Disclaimer- I do not own...well, anything.
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Kirk, Spock, McCoy and two Redshirts beam down in 'period costume,' although curiously enough, none of them is wearing a cravat. Sulu must have just had one lying around somewhere. Spock, of course, is dressed in a black cape, with a black tea-towel thrown over his head, looking somewhat like a nun.
A man walks by and puts his hand to his heart while he smiles dreamily at them, before passing by.
Kirk looks pleased that he's had such an effect on the populace already. He straightens his tie and smirks.
Spock leans toward him, frowning. "Odd," he says quietly. "The expression on his face, mindlessness–" (Kirk nods, pleased) "–vacant contentment."
Kirk frowns, worried. "Contentment? Content is not good. Content does not inspire wild parties with alien babes of multiple genders. Content is like...like...fat and, and–old and...married!" He shudders in horror. He looks over the street and notices that all of the people (in shoddily reproduced Victorian-ish clothing) are walking slowly and dreamily about. "They're...they're like Sulu! Content is not good! I don't want them to be content at the sight of me!" He pouts prettily and one of the Redshirts swoons and collapses onto the pavement with a 'thud'. "Let's go," Kirk growls.
Redshirt #368, (you can tell he's the straight one, from his bad haircut), sighs and tosses his co-worker over his shoulder to follow Kirk. McCoy trails along behind Kirk and Spock, holding his little black 'medical bag,' which looks suspiciously like a clutch purse.
A creepy man in a bowler hat comes up to them. "Joy to you, friends." he places his hand on his heart and bows.
Kirk, still pouting, does the same. "Joy to you," he says grumpily.
The man leers at Kirk in a way that is neither vacant nor content, and Kirk starts to feel a little better. "You'll be strangers, then? Come for the Festival?"
Kirk glances at Spock, then gives a sulky nod.
"Got a place to sleep it off, yet?" the creepy man asks, winking.
Kirk clears his throat, looking a little more interested now. "No."
The man grins. "Go 'round to Reger's house, he's got rooms."
Kirk and Spock exchange glances, Kirk smirking slightly.
"But you'll have to hurry, it's almost Red Hour." He points to the clock behind Kirk.
As one, Kirk and crew turn around and look at the clock tower. It is three minutes before six o'clock and conveniently the people here tell time the same way they do on Earth.
"Is Red Hour at all like Red Light?" Kirk asks curiously.
A young woman walks by Kirk dreamily and while she is neither green nor half-naked, she has enough of an hourglass figure for Kirk to be completely sidetracked. McCoy, standing just behind Kirk, and Redshirt #368 both stare as she goes by.
Spock prods Kirk subtly. "Oh! Uh...this festival, does it start at six?"
Another young woman with exceedingly poofy hair comes up, catching Kirk's eye.
"Tula!" shouts the creepy man. "These folks have come for the Festival, your daddy can put them up, can't he?"
Tula, who is also not vacant or content, looks Spock up and down, (or what she can see of him beneath the cape and tea-towel), and smiles. "You're from the valley?"
Redshirt #368 (the straight one, remember?) gulps. "We've, uh, we've just arrived."
"Oh, my Father will be glad to put you up, though. It's right over there," she points and Kirk smirks his thank you.
The clock chimes suddenly, and everyone freezes. At the sixth chime, several people scream. The creepy man they were speaking to laughs and throws his hat into the air. Tula screams, taking off a glove and shaking loose her hair. Everywhere people are running and shouting. Women are being picked up and carried like sacks of flour by several men (and the occasional woman wearing a bowler and cravat). Rocks are being thrown into windows and people are beating each other up.
A dark-haired young woman jumps up and grabs Kirk, showing him the planet's famed 'Liplock of death.' Kirk has just decided that he likes this planet, when Spock pulls the woman off of him. Kirk scowls amidst gasping for air. "Fine, let's get out of here!" he shouts, dragging McCoy behind him.
McCoy, looking pleased, drags the revived Redshirt #86 behind him, closely behind him.
Debris flies through the air, and Kirk almost gets hit upside the head with a large brick. A perfectly round, fist-sized rock soars through the air, hits Redshirt #386 soundly on the head, and bounces off! While the
Redshirt ponders whether this means he's hard-headed or thick-headed, (or perhaps just a numbskull), Kirk leads everyone to a doorway, where he stops suddenly, making everyone crash into him.
Red #86 keeps his hand firmly on McCoy's rear, to um... to be sure not to lose him, you see. They pile inside the house, followed by a brick and a couple of rocks, and slam the doors behind them. Well, more like close them gently. Kirk whips around and nearly runs into three older men, standing in the hallway.
Everyone stops in shock and stares at each other for a moment.
"I, uh," Kirk looks around. "I'm sorry to...break in on you like this, we didn't expect this kind of welcome..."
"Yeah," snorts McCoy, "usually everyone jumps all over Jim, not at each other"
The Redshirts snicker, but are silenced immediately by Kirk's glare.
The first stranger stares in awestruck amazement at McCoy, who notices him and stares back, speechless.
"Welcome?" says the second man, "You are strangers?"
Kirk, mistakenly believing that the first man's astonished, loving gaze is directed at him, puffs out his cravat-less chest. "We're...from the valley."
"From the valley?" sneers the third man, "You came for the Festival?"
"Well, yes..."
McCoy, at Kirk's shoulder, is still gazing in silent adoration.
"Then how came you here?" the third man snorts.
"Are you Reger?" Redshirt #368 interrupts.
The first man jumps slightly and tears his regard from McCoy. "Er, yes."
"You have a daughter named Tula?"
"Yes," Reger says, wondering if they're playing 20 Questions.
"Well you'd better do something, she's outside!"
"I know," Reger says, staring forlornly at McCoy. "It's Festival. It is the will of Landru."
"Reger!" protests the third man. "These are young men! They're too young to be excused!"
"They are visitors," Reger argues, spreading his hands.
"Have they no Lawgivers in the valley?" persists the third man. "Why be they not at the Festival?"
"Why be you the only one talking like that?" asks Kirk, confused. "We heard...you might have...rooms... for us."
"There, you see, Hacom?" Reger says placatingly. "They've merely come looking for a place to rest afterwards." He winks at McCoy, who flutters his eyelashes back.
Hacom sticks out his chin. "The Red Hour has already struck!"
Kirk scowls and sticks his tongue out at the man who is so obviously straight-and-narrow.
The second man and Hacom continue arguing, while Reger rolls his eyes. "Come with me," he says, leading Kirk and the landing party upstairs.
Hacom does a pout worthy of the best of drag queens. "The Lawgivers should know of this!"
"Surely they already know?" says his companion gently.
Hacom pouts in a horrified manner. "You mock the Lawgivers! Those strangers are not of the Body! We are so over!"
"But Hacom!" his 'friend' protests, as Hacom storms out the door.
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Reger leads them into a large room, with several sets of wooden bunkbeds lining the walls, obviously Reger has had a few sleep overs before. "You can come here after the Festival. You will need your rest," he raises an eyebrow at McCoy, who grins. Reger goes to the window, which is now totally black, even though a few minutes ago it was a bright afternoon.
"I'd...like to talk about this Festival...and...Landru." Kirk gives his most seductive smile and leans against the wall next to Reger.
Reger looks at him in shock and slams the window shut. "Shh!" he whispers. "Landru? You ask...You are strange...are you?..."
Taking advantage of his hesitation, Kirk pushes forward. "What about Landru?" he asks again.
Reger gapes at him and runs out of the room. McCoy waits until everyone's attention is on Kirk before he sneaks after Reger, little black purse in hand.
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Outside, people are still screaming and brawling and wildly snogging in the streets. Kirk glares moodily down at it all from his open window, doing his best Goblin King impersonation. He turns away from the window, which goes completely black and politely closes itself when we aren't looking. "Landru..." he mutters. Then he gathers himself together. "Gents, we've got until morning. Let's put the time to good use!" He looks around the room in a preoccupied manner. "Dr. McCoy, take atmospheric readings to determine whether the weather has anything to do with this. Mr. Lindstrom, correlate this with any other sociological parallels, if any. Mr. Spock..." Kirk walks over to the door and peeks out, checking for eavesdroppers. Spock strides to the door in his black cape (sans tea-towel) and gazes fondly into Kirk's eyes. "You and I have some serious...thinking...to do. When we leave here tomorrow morning, I want to have a plan of action." Kirk grins and leads Spock over with a hand on his back. "But first, bed!"
The Redshirts exchange glances, wondering which one of them has to tell Kirk that McCoy left ten minutes ago. Red #86 holds out a fist. "Rock paper scissors?"
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A/N-- So, did you like it? I thought I was getting a little rusty with that first chapter, but this one's up to snuff. -g-
Ta to my Mum for proofing this, and to my little brother for the Jareth bit.
And to anyone who has this episode-watch it, and you'll see, Spock truely does gaze adoringly into Kirk's eyes! It's so romantic... -g-
