Janice Rand is an organization specialist (not_a_secretary) wrote in valarlogs, @ 2012-04-27 00:36:00 |
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Entry tags: | !complete, james kirk, janice rand |
'I expect you to be the first to jump off a bridge or a cliff...'
Who: Captain Kirk, Yeoman Rand! Jim Kirk, Janice Rand
What: painting, beer, and not understandingness
When: Tonightish
Where: Janice's, Laguna Beach
Rating: PG
Status: Complete
Jim knocked on Janice's door!
Well! If it is evening time, mister, you are going to have to just wait a moment while Miss Thang makes herself presentable, because she was in mid-paint. After she'd done that (that being buttoning up the shirt she had on so her bikini top wasn't showing), she walked to the door and peeked through the crack of it, only to find Kirk there. Without calling. Hmm.
"Is there a problem? Or do you have good news about your lost love?"
"Nope, and nope." He held up a case of beer, "I thought we could hang out. I'd like to watch you paint."
Beer? Janice arched an eyebrow, then turned her head to eye him like he was up to something. She wasn't sure what. She also wasn't sure why she was opening the door, either. Yet she did. And stood there, in short shorts, a old white men's button down shirt, and hair held up in a makeshift bun, with two (unused) paint brushes pincushioned into it.
"Sorry you haven't heard anything. I was having some wine," she admitted, waiting for him to enter. "This, also, is hardly professional."
She had to be hot didn't she. It was like she was unintentionally hitting every sexy-woman button she could. Short shorts? check. Man's shirt? check. Mussed up hair? check. Kirk chuckled in wry amusement, entering, "Well wine sounds better than beer in some situations. And I'm not here to be professional, so you can relax."
Janice gave him an odd look, one that was unreadable for the most part, but closed the door. She unintentionally brushed past him too, rubbing elbows, as she moved to lead him into the room she was painting in. In the living room there was an easel set up and the beginnings of a blobby picture, being gradually drawn out of a vast expanse of black nothingness.
"It's a little hard to be unprofessional," she was saying, "with someone who's hired me previously, and is going to give me a very sizable sum of money in the future."
"We're off the clock," He replied, as if that explained everything away, forever. He put the case of beer down, "Therefore we are neither boss or employee."
"Still had a contract," Janice pointed out. She moved toward the painting while picking up a thin-stemmed glass - half full of white wine - in one hand. "I believe you're hinting at line blurring in your quest to be friends, sir. Am I right or am I right?"
She took a sip of the wine while glancing at him for confirmation.
"Off the clock," He repeated, plopping onto the couch and opening a can of beer. "Or do I have to order you to relax around me?"
"This is relaxed," Janice pointed out, by pointing down at everything below her bare mid-thighs. "I could go put some pants on."
"Belay that," Kirk replied, holding up a hand and laughing. "Lets not go crazy."
"Odd word. Belay," she mused aloud, almost as if it amused her to say it, before she took another small sip of wine. "You must be here to talk about something. You couldn't have randomly drove all the way here, with beer, to potentially crash on my couch again. Could you?"
"No plan to crash," He assured her. "But I really did decide to come down with some beer." Well, everyone else had proven to be busy or hard to reach.
"You drink enough of those and you won't be able to drive," Janice said, with a nod in the beer's direction. She turned to clean a brush quickly, placing the glass down on a small table, nearest the easel. There was a nice cool ocean breeze courtesy of the open windows, otherwise they'd be huffing up paint thinner, on top of drinking. "You must come up with random plans on the fly, Mister Kirk."Random plans on the fly are an area of life or death expertise! Jim shrugged, "Strike the right balance in life."
"You know what that tells me?" She glanced at him over a shoulder, getting the last of some rose colored paint off the brush bristles. "That you probably don't think of the full implications or outcomes of everything, before you act."
"Oh, not that random," He replied, smiling at her. "You're putting more seriousness than necessary into things."
"Someone has to. You're not putting enough in." She dried off the brush and began reshaping the bristles with her finger and thumb. "I expect you to be the first to jump off a bridge or a cliff and then look up to see if anyone's followed you, on the way down."
"Conversely," Janice mused while staring up at the ceiling, "you might also jump off a bridge or a cliff to save someone, too. And not realize until halfway down that it was a mistake because you could get killed, too."
"Is there a point to jumping off the cliff?" He asked this in all seriousness, "Do I have a parachute? A hang glider? A bungie cord? Is someone falling to their deaths, can I catch them? Will we both survive if I try?"
"I had a dream about that, actually. A friend was knocked off a platform. I was wearing a parachute and his was damaged. So I jumped after him."
"With you, probably not. Danger. Excitement. Adventure. Some hot bimbo tripped over her high heels and fell over the edge, and needed saving. You'd probably be copping a feel just to get that in. So you could enjoy it before you both went splat on some rocks, down below." Janice could go on, and she was still idly shaping the brush while she looked up at the ceiling. It was as though she was reading a list that was scribbled up there. "I'm pretty unsurprised that you even dreamed something like that. At least you had a parachute. Too bad that was only a dream."
"Parachute failed. But I wasn't panicking that badly just yet. It was like we were waiting for something to happen. Like there was a backup plan." He shrugged a shoulder, actually a little insulted at her insinuations, "Only a dream, but it felt more real than most dreams I've had."
It was all based on perception. She might be being insulting, since Janice could be pretty honest about things, even at the absolute worst moments. So she was, at best, unflinching with the way she put things, for better or worse. Not to say she didn't have some soft spots or some tact, but it depended on the situation and persons involved. Not to mention, how long she'd known them.
"It's still only a dream, Jim," she said, finally putting the brush aside so it could finish drying. The painting could wait, so she moved over and had a seat next to him, stretching her legs out and crossing them at the ankles. "Simply because it feels real, doesn't make it real."
"Copping a feel? Really? Really?" He threw up his hands! "Just because I have a healthy sexual appetite doesn't mean I think about or act on sex 24/7! Or that's the only reason I'd talk to a woman." He actually slammed the beer down on the table, "I enjoy a mentally stimulating conversation as much as a physically stimulating one."
"Oh, so that comment ate away at you finally, didn't it," she said, like a sport's commentator relaying the action. "I didn't think that got under your skin at all. My mistake. It's simply because you put off the sort of vibe that your sexual appetite gets fed a lot. So you mean to say you'd come to someone like me for a mentally stimulating conversation, as oppossed to a physical one? Then I'll tell you that you're not the first male 'friend' I've had, but I feel enlightened by this development. Sir."
She took a long sip off the wine, while blinking and staring right at him.
Jim stared at her, then picked up his beer and finished it in one gulp. He got to his feet and headed for the door, "Keep the beer, Janice."
Janice sighed a little and got up, pitter pattering after him and nearly spilling her wine.
"Is something eating at you?" she asked, when she was beside him, and staring up at his face to try to get a good look. Maybe if she stared hard enough, she'd be able to get a better insight into what he was thinking. Curses. No mental powers, yet. "Something other than what I was saying, I mean."
She reached out and pinched hold of his sleeve, like that might stop him. Maybe.
He had his hand on the doorknob, and paused for a moment, looking at her consideringly, "I..don't really know. I need to do some.. thinking." He opened the door to step out.
The pinching of his sleeve was cute, though.
Oh no, he might get lost again. She started to follow, and even reached out and pinched onto the back of his shirt, thinking maybe it would have a rubberband effect and somehow slow him down.
"You aren't going to text me that you're lost again, are you?" she asked, her voice a bit lighter, thanks to the wine. She was on her third half-glass. Whoops. Huzzah for the end of the evening indulgence? "Come back inside and drink your beer. I might have one with you. And tell me what you're thinking, so I don't make crass observations."
"I promise I won't text you if I'm lost," He replied, pulling her along behind him courtesy of her grip on his shirt. He had a sneaking suspicion he knew what was wrong, but also knew there wasn't anything anyone could do about it. Least of all him. And that left him frustrated.
"Jim, if I said something off-base, you have to tell me. So I don't do it again," she was saying, pulled along because she had not let go and he hadn't exactly said to let go, either. "I would almost rather you did text me or someone else, so you aren't so lost. You were a little out of it before, but it was because you lost her and it wasn't resolved. Is that what's wrong right now?"
Why was she worried about it? She stared at her fingers pinching his shirt, wondering why she was doing even that much.
"I'm..actually okay with that, I think." He stopped, turning and putting his hands on her shoulders, "Have you ever felt like you were on your way to becoming who you were supposed to be, but everyone's perceptions weren't catching up with that, and there's not a goddamn thing you can do to change that?"
He leaned forward, kissing her on the forehead, then disentangled any additional shirt pinching so he could get into the car, "Good night, Miss Rand."
"....." She was silent and still, and even closed her eyes when his lips met her forehead. The only thing she could do was watch him as he started to get in the car, and wait for her brain to...yep, there it was: Time to launch a small scale rebellion. Her hand instantly shot out and hooked directly into the back of his pants before he could sit down. There was even a finger squiggle. "Hold it right there, mister."
He started the engine, and then leaned on the door and peered back out at her, "You have one minute."
Well drat, he'd sat down and now her hand was caught between his lower back and the seat...she wasn't even thinking of his ass, thank you very much. That's just...no, she's not thinking of dat ass, thank you VERY much.
"If I offended you, then I am sorry. But I don't understand what you mean. That's why I want you to come back inside. Not only because you're acting strangely, but...you're also saying strange things. How am I supposed to understand any of it, if you won't explain it?" She searched his eyes with her own and squiggled her hand around. "That, and if you take off right now, I might get dragged. As much as I'm dying to get my hands on your ass."
She almost, maybe, gave him the ghost of a smile. But she was overall looking pretty worried and not wanting to say she was worried, out loud. That might imply vulnerability.
Jim tilted his head, then sighed, "Okay, but I want you to keep painting while we talk. Deal?"
"Deal. I'll need this hand back, though. It's my painting hand."
"I like this hand, I'm keeping it." He shut the engine off, and got out of the car, "After you."