jim and leonard's road trip {ele/rook}

without an answer
the the thunder speaks for the sky
and on the cold, wet dirt
i cry

"Hey Jim, you mind not being so aggressive with the steering? You're giving me vertigo, damn it!" I yell at the moron in the cabin, who is piloting us out to District Six. Where no man has ever gone before my ass. I grew up in Six. It's hardly new to either of us. I'm pretty sure Jim's been here plenty of times with the crew to stock up on medicine and the latest transportation patches. Jeez, Jim's not so good at piloting these two-man crafts. They're built for speed, and boy does Jim like to use that speed. He's too reckless with craft like this, he's better at piloting large hovercraft like the Enterprise or her sister ships. I trust the man but I don't like it. Not at all.

I sneak a vial of whiskey from my belt and take a quick swig, making sure Jim doesn't see. I can't fly sober, he knows that. It's dangerous going this fast, this high up. What if we hit a cloud barrier and suddenly we're in back-breaking turbulence. I'm no good to anyone if I'm paralysed. Then there's storms. These crafts are made of the most conductive metal known to man, all it takes is one lightning strike and we'll be fried to a crisp. See how you like it then, Jim. Spock says I'm being irrational, well screw him. Pointy eared bastard doesn't know what it is to be afraid. Nothing's rational when you're afraid, that's the point of fear. Sometimes I don't even think the man's human.

Damn, I'm feeling nauseous. I'd ask Jim to crack a window, but the speed we're going at, the velocity would suck us straight out into the void. We'd fall a thousand feet and hit the ground at such a force that all our organs and bones would be crushed flat, like a pancake. How's that for weight loss, Jim old buddy? I need pills to knock me out or something, 'cause I'm coming out in a cold sweat and I'm starting to panic.
"You got air-con in this thing?" I ask Jim, searching the dashboard for the right button, "I'm cracking faster than a boiled egg on a sunday mornin'."
I wipe my forehead with the back of my sleeve, dampening the blue fabric.

Why we even going to Six? Something pointless, no doubt. Jim knows, he ain't telling me though. Suppose I haven't asked though, so that's probably why. Ain't important, most likely just to get another patch or fix for the Enterprise. Jim's mad about keeping that girl in top condition for our next exhibition. She's like his prize racehorse. He grooms her, pets her, cleans her, makes sure she's in prime form. Boy, Jim loves his ship, almost as much as he loves screwing two girls at once. I've seen it. I walked in on them. It's nasty. That's another story for another day.

My wife barely let me have sex with her, let alone getting others involved. How does Jim get away with that? Like, doesn't he offend the first girl when he says he wants sex with a second too? Ain't one enough? I'd think the girls would get offended that Jim ain't satisfied with just one, but the man talks a talk and wraps them round his little finger - Boys and girls both, I'd be guessin'. How I envy him. My wife would leave me with bluer balls than Papa fuckin' Smurf.

"Jim, we there yet?" I ask, feeling sicker by the second, "Why dont we slow down? Talk to me, brother, I'm having an episode here, and not the kind you watch on series link!"