nexus_crossings | (no subject)

(no subject)

As the temperature keeps dropping in the Nexus, a certain elderly Vulcan just keeps adding more cloaks to his attire. Some people may find humor in his excessive bundling but he and the cold are not overly fond of each other. Luckily there are ways to keep warm even in the increasing chill. The Plaza has no shortage of those little outdoor heating lamps set up alongside many of the couches that somehow manage to remain free of snow and frost despite the dip in temperature.

He could swear it was a might bit warmer here in the Plaza than it is anywhere else in the Nexus.

Spock only hesitates a moment before unsnapping the collar of his hooded coat so that he can speak and be heard properly. His bulky mittens don't seem to get too much in the way of that at least.

"What is an adequate gift to give someone you've not seen in a very long time?"

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"She does sound rather significant to you, yes." Spock can tell just by the tone change in Caspar's voice. He's much less severe when he's thinking about this woman.

Seeing so many different types of flower and plant makes Spock slightly uneasy. He's seen many dangerous plants in his time. There's plenty of signage though that directs people as to what they are buying and a special little sealed off room for a variety of plants, some very animated with rather mouthlike shapes to their buds. A sign on the door says 'Careful, we bite!' in several different languages.

Best to steer clear of that room, then.

"Many of these are Earth-plants. I suppose I should not be surprised."

"She's my girlfriend," he replies, wishing the term was better at encompassing the depth of his feelings. "She means everything to me." She's worth every flower in the Greenhouse.

...okay, maybe not the ones in that room in the back. He'll avoid those, too. But otherwise he seems fairly comfortable, looking over the choices with a practiced eye.

"Yeah, this place is crawling with humans, isn't it?" He can't entirely keep the disdain out of his voice, but at least he sounds more amused than anything. "Your... uh, friend. Is he human? Or is he like you?"

Edited 2017-12-08 23:28 (UTC)

How odd for a man who looks to be the spitting image of human to speak of them with such disdain in his voice. Spock makes note of the man's choice of words but is not quick to pass judgement.

Instead he steps closer to one of the rows of flowers and brushes the leaves of a red and gold flower. Considering how rare these plants are in Spock's home, he's surprised to see them growing here and taking so readily to this soil.

"He is very much human, with all the traits and flaws that such a species has. I do not fault him for this. His penchant for the illogical is but one facet of a brilliant mind I've come to learn over time."

Not every non-human comes equipped with telltale physical differences. But Spock will likely come to that conclusion soon enough.

Caspar eyes the flowers that have the older man's attention, but if there's anything particularly special about them, he can't tell. "They're a nice color," he says, reading over the little card that lists their name and care instructions. Do they have some significance to the human Spock describes? "Is that what you like about him? His brilliant mind?"

Then he's quiet for a while, his gaze on those simple flowers but his mind clearly elsewhere. "My girlfriend's human, too," he says quietly. "But she's -- she's not like any other human I've ever met."

"You are not human then, I take it. Despite your appearance. I know of many similar species to humans but you do not seem to be any of those, either. And yet this woman is. Not only that, she is a singularity to you. That does make sense."

Spock looks around the greenhouse but keeps lingering on the moon blossoms and their scent. They are both so very far from home now. He will get a bouquet of these and bring some of that home to the captain.

"Love does play a role in how we view the world, after all." His smile is knowing and yes, he has skirted around answering Caspar's question. What he sees in his t'hy'la is not anyone's business but his own. He's territorial and possessive even now. Though it's much less overt than it once was.

"I'm a Cylon," he says, although this man did not explicitly ask. But if he's met enough alien species, it's no hardship to introduce him to one more. "A biological robot -- yes, I know that sounds like an oxymoron. We were originally created by humans to work in dangerous labor conditions."

Hence the disdain. Except for this one woman, apparent by how soft his expression becomes when the L-word is mentioned. "I knew from the moment I first spoke to her that she was different. She's been in my heart ever since."

Even when he was pretending that he didn't even have a heart. He heaves a sigh, not wanting to be this sentimental in front of a man he barely knows.

"If you don't mind me asking, what species are you?"

"I see. Fascinating. We do not have such things where I am from."

There are questions, yes. But it would be improper to come out and ask them of a stranger with no preamble, so Spock holds his tongue for now. He's got what he came for, and will follow Caspar around while he finds something for this woman of his.

"I am Vulcan. To be specific, half-Vulcan. My mother was of Earth."

Caspar is heading towards a row devoted entirely to tulips, seemingly in every shade. Caspar naturally gravitates towards to the orange ones, but when he looks over their warm, sun-kissed shade, his gaze turns haunted and he moves on to a different row entirely.

"Half-Vulcan," he repeats. A faint smirk tugs at his mouth. "We don't have anything like you where I'm from, either. What's that like? Can't be too different from each other if you're genetically compatible."

"It is as problematic and as rewarding as all mixed race children are, I would assume. Always inferior to one side or the other, too different from the other side."

The Vulcan gives a slow shake of his head. He's had a long, long, long time to get used to his place. He found it not among humans or Vulcans, but amid a crew on one little ship exploring a fraction of the uncharted space in their galaxy.

"I do not begrudge the circumstances of my birth, however. It would be illogical to do so. I have been given a unique opportunity to learn from both of my heritages."

It's a strangely familiar story for Caspar. Perhaps his brief time thinking he was a human will always separate him from the other Cylons on some level. "Humans and Cylons can only very rarely interbreed. There's only one kid who's both... she's all right. I'm hoping she doesn't have to experience that."

There's that word 'illogical' again. "Logic is important to you?" he asks curiously.

While he's talking, he moves over to a section that's exclusively roses. Super cliché, but he knows that there's no extra, troubled meaning to these for either him or Adia. He picks up a bouquet of pink roses and admires their deep blush. Adia will like these. "I"m going to see if they have anything here that will make them last longer."

"Does that sound strange for a purely biological to say? The Vulcan people value logic over all else."

Having already gathered the flowers he wants, Spock is content to follow Caspar while he makes his query. He does not press the younger man, being, or however it chooses to identify into saying more than he is comfortable with. Spock is quite fine with silence.

"It does," Caspar answers honestly. "I mean, I only have experience with humans. Their sense of logic is primitive at best."

It gives him something to think about, even as he heads over to the nearest employee to ask his question. The employee is humanoid, although she looks a little plant-like herself, her hair green and her visible skin covered in a complicated vine tattoo. She offers Caspar a packet of enhanced plant food and rings that up, along with his flowers.

When he's finished paying, he carefully holds the wrapped bouquet to his chest. "I learned the hard way that Cylons aren't much better at it," turning to address Spock, as if there wasn't a gap in the conversation. "How do Vulcans manage it?"

"It is built into all aspects of our culture. Taught to use from birth. It does not make us masters of logic, though many may presume so. Nothing and no one is perfect. I have learned there is a place too for emotion over the years. Balance can be more useful than either end of an extreme."

There's a somber tone to Spock's voice that says he has learned these lessons the hard way as well. There are many regrets the Vulcan has. Choices he made on logic that were not right.

"Hmm." He looks over the flowers in his hands again. "Maybe that's where we went wrong. No one taught us to balance anything. We've all had to figure it out ourselves."

Caspar still has his guard up, but the old man is giving him space, which he appreciates. "My name's Caspar. What's yours?"

"All civilizations do. Such a thing takes time."

He adjusts the bouquet of his own to best carefully shield them from the wind and the cold of the greater nexus.

"My name is Spock." The elder Vulcan's reply is simple. He glances at the Cylon then. "I am unsure if your people require verbal acknowledgement but to be safe I will verbalize. Thank you for showing me this place."

Considering that Cylon civilization is less than 50 years old, he makes a good point.

The corner of Caspar's mouth quirks upward at Spock's phrasing. He almost makes a quip about not being a mind-reader, but keeps it to himself. "It's no problem. I hope your friend likes the flowers."

Now that he has his bouquet, he's eager to get back to Adia, but maybe the next time he runs into Spock, he'll have more of a conversation. This old man is alright. He holds the door open for him, then nods one more. "See you around."

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