To Infinity? (tag: Pavel)

[Gavroche]

A child opened his eyes in Hell’s Kitchen. He let out a yawn, stretching his thin arms above his head. He scratched at the dirty curls on his noggin, blue eyes looking around the dingy room he had taken refuge for in the night. The room was full of children like him, homeless and unwanted. Many of them slept huddled together like puppies, trying to keep out the post-winter chill.

Gavroche shrugged off the ratty blanket that had kept him warm for the night, standing. He made his way around the sleeping bodies, careful not to step on anyone. Though Gavroche always got up at the crack of dawn, many of these children will sleep in until noon. They were not morning persons, to say the least.

Giving a small smile at the group around him, he opened a window and landed on the fire escape leading up the abandoned motel. Humming to himself, he skipped down the stairs and ladder until he was on the street, the city slowly coming to life.

He was rather coming to like this city. It was big, but hardly as big as Paris had been. Food was plentiful, there was always a pocket that could be emptied of spare change. He missed his elephant, but the hotel was warmer and more comfortable by far.

The boy stopped at a convenience store, using the rest of his money to buy some milk and a doughnut. A rare treat, but he found himself in a good mood and the desire to treat himself. With that small breakfast down in his gullet, it covered both breakfast and midday meal. He would need to go on the hunt for money to cover the last meal of the day.

Gav didn’t seem grim about it, in fact, he was whistling the whole way. His life had been better than it had been for years. He had food in his stomach, it was a beautiful day, and if he got enough money he could buy something at the joke shop. Just for the dear Inspector (someone had to keep the old man on his toes).

He chuckled softly, turning down a particular alleyway that connected two streets. The garbage here was usually a rich persons garbage, and rich people got careless. He lifted up a bin, carefully rummaging around for things like jewelry and spare change. As he fished out a worn out wallet, pulling out the two bills that were contained within, he began to sing:

Je suis tombé par terre;
C'est la faute à Voltaire;
Le nez dans le ruisseau;
C'est la faute à Rousseau;
Je ne suis pas notaire;
C'est la faute à Voltaire;
Je suis petit oiseau,
C'est la faute à Rousseau….

He broke off from his singing as he heard someone shift around in the alleyway. The urchin frowned, stuffing the bills into the pocket of his jeans, and turning to face a man, slightly hidden in the shadows, laying on the ground of the alley.

Gavroche frowned, most children would be afraid of a man hidden in the shadows. But Gav, the fearless, was only annoyed, “Whut r’ you lookin’ at, eh?” He made a shooing motion with his hands, “Get lost, ‘fore I knock yah teeth out fer starin!” Gavroche was truly fearless, even in the face of adults. He wouldn’t be cowed by some bum that wanted his cash.

But the bum didn’t respond, didn’t even snort. Curiousity overcame the gamin’s mind, and carefully he inched forward. The dim light of the alleyway finally casting light on the man…

Well, more like boy than man. Gav was sure he was barely older than Pontmercy and the other blokes in the Les Mis. He wore a funny sort of uniform, and a belt.

Gavroche leaned in carefully, eyeing the belt. It looked like something future-cops wore, except he’d never seen a future cop wear this uniform. A gun-like object was near the boy’s hip, Gav leaned over slowly and withdrew it. It wasn’t like any gun he’d seen before.

Gavroche scoffed, and withdrew another object on the belt that looked like a wallet, standing up and giving it a look through.

Strange looking cash, but cash was cash.

“Oi, wake up.” Gavroche said, kicking out at the boy’s thigh rather hard before backing away. He twirled the gun-thing by what looked like the trigger, giving the waking man a wary look.

(ooc: Click Here For Gav's song :3)

[Pavel Chekov]

The day started like any other for the youngest of the Enterprise's crew. Wake up, get ready for shift, shift and then break for 'lunch'. Nothing out of the normal at all, no sudden attacks, no emergencies and no spacial anomaly in sight. There was no warning signs of the day being any different from some of the other calm days where the Enterprise was headed to a specific destination and that had pleased all of the crew yet there was a wiggling sense of dread spreading throughout the ship once 'lunch' arrived.

The niggling sense of dread was not to be traced back to anywhere but it remained there only to grow ever so slightly with each passing moment. Not one member of the crew escaped the sense of dread not even the most oblivious of members. However, none were on edge as they tucked the dread away for a later date even the most quick to look into the sense had tucked it away like it was of no consequence. Oh how wrong they all were to hide away the dreaded feeling as if it was nothing for they knew not of what was about to occur.

Tucked away, as well, was a little brunette who sat in his room working away on some project he'd found interesting. Not one worry was there in the boy's head for like the rest of the crew he'd ignored his sense of dread. Sparks flew through the air from time to time as the boy tinkered away on his latest technological interest, what it was one knew not. Time flew past as the brunette worked without a notice not until an hour had past.

The sound of the boy's communicator going off was what distracted him from his work for it was a clear sound that was never to be ignored. One never knew whether the communicator calls could bring bad news or have important orders to be given. Setting his tools down, he carefully got up and rushed over to the speaker on the wall to answer the call that was given.

"Need 'ya in the engine room, laddie." The chief engineer's room rang out.

"Aye, Sir!" Pavel chirped in reply before turning the communicator off again as he began to rush to get ready. Scotty, as the chief engineer was affectionately called, had sounded like getting to the engine room was rather important and not to be left waiting for long. What reasoning for the boy being needed was unknown but it didn't sound good.

Attaching his phaser to his hip as well as his communicator, Pavel rushed out of his room to the lift. It took a few minutes for the lift to reach the engineering bay but as soon as it did Pavel ran out at top speed towards where he spotted Scotty. However, that was the moment the dread came to fruition for Pavel reached Scotty only for the next thing he knew to be darkness and a resounding thud.

A sharp kick to his thigh was what woke the boy up as a yelp escaped his lips from the pain. On the contrary, a couple of swear words in Russian may or may not of also slipped out his mouth as his eyes opened to the light and the foot that kicked his thigh. What the boy's eyes found appeared to be the foot of a child which made a slight glare appear upon the young face belonging to Pavel. Slowly sitting up with a wince at the pain in his now sore body. Other than getting kicked and falling to the ground, Pavel had no idea what had made his body as sore as it was.

"Vhat vas zat for?" The annoyance was clear in the boy's voice as well as his face. The Russian accent was prominent in the boy's voice as he had spoken which was fairly common but it was worse from just awakening again after some strange thing had happened that he couldn't figure out.

Slowly sitting up, Pavel's eyes widened double their size as he spotted what was in the child's hand. "Don't touch zat! That's dangerous!" He almost yelled, a phaser wasn't something you held without a care for a simple press of a button one could be obliterated.

[Gavroche]

The moment the kick landed, the boy in the funny clothing let out a yelp and a stream of words in an eastern European language of some sort. Gavroche himself had grown up in the bowls of Paris, and had encountered all sorts of traders and thieves. Gypsies normally, but there were folk from Romania, England, Italy, even the Americas. Gavroche just couldn’t place the words at first, but then the boy said the curse for ‘ass’ and he figured it out soon enough.

Ah, the lad was a bloody Rusky then? Gavroche made a face and kicked him again for the trouble of having to figure out what he was, plus the fact that he was Russia. The Russians and French never got on, see. Always fighting wars and such, and Gavroche being a loyal Frenchman(boy) had to do his duty and kick the Russian a second time.

He was sure Enjolras would approve…. Sorta.

"Vhat vas zat for?"

Gavroche stuck his hands in pockets of his ratty jeans, his little finger messing with a hole he found there. He hacked up some spit loudly and rudely, turning to the side to spit it out onto the ground. Because that was what manly men did, yah know.

“Yah were asleep, that’s whut.” He explained, wiping his mouth with the back of a sleeve that smelled like the dumpster Gavroche had found it in. “An’ yer Russian. I’m French. It’s whut we do, yah know, kickin’ each other back an forth.” Gav thought about it, twirling the phaser in his hand, “You can try to kick meh…. But I’m too quick an’ not unconscious.”

"Don't touch zat! That's dangerous!"

Gavroche took a step back as the Russian sat up. He gave the phaser another easy look, as if he didn’t quite believe the young man when he spoke. “Don’t look too dangerous.” He pointed it at a dumpster sideways, “Looks mighty-like a water pistol to me….”

His fingers teasingly pressed at the trigger, taking a few steps away from Pavel in case the boy tried to tackle him or something. “So whuts it do, Rusky? Squirt water? Maybe a flower pops out?....”

[Pavel Chekov]

With all the reactions someone could give, Pavel did not expect to be kicked once again for seemingly no reason or at least no reason in his opinion. Rubbing his thigh gently, the boy knew quite well that he'd have a lovely colourful bruise by tomorrow morning or even earlier than that. The brunette knew if his captain saw the bruise then he'd likely laugh at the boy while the chief medical officer would grumble about how Pavel shouldn't be getting bruises for no reason. It wasn't not a pleasant thought having to go see Dr. McCoy about a simple bruise on the boy's thigh since McCoy often was rather grumpy though that did not mean he wouldn't be gentle on patching the kid up just that he would complain. From the side lines, watching McCoy work was something exciting and funny for Pavel but as soon as it's him in the other person's place then it's just plain terrifying.

'Nope. Not going to admit to dr. McCoy about this bruise.' The boy thought to himself in Russian as he glared at the kid behind the bruise.

A brief look of disgust crossed Pavel's face at the child spitting right in front of him. It was rather uncommon for those from the brunette's time to spit as the child did. However, clearly Pavel was not in the 23rd century anymore by the look of where he was and from the way the child was dressed.

"Zat is crazy. Ve Russians don't care about you French anymore, ve don't mind you." He complained at the child. "Vhere am I? Vhat year is this anyway?" The boy complained from where he was sat up against the wall.

Rolling his eyes at the child's pointless responses about the phaser. Definitely not the 23rd century. Lucky for Pavel, the child hadn't actually pressed on the trigger yet which meant there wasn't any chance of messing with the past too much. On the contrary, if the kid actually set it off who knew what would happen. All starfleet officers had to train before using a phaser no matter how easy it was to use because of how easy it was to also injure one's self. When in a battle, no one wants their phaser to back fire on them especially if it's not set to stun. The boy hoped greatly that the phaser was still set on stun at the moment.

"Zat is not a toy! It's a veapon! Not alloved to tell you vhat it does...just zat it is dangerous." He tried his best to get his point across without revealing too much but it was ever so difficult especially when it came to a child as young as the one before him.

"And don't call me Rusky! Zat is not my name nor my title." He complained to the child. It stuck the young man as rude to be referred to as a 'Rusky' which most definitely was not used in the 23rd century at all unless you wanted to be punished by those around you.

[Gavroche]

Gav had grown up during a time when French and Russians did not get along. This had to do with several reasons, or so says politicians. The main reason of course was war. Too much fighting in between the two super powers had caused a general feeling of bad blood to rise up between them. Any self respecting Frenchman hated Russians merely on the principle that they were Russians.

So Gavroche, being a child of ten, did exactly what all the adults around him did and judged the young man first on the country he came from. Such was the curse of the era of Nationalism: suddenly the place you lived was much more than rock and dirt. It was home. And home was a place to protect with your life no matter what.

He felt an innate sense of indignation as the boy grimaced at Gav's spit. Probably a rich boy too, all pompous and thinking he was about everyone on top of being Russian. Probably never even been in a real fist-fight either. One thing you could say about gamins, they could survive on their own without mommy and daddy's money to protect them.

"Zat is crazy. Ve Russians don't care about you French anymore, ve don't mind you."

Gavroche raised a brow, huh.... not exactly what he was expecting. Usually you call a Russian a Rusky and they start calling you a French Pig, or something else in Russian that you usually didn't understand but assumed it was bad. "'Ow is it crazy? We fight each other all the time, worse than an old married couple we do, or siblings or the like. We gotta mind a bit, else we wouldn' be 'uman." It didn't make sense for a Russian to not mind a Frenchman. Here he thought the lot of them were hotblooded to make up for all that cold they lived in.

"Vhere am I? Vhat year is this anyway?"

"2014, in New 'ork City.... wait a mo'." Gavroche blinked at the young man, "Whut year is it supposed tah be fer you?"

Seemed the Russian was like Gav, would you fancy that? "I'm from 1832 mehself." He explained, giving the young man a cheeky little grin, "Seems the lot o' us are poppin' round 'ere like daisies. Us time travelin' folk..." He wondered if the young man was from 1832 too, or if he was from some other future time. It would make sense, given his clothes.

"Zat is not a toy! It's a veapon! Not alloved to tell you vhat it does...just zat it is dangerous."

Gavroche looked amused at the young man's alarmed face, reaching around and sticking the phaser behind his belt like a gun. "Then I'm certainly not givin' it back to you. You might try to zap meh with it or somthin'. You might be a crazy person." He pointed out, looking a bit pleased with his logic. "You can 'ave it back when you prove yer not actually crazy."

"And don't call me Rusky! Zat is not my name nor my title."

"Aw son, don' be like that! I call yah 'Rusky'.... you call me 'French Pig'... Try it it's fun." Gavroche barked out a laugh, blue eyes sparkling with amusement, "So yah don' want me callin' you than, whut is yer name then? I'm Gavroche."