasn't simply the sounds, though he was disconcerted by the lack of familiar ticking and soft whirring noises that the computer emitted as background noise to those with sensitive enough ears to pick it up. He very nearly called out to the computer - just to ensure it was still working - before he stilled his tongue. It would be better, he thought, to wait to speak before he had finished his analysis.
It was partially the feelings. The material under his fingers felt harsh to the touch, and there was far too much fabric for his liking, it felt rough against his digits. His joints were oddly discomforted from the position he appeared to be lying in - one he was certain he had not shifted to during sleep as it was mostly unbecoming.
It was now logical to assume that he had been moved during sleep. But to where? And to what purpose?
His eyes snapped open quickly to survey the sights, and though initial confusion hit him, the only outward sign of it was a slight parting of his lips, and the raise in both his eyebrows. It was certainly not was he was expecting. He was resting in what appeared to be a... lounge area of sorts, from Earth's late 20th century - or early 21st century, he was uncertain. His studies had not included intensive looks into this era.
He sat up slowly, his eyes drifting over the various objects and signs that had been laid out, processing the visual information. A soft beeping noise caught his attention, and his eyes moved down to a small computer device sitting next to him on The Couch. He lifted it up - the technology fit with the remainder of the decor; perhaps a bit more advanced, but certainly nothing he was used to. His eyes glanced over the Welcome Message, and a few of the recent posts.
His thoughts drifted briefly to various realities that could have 'been brought' with him. Vulcan...
But no. It was illogical.
He stood up - the movements possibly appearing stiff to anyone unfamiliar with Vulcan mannerisms, certainly more exact and refined than your typical human - and he straightened his blue Star Fleet uniforms. Sharp eyes turned toward the door, and he started to move out into the hall, intending on finding the exit to this building.