asktriptucker - Tumblr blog

[asktriptucker]

//Still functioning, friends. And with an eye on the general dashboard goings-on. It's just been a rough week [among other more tragic happenings, my hamster died this morning and I have a tooth-ache no lie], and I tend to shut down creatively and wig out over writing pressure when provoked. I'm hiding out on my Doctor blog in the meanwhile. Just downsizing my workload a little.  You all have fun in the meantime. That's an order. And if you outrank me-- that's a formal request. Sir. 

[asktriptucker]

General Electric Plant in Schenectady, NY, Building #16 where large machines were assembled and tested before shipment (motors, generators, rotating machinery, M-G sets, mercury arc rectifiers), circa 1931-1932.

[asktriptucker]

I really enjoyed drawing Scotty the other day!!!

[asktriptucker]

Trip almost pulled him back down-- they had nowhere to go, and he suspected Phlox would have his head if he knew Malcolm had been permitted to wander around drunk and concussed-- but it was cold, and best to keep moving. Maybe they'd run across a similarly stranded crewman walking the streets, and be able to find some answers. Or shelter. He stood as well, swapping his Malcolm-steadying head for a Malcolm-steadying arm to cling to.  "Because no one gets ta call me Charles. 'Cept my mom when I done somethin' wrong." He rolled his eyes, fairly certain that reply wouldn't stick to Malcolm's half-in-the-wrapper comprehension. "I'm Trip to my friends, all right?" 

A beat. "Now'm I gonna have ta carry you, or ya think you've got the motor skills to hang on? I'll be damn unappreciative if you end up staggerin' into oncoming traffic with me attached." Not that there was really traffic per say. But before the suns had set the roadways had been alive with peculiarly futuristic horse and carriage apparatuses. Streamlined and belching steam, the steed-like alien beasts pulling them had seemed unnecessary. Tradition, maybe.  "Say, I never asked what ya thought of those horse an' buggy contraptions earlier." He hadn't asked because he didn't really care what Malcolm thought of them. But he did care that the man stayed awake and that he didn't lose his rations all over their boots. Talking seemed a safe bet. 

Grounded || asklieutenantreed + asktriptucker

"Now, now, Trip— no need to get so worked up," Malcolm chided, as if this were not his fault at all. He pushed himself to his feet; he canted to the side almost immediately, and braced himself with one hand on the top of Trip’s head. "How come I don’t get to call you Charles? S’good name. Strong."

He laughed, just a sharp burst of sound, quickly swallowed up by the wind.

"Not like ‘Trip’, I mean."

[asktriptucker]

Sigh. "Trust me. My family's cornered the market on readin' between the lines. I had mentioned you. In a.. a nice way." He was losing traction here. He opened his mouth, shut it again. Looked up and away from T'Pol. "You know, since we're such close friends an' all. The uh--" He snapped his fingers, pointed at her. Aha! "The business with the Kreetassan escape pod we found trapped in that decayin' orbit? It was empty, but you thought we ought ta fix it up an' return it to them, as a sign of friendship. It took me the better part of a week to suss out the propulsion systems, and you were kind enough ta give me a hand."

"Guess I sounded... I don't know." He smiled, shrugged a shoulder. "Sounded fond of you, an' it came through while I was tellin' the story. They jumped the gun is all." He blinked at her warily, hands folded on his lap. That all sounded logical, didn't it? 

"A diamond ring? I appreciate the offer… but don’t you think this is a bit… excessive?"

Trip set down his fork and swung frustrated eyes to his dinner guest. “An excessive offer? That there’s a family heirloom. My great grandpa gave that to my great grandma on their silver weddin’ anniversary.” He picked up the fork again and poked at his remaining green-beans, frowning mightily. “Just been gatherin’ dust. Thought you might like it.”

[asktriptucker]

Trip wrapped his hands around the evenly spaced wooden bars that prevented him from simply slithering out a window to freedom, and pressed his forehead to the high set sill. 

"Easy for me ta say? You ain't the guy who missed enterin' into eternal alien matrimony by the skin of his teeth! Now, I appreciate yer quick thinkin'. But at the end'o the day, it ain't you being passed around like a party favor." The ceremonial robes he had been man-handled into an hour before the interrupted service dragged on the floor as he pushed away from the window frame. It was a nice day outside. The planet had a climate similar to Earth, and a perpetually homesick Trip had insisted he be included in an already over-crowded away mission. Whoops.

"I swear, if we get outta this I am never leavin' Engineering again. I'll take my meals there. Move a bed in. Gettin' real sick'o being Enterprise's bad luck charm." He sat down on the stone marriage bench--everything seemed to be marriage-themed in this society-- aside Malcolm and slumped against the yellow stucco walls. 

"Any word from the Cap'n?" After the grand matriarch of the capital had witnessed Trip's improvised mechanical skills in action, she had rejected the cultural exchange the Captain and T'Pol had prepared for trade, demanding Trip's hand in marriage instead. Now that he was off the menu, it looked like the supplies might be similarly out of reach. As far as he knew, they were still negotiating. And Malcolm and Trip had been isolated in a wing of the matriarch's estate until a compromise was found. 

"This isn’t as bad as I expected it to be."

"Easy for you to say," Malcolm hissed back, through a fixed smile that was 7/10ths grimace, and not at all convincing. If one was familiar with human facial expressions, at least. It had only been three hours since his brilliant plan to keep Trip from being married off to the city’s elderly princess had backfired.

Well… to be fair, it had worked.

Technically.

"If one more of these simpering sycophants asks me to relay a message to my ‘esteemed husband' while you're sitting right there, I'm going to start punching them.”

[asktriptucker]

//Our bunny, Tuvok. Jumping/dancing in slow motion to the Voyager opening theme. Also, he has a carrot.

[asktriptucker]

askcommandertpol said: For your ask box: I think it’s worth pointing out that you’re handsome and I love you. Also, you’re handsome. Wearing glasses again today?

No, but I probably should be whilst staring at this here internet box. Thanks for the tip.  /dramatically puts on glasses /maybe there is lens flare

[asktriptucker]

But first

housework.

//All right. I’m back. Again. Thanks for being patient, guys.  I’ll be catching up on what I missed, and then getting back to my pending threads. But if there’s anything worth pointing out, my ask box is as open as ever. 

[asktriptucker]

//All right. I'm back. Again. Thanks for being patient, guys.  I'll be catching up on what I missed, and then getting back to my pending threads. But if there's anything worth pointing out, my ask box is as open as ever. 

[asktriptucker]

//I'm gonna take off for the evening. I apparently lost my grandmother this morning- only just found out. I need some time to process.  Have a good night, folks.

[asktriptucker]

Trip gave Malcolm a reproachful look, and then put his back to the alley wall. Slid down to a half kneel beside Malcolm and brought the slightly warm device to his mouth. 

"Tucker to Enterprise." The communicator chirped obediently, but the same white noise responded. "Damn."  There was a cinematic howl of appropriately baleful wind. An empty can, emblazoned with alien script, rolled out of the shadows and stopped at the toe of Trip's boot. With a frustrated growl, he pitched it into the street. The can clinked into the gutter, punctuating a roar of muted laughter and music from the off-limits pub.  He sighed. It had been so warm in there.  "Well, I hope yer happy, Lieutenant. Rendezvous isn't for another three hours. An' we're homeless." He waved a hand. "Bar-less." 

Grounded || asklieutenantreed + asktriptucker

Malcolm grinned again, and leaned back a little, suspended precariously by Trip’s hold on his wrists.

"Oh, she was beautiful, wasn’t she? Such a lovely shade of purple,” he sighed. Lavender skin, and hair the color of a wheat field in midsummer. He hadn’t even seen the four armed chap until it was too late. “Completely worth it.” Sober-Malcolm might not agree with that sentiment as much as drunk-Malcolm did… but at the moment, he wasn’t fussed. "My what? Oh, oh, yes, of course—” He leaned forward and shook one of his hands free of Trip’s grasp; he worked his communicator out of the top of his boot— where he’d kept it, ever since the regrettable incident where he had lost one on a pre-Warp planet. “There you are, commander— as requested.”

[asktriptucker]

Wedding. Yes, he had said that. His eyes widened marginally. "H-hey, don't get the wrong idea!" Wince. That sounded harsh. T'Pol showed no outward reaction to his hurried tone, but that was par for the course. Charles Tucker, you really know how to set yourself up awkward creek without a paddle. He sipped his drink, some hot minty tea T'Pol had provided, and composed himself. Started again. "I... might have mentioned you. In a letter home. Not by name, or anythin'. My big brother Albert was helpin' my mom clean out the attic, came across some old jewelry in a keepsake box. He gets real excited 'bout meddlin' in my personal life-- especially since he's been married."  He looked at her, and visibly concentrated on reading her expression, lips pursed. Nothing. Dang. "I just thought it was pretty," --like you-- "But you don't have to accept it. Can't really wear that sorta thing on duty, I imagine." He chuckled, and scratched the corner of his mouth bashfully. "'Sides. I suppose you'd prefer somethin' a little more exotic. Pearl, maybe." 

"A diamond ring? I appreciate the offer… but don’t you think this is a bit… excessive?"

Trip set down his fork and swung frustrated eyes to his dinner guest. “An excessive offer? That there’s a family heirloom. My great grandpa gave that to my great grandma on their silver weddin’ anniversary.” He picked up the fork again and poked at his remaining green-beans, frowning mightily. “Just been gatherin’ dust. Thought you might like it.”

[asktriptucker]

-

[asktriptucker]

"A diamond ring? I appreciate the offer… but don’t you think this is a bit… excessive?"

Trip set down his fork and swung frustrated eyes to his dinner guest. “An excessive offer? That there’s a family heirloom. My great grandpa gave that to my great grandma on their silver weddin’ anniversary.” He picked up the fork again and poked at his remaining green-beans, frowning mightily. “Just been gatherin’ dust. Thought you might like it.”

[asktriptucker]

Summoning from a well of patience he didn't know he had, Trip carefully pried Malcolm's grip from his collar, finger by finger. "Malcolm. No one said anythin' bout yer mum--" Wait. "--about yer mother. 'Cept you. You asked some big four-armed fellar's girlfriend for her hailing frequency, and got yer ass kicked. Yer arse. Remember?"  He held Malcolm at bay by the wrists. "Let's try this again. Your communicator." 

Grounded || asklieutenantreed + asktriptucker

asklieutenantreed asked:

"My mum gave me a rose because she felt sorry for me." See, look— his memory is just fine, even after that bastard punched him in the eye. Even if there are two of Trip…

asktriptucker answered:

Trip staggered a pace under the weight of Malcolm, one arm round his shoulder and the other braced across the man’s chest to keep him from pitching forward as they exited the tavern. There was a rising cacophony of alien slurs and threats that cut out as the door sealed behind them. Making friends, as usual. "That was awful kind’o her. Nice lady." He patted Malcolm’s chest and then, looking tragically put-upon, lead his friend to where the smooth wall of the alien establishment met alien back-alley. He sat Malcolm down on an over-turned silver cargo container and fished out his communicator, putting his back to the lieutenant.  "Tucker to Enterprise." He worried at his lower lip and shifted his weight to one leg, hand on hip. The communicator crackled and hissed, but there was no reply. "Enterprise, do you read? We’ve had a minor disagreement with the locals. Things got a might colorful down here, an’.." He glanced at Malcolm, who was developing a garish purple shiner. "Lieutenant Reed may require medical assistance." Or maybe just a frozen rib-eye. Still no response. Damn. Had to be the storm. His boots crunched against freezing ground as he returned to Malcolm and crouched aside him. “Let me see yer communicator. I wanna make sure mine weren’t damaged when that big fella threw me over the bar…”

Malcolm smiled at Trip, though it made the side of his face ache a bit, through the resilient haze of alcohol. He let his friend half drag him into the alley, let himself he sat down, even nodded congenially enough to whatever Trip was on about— and when Trip crouched down, Malcolm grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, still smiling.

"Whaddid you say ‘bout my mum?"

[asktriptucker]

Trip accepted the napkin, dabbed at his sleeve ineffectually. “I can’t help it if I’m roguishly charming. People simply respond ta my personality— it’s more of a curse than a gift, I tell ya.”  He pulled out a chair for T’Pol, further obstructing her exit. With great effort he kept a straight face, mirroring her own cool expression. "I don’t s’pose you could tell me where my attentions might be best directed." 

"Any secret admirers?"

Trip smiled slowly, not quite looking at T’Pol. The crewman in front of him retrieved what looked and smelled like hot cocoa from the protein resequencer, and Trip moved to the front of the line. Set his glass down."Milk. Cold." The machine chimed softly and whirred. Trip folded his arms and watched it fill his glass, shoulders straight. "Secret admirers? Plural?" He arched an eyebrow. "Why d’ya ask? Don’t tell me this Valentine’s thing is of any interest to ya."