Mornings usually followed a set plan with little deviation, regardless of whether his nightly quarters had now shifted from cold, damp, and uncomfortably close to unsavory characters to less cold, less damp, and only two unsavoury characters to deal with. He had learned to handle the captain, and the boy didn't tempt his suspicions in the least.
Spock pushed himself up from the mattress, pushing aside the covers to sit comfortably on the edge with still-cold floorboards beneath his feet. Lovely. He spared a moment to rub his hand over the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble scratch against his palm. No need, yet. If he were on solid ground (and had more leisure time than he currently possessed), he would not hesitate a moment longer to shave--but there were other things to attend to.
He dressed quietly and efficiently, not wanting to stir the captain who he suspected was already half-awake. The cravat he folded and tied was a leftover habit from his more respectable days, The black vest he buttoned over his shirt was lesser so: a mockery of the prim and proper naval ship attire, pressed and neat against his form though black with silver buttons and other small adornments. The high collar protected his neck from the ocean breeze, and the formality of his uniform kept a present reminder of his position on the ship.
However, he still had mannerisms that set him apart from the uncultured and vulgar crew, such as the rest of his morning routine. After pulling on his boots, Spock stepped outside the captain's cabin just long enough to assemble the necessary supplies for tea, and ordering the rest of breakfast from the galley.
Keeping a watchful eye out the window of the cabin to scan the open ocean, he poured some for himself in one of the remaining fine china tea cups that had thus far survived from the teapot of the same set. There were not many luxuries he could enjoy here, now, but he took what he could, no matter how many times Kirk rolled his eyes or destroyed one of his saucers.
One lump, no cream, just hot enough. The day started out well.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2009-09-19 07:15 am (UTC)Spock pushed himself up from the mattress, pushing aside the covers to sit comfortably on the edge with still-cold floorboards beneath his feet. Lovely. He spared a moment to rub his hand over the line of his jaw, feeling the stubble scratch against his palm. No need, yet. If he were on solid ground (and had more leisure time than he currently possessed), he would not hesitate a moment longer to shave--but there were other things to attend to.
He dressed quietly and efficiently, not wanting to stir the captain who he suspected was already half-awake. The cravat he folded and tied was a leftover habit from his more respectable days, The black vest he buttoned over his shirt was lesser so: a mockery of the prim and proper naval ship attire, pressed and neat against his form though black with silver buttons and other small adornments. The high collar protected his neck from the ocean breeze, and the formality of his uniform kept a present reminder of his position on the ship.
However, he still had mannerisms that set him apart from the uncultured and vulgar crew, such as the rest of his morning routine. After pulling on his boots, Spock stepped outside the captain's cabin just long enough to assemble the necessary supplies for tea, and ordering the rest of breakfast from the galley.
Keeping a watchful eye out the window of the cabin to scan the open ocean, he poured some for himself in one of the remaining fine china tea cups that had thus far survived from the teapot of the same set. There were not many luxuries he could enjoy here, now, but he took what he could, no matter how many times Kirk rolled his eyes or destroyed one of his saucers.
One lump, no cream, just hot enough. The day started out well.