A/N: Crack Bingo prompt: Avatar Sex. This chapter contains no sex, some brief but unpleasant violence, and from Scotty, inventive invective. Thanks to anodyna on LiveJournal for my bingo card. A glossary of some of Scotty's more esoteric language is at the end, in case you just don't want to know. All species mentioned are TOS/TAS. Liberties taken with Klingon TOS appearance, as they didn't have ridged skulls then. Thanks to my lovely beta SpockLovesCats. I tweak.

Scotty accidentally ends up in a sex avatar booth, and it fails to understand his Scottish accent. Swearing and rage ensues. Nothing above Sh**.

You Say Potato, I Say Tattie

"That's me, lass. I'm off now. She's in good hands."

Lieutenant Masters held a Padd to her chest, her expression thoughtful. "You going down with anyone, sir?"

"Naw, who'd want an old git tagging around. I just want to look about and have a whisky or two; don't even know if they have whisky on Risa. I might get a wee gift for my sister. I'm meeting up with Kyle later."

"I'll look after her sir."

"Aye, you make sure that you do."

.

In the transporter room, Kyle bestowed Scotty with his languid, calm, Australian plain-speaking opinion. "It'll do you good – you look like you haven't had your leg over in months."

"Gah, you're right there, I just dinnae... ah've no really gone lookin' for it before, not like this. I'll prob'ly have a dram or two and chicken oot." Scotty fiddled at his unfamiliar civvies. When he wore them he felt farther away from his girl, the Enterprise, and it caused a hum of background anxiety in his brain.

"There is another way you know."

"Eh? What?"

"SexVatar™ booths at transport station eleven, right behind the Ritza-Carlton hotel. They're supposed to be the mutt's nuts. You could probably get a mutt there, if that was your thing."

"Kyle, you disgusting minger. Ach, I dunno, we'll see." The engineer nodded to his friend, lips set in a line. "Energize."

It was not a total surprise to Scotty that Kyle had chosen to beam him right into transporter station eleven. Furthermore, the appearance of the operator, a busty Andorian blonde, skimpily clothed, was similarly to be expected. After purring the customary greeting and tourist spiel, she offered directions to the avatar booths. He threw her a superior glare and mumbled about his friend's idea of a joke, transporting him to this particular station. Folding her arms, she gave him the practised, and universal, look of yeah, yeah, that's what they all say.

"Strumpet", muttered Scotty under his breath. She probably didn't know that word.

A peaceful hour was spent wandering about a tourist square in the sunshine. He ate some damned good barbecued tentacles-on-a-stick, drank some extremely tasty Risan groundnut milk and listened to an Edosian play a complex, emotional melody on a kind of flat guitar. With his extra limb he was able to tune, shape chords and strum all at the same time, giving the music a pleasing woozy quality appropriate to the pleasure-planet.

At the end of the performance, the engineer sidled over to the lad. "Those three arms would be handy with the bagpipes, son. I sometimes wish I had another arm when I was playing." The musician obviously didn't know what a bagpipe was, but his eyes blinked slowly in his long, bony face, and he offered a sincere thanks.

A trawl round some jewellery stalls brought out all Scotty's insecurities about buying gifts for women. He wished Masters was here, she'd help him; she was good at things like that and liked subtle stuff. He pushed the thought away and stood solitary in the square, wondering if he should go to a bar, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone he wished to avoid at all costs. There she was in all her delicate, brunette glory - Lieutenant Mira Romaine.

Oh dearie dear, that hadn't gone well; not well at all. After the Zetar incident, she'd clung to him like a limpet, just as he decided he was thoroughly ashamed of his silly wee infatuation. He'd acted like a right sap. He hated hurting women, but in the end he had to. What on earth was she doing on Risa? Och well, McCoy did say she was easily led. Relieved she hadn't seen him, Scotty did what all good British men do when they don't know what to do; he joined a queue.

It was a short queue, peopled (could he say that?) by beings of every shape, size and hue. From an uncomfortable, neck-cricking position he watched Mira pass by beneath lowered lashes, sagging in relief when she was out of sight. Making an efficient, military about-face he blundered into a wall... of Klingon. Their eyes locked, both sparking in a fierce flare of recognition, and Scotty's genius brain processed six thoughts in 0.7 seconds, without him even knowing it was thinking for him.

1. Oh shite, that's the bony-heided bastard that called his girl a bloody garbage scow.

2. The Captain will have his arse in a sling if he starts anything here; he's on his last warning, the clown.

3. Hey, we're standing in the queue for the sex machine – ya beauty!

4. Booth four's just lit up its vacant sign.

5. Eyes front! Legs; forward march!

6. It's a good job he's got me, otherwise he'd be well and truly shafted.

And so, propelled by his ineptitude at letting women down gently, his fierce defence of his ship, unbelievable coincidence, and the British urge to hide in a queue, Scotty found himself in an avatar booth.

Weird, he thought, I don't really know how I got here. Och well, mebbey it'll be something to tell Kyle aboot.

The room – more like a boudoir – was well furnished, with a comfortable bed and some blobby, upholstered lumps. Scotty ran his hands over the plush fabric. Perhaps they were for species who didn't have sex in a bed? A screen slid into view on one wall, displaying pictographs for different federation languages. He pressed Federation Standard and sank onto the bed, his fingers picking at the brocade cover, and his stomach in a knot.

A deep, mellifluous (disconcertingly male) voice addressed him.

"Please state your species preference."

"Kin I – "

"Kzinti, felinoid telepath."

A raggedy, russet, tragic six-foot feline appeared before him, attempting to smile. It was the most dispiriting thing Scotty had ever seen.

"Naw, man –"

The feline disappeared in a 'pouf', only to be replaced by...

"K'normian, humanoid."

A tall, blonde girl with a bony skull was presented in front of Scotty. She was truly cute, and smiling, showing small white teeth, but what was it with the bony heids? That one reminded him of the reason he was in this mess.

"Ohh...Kaaay... that's tha' right..."

"Kazzarite, herder race."

A really terrifying, huge human man with a long, black silky beard, his body hung about with pan pipes, skins and tiny pots now stood smiling at Scotty in a totally inappropriate, lascivious manner. He stroked his beard as though it were the thigh of a plump, young maiden. Scotty shamed himself by scrambling back onto the bed in horror. He'd never seen, or heard of this race before.

"Is he Terran?"

"Zetaran, or Zetan; light based life-forms."

With the goat-herder gone, the boudoir pulsed with familiar lights. Scotty felt his own goat was thoroughly got. Not only was he here because he tried to avoid that soppy lass, Mira, but now they were taunting him. How can you shag a light, for God's sake? His professional composure began to fall away.

"Now, dinnae be an –"

"Denebian, humanoid species, 150 centimeters in height."

At last, finally, this was more like it; a short, shy lassie with a smooth forehead, dressed simply in roughly woven earth-tones, and with organic-looking beads strung about her neck. She reminded Scotty of his first serious girlfriend in Linlithgow, but this girl had sleek black hair that was awfully like Mira's. His girl's hair had been red, a mass of spiral curls. There was no harm in asking.

"Red head?"

"Rid of head", intoned the smooth, deep voice.

Without warning the avatar's head was roughly ripped from her shoulders. Great gouts of blood spurted from the neck, spattering the inside of the booth. After a horrifying number of seconds, the body folded with balletic grace to the floor, making a soft whump.

Scotty was hiding on the other side of the bed, gagging. Man, that was bowfing! He decided now to keep his trap firmly shut.

What sorta sick bastard comes in here for that kinda thing! I almost keecked ma breeks there – shite! I am gonny give Kyle hell when I get up there. Stupid Aussie arsehole, landing me in this palaver …

Keep the heid Scotty, keep the heid.

Utterly discomposed, and burning with frustrated, white-hot rage, Scotty vaulted the bed, ready to raise merry-hell. In strained tones, he asked:

"Are you taking the piss oot o' me?"

"Species does not register in data bank."

Scotty let out a roar worthy of William Wallace himself, "Up yer frigging kilt, ya techno-tumshie!"

His face was hot and red; hairs stood in their follicles, and his fists clenched in a rage that was impotent in the most mocking sense. It was only a machine, but his patience was tested, his rope was frayed and his tether was ended. He rose, an Aberdeen Angus bull finally pulling his chain from its peg in the ground, and charging, the rhythm of his heart beating like a drum:

"I said: are. you. taking. the. piss. out. of. me. You great glaikit bawbag?"

"Species does not register in data bank."

"Right. Haud yer wheesht you jumped-up, superior bionic bastard. I'm right scunnered wi' you now. How kin ANYONE get a shag 'round here?"

"Species does not register in data bank."

Pushing his bottom jaw out, and narrowing his eyes Scotty moved closer, with menace, and planted his legs wide in front of the screen. Mimicking the smooth, slow movements of a seducer, he lifted the hem of his civilian shirt in a lover's strip, revealing a Starfleet belt supporting a case of micro-tools.

"Ye dinnae know who you're messin' wi' laddie. One of us is getting screwed this morning, and it's no' me. I've had the measure o' yer mechanism, and I reckon I know where all yer flaps are."

He couldn't be sure, but he thought the machine made a noise that sounded a lot like "eep".

"Aye, so now ye understand me."

Eleven point four minutes later, the chief engineer of the Federation Starship Enterprise emerged from SexVatar™ booth number four looking very, very satisfied. Crowds saw his glowing face from the square and, awed, vowed to join the line. Within ten minutes, the snaking queue was forty-five meters long, and filled with the chattering classes, all saying the same thing: "Did you see that human? I've never seen such a look of satisfaction in all my life."

.

Kyle's bright face fell as he watched Scotty materialise on the transporter pad.

"What happened? I thought I was coming down later to meet you. I'm sorry about beaming you into station eleven, mate, I didn't mean it, really." Kyle's eyebrows lowered a little as he looked at his boss, and friend. "Actually, I take it back. You look like you just got the screw of your life."

"That's what it looks like lad, but it's much better that that. I gave the screw of my life."

Not sure how to reply, Kyle watched Scotty walk out of the transporter room, well, not so much walk, as dance.

.

Commander Scott peeked round the door of Engineering; the lovely Masters was checking systems, Padd in hand. It was now or never. He coughed, and she turned.

"Sir, I wasn't expecting you until this evening."

"I came back early."

Masters' brow furrowed, she looked slightly affronted. "Oh, um, it's OK, I've got her under control sir."

"I know that lass, I came 'cause I wasn't having a great time."

"I'm sorry sir."

"I wondered if ye'd like to come down tae Risa with me in the evening."

Masters' eyes became big. "Who would be in charge, sir?"

"Well, Kyle I reckon. He owes me one."

"Is this," she looked hesitant, shaky, "a date?"

"Aye lassie, it is."

The tremor left her and she smiled wide and cheerful. "In that case, sir, I'd love to."

"It's Scotty."

"Well you better start calling me Charlene. So, Risa's not your thing then, Scotty?"

"Lassie, if I told ye, ye'd say me bum was oot the windae."

"What?"

The chief engineer presented his arm for her to take. "Let's go for a wee cup o' coffee in the mess, and I'll give ye yer first Scottish vocabulary lesson."

– The End –

Scotty's Glossary

arse in a sling (have his/your) – give a telling off to

bum's oot the windae (window) – lying ("ass," as in your behind, is "bum" in the UK)

bawbag – scrotal sac

bowfing – nauseating (pronounced like "how", not "slow")

clown – used in Scotland to mean stupidity

dinnae - don't

glaikit – stupid, and vacant

Haud yer wheesht – be quiet

heid/heided - head/headed

keecked ma breeks – sh** my pants

kin - can

leg over - to have sex

minger – disgusting or insanitary person

palaver – a situation that causes a lot of unnecessary trouble

scunnered – fed up

shafted – screwed

tumshie – in Scotland, a turnip, in the US a rutabaga. In slang, a thick-headed idiot

ya beauty – hooray!