As if the arena wasn't already a nightmare, showing up dressed like a fool, in what reminisced of a gag gift from straight off of Jim's birthday list wasn't doing anything for his mood. Still, attire was the last thing on his damn mind when he'd felt the cool of the pavement underfoot, had let his eyes adjust to the harsh lighting...
There was an old wive's tale, from far back in the day; the stuff of history; that if you held a candle up in the dark and stared into a mirror in passing, you'd catch a glimpse of the face of your future husband staring back. Hogswash, of course; that was all down to sensory deprivation, the Troxler Effect. So he almost hadn't trusted his own eyes when he'd seen that medical kit, lurking among the items in the Cornucopia...
He'd gone for it. Against better judgement, maybe, but hell if he was going to murder anyone (self-defense was all well and good, but flat-out slaughter? There was a gauzy line between security and barbarism, but that line stuck out for him like a sore thumb...). And if he didn't plan on backstabbing his way to the top, he was going to need the sorts of supplies he could work with, to help people; himself included; through this.
He'd gotten his hands on the med kit. He'd also managed one helluva souvenir from the scuffle; a wound that gutted deep along his calf, making him slow. The medical kit, as it turned out, was archaic; enough to disinfect and bandage himself up with, when he'd gotten down to a lower floor. But he was going to be carrying a hefty limp now, and the spoils almost weren't worth the outcome.
Still grumbling under his breath, he at least made a show of glancing up when the sliding doors whirred open, hands still fastening the last of the wrap over his mottled leg. He didn't have much in the way of defense, but he'd been lucky so far; most of the kids here were good at heart, and even in his first arena, he hadn't run into anyone willing to murder him.
So when a lithe man appeared, in silky two-piece pajamas... he couldn't help but roll his eyes a little, shake his head.
Before the realization caught him like a hook to to the mouth.
Starfleet Insignia.
"...Never thought I'd be so glad to see an Academy patch."
Greeted, tone gruff, but with an edge of hope digging in. He'd wait; to see if the kid caught his meaning.
Re: Julian Bashir | OTA
There was an old wive's tale, from far back in the day; the stuff of history; that if you held a candle up in the dark and stared into a mirror in passing, you'd catch a glimpse of the face of your future husband staring back. Hogswash, of course; that was all down to sensory deprivation, the Troxler Effect. So he almost hadn't trusted his own eyes when he'd seen that medical kit, lurking among the items in the Cornucopia...
He'd gone for it. Against better judgement, maybe, but hell if he was going to murder anyone (self-defense was all well and good, but flat-out slaughter? There was a gauzy line between security and barbarism, but that line stuck out for him like a sore thumb...). And if he didn't plan on backstabbing his way to the top, he was going to need the sorts of supplies he could work with, to help people; himself included; through this.
He'd gotten his hands on the med kit. He'd also managed one helluva souvenir from the scuffle; a wound that gutted deep along his calf, making him slow. The medical kit, as it turned out, was archaic; enough to disinfect and bandage himself up with, when he'd gotten down to a lower floor. But he was going to be carrying a hefty limp now, and the spoils almost weren't worth the outcome.
Still grumbling under his breath, he at least made a show of glancing up when the sliding doors whirred open, hands still fastening the last of the wrap over his mottled leg. He didn't have much in the way of defense, but he'd been lucky so far; most of the kids here were good at heart, and even in his first arena, he hadn't run into anyone willing to murder him.
So when a lithe man appeared, in silky two-piece pajamas... he couldn't help but roll his eyes a little, shake his head.
Before the realization caught him like a hook to to the mouth.
Starfleet Insignia.
"...Never thought I'd be so glad to see an Academy patch."
Greeted, tone gruff, but with an edge of hope digging in. He'd wait; to see if the kid caught his meaning.
Might just be a trick, after all.