As if it wasn't odd enough, being surrounded by countless people that were decidedly not human, Kirk was surrounded by them in a bar, where most were completely drunk and witless, and alone, to top it all off.

The rest of the crew had decided to give him his space after yet another near-death experience, and he'd found himself quickly yearning the company of a good glass of alcohol, something, anything, to drown out the fear and resignation he'd felt at the moment of what would have been his death-if Spock hadn't managed to save him in the nick of time.

And so, Kirk was in a space bar, soaking his emotions fully and thoroughly in some kind of drink he'd never heard of before, swarmed by dancing bodies and laughing aliens as they enjoyed their night. He was at his seventh (or eighth, or maybe even ninth-it was hard to remember) glass when a commotion sliced through the crowd, effectively parting it as a figure stormed by, dragging some misfit creature by the shirt collar.

An odd alien, if Kirk had ever seen one, with tentacles sprouting from the place its mouth would have been, and similar, longer tentacles peeked out from each of its pant legs. Its eyes were a piercingly bright blue, and the dim light reflected poorly off of its bald head as its skin wrinkled in distress.

He was surprised that it was even wearing a shirt, and tilted his head to track its movement across the room, as it was being dragged along the floor roughly.

"This is the last time I'm coming to some damn space bar to track you down. You got that, slippy?"

In its wake was a trail of slime, and Kirk could catch murmurs of disgust from the ones around him, people recoiling and frowning with distaste. The captain watched curiously as the tentacle alien struggled briefly, but made a desperate, hasty agreeing noise in the back of its throat.

The man that dragged him was tall, broad-shouldered and burly, but most importantly, he was red. It was as if blood had caked his skin and stained him, like the light of the sun had been captured in his bright amber eyes, the horns rising from their perch on his head filed down roughly. One of his hands was made of an odd looking, cylindrical stone, patterned with various crevices and cracks that might have resembled runes, with rosary beads wrapped about the wrist of his other, more normal hand. He wore a tan trench coat and a black cotton shirt beneath it, his leather pants creaking with every movement, his heavy combat boots pounding against the floor as he rushed over it.

"I don't need this crap," he muttered harshly to himself, and dragged the poor alien to the door and out of sight, the echoing sound of his weighted footfalls fading into silence.

With wide eyes, Kirk stared after them, blinking in shock, before the rest of the crowd commenced to dancing to the upbeat music blaring through the speakers, just like that kind of thing happened all the time.

He shook his head and turned back around on his bar stool, taking his (tenth, maybe eleventh) drink in his hand, chugging it down quickly to forget what he'd just seen. The liquid burned as it slid down his throat, and he grimaced, blue eyes vividly bright.

He realized that, for once, he needed Spock there to tell him that it was illogical, that it wasn't real.

But then again, Kirk had definitely seen weirder.

Based off a prompt given by rodlox over on Tumblr.

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