"Fuck." A phaser's unlikely to do much, under the circumstances. She doesn't stand down, though - or flinch, when some unseen chill descends in the cave. The wind hasn't changed direction, but something has dampened what warmth the moss had thrown. "It's coming our way."
The cold only intensifies. Spock stands, one fluid motion, and reaches out with his hands, fingers splayed toward cold nothingness. "Hold your fire," he says to Ortega.
"I'm holding it." She's not putting the phaser down, but she hasn't fired. From the corner of her eye, she watches Spock attempt to touch the...whatever it is. There's nothing there, around his hands, and yet something's glowing.
If she weren't looking at it, it wouldn't make sense. Even looking at it, it doesn't. "Cuidado."
Cold mist swirls around them. Spock tries to touch the center of the creature's mind, get an idea of its unease. "My mind to your mind," he says, "my thoughts to your thoughts."
There is confusion in the darkness, something like curiosity, and- pain. So much more pain than he could have ever expected. Spock staggers back, and he screams.
"Spock -" she shouts, and if the creature were corporeal, maybe she would've fired on it. (Probably she would have fired on it.)
Instead, she rushes over to him, phaser shoved in its holster as she reaches out to steady him. There's a sickly familiarity to putting an arm around him, one that has nothing to do with Spock himself. "What is it? What's going on."
"Pain," he drawls. It's the only salient fact, the only information worth sharing.
The mist thickens, pushed deeper into the cave by another gust of howling wind. It makes the skin tingle, makes the senses sharpen and stretch. Spock tries to clear his mind, but keeps coming back to that anguish- "pain, Ortega."
It's not enough to go on. What's she supposed to do with an icy mist that got hurt? But she can feel the hairs on her arms rising, as much from the eeriness as the chill, and maybe that's as close as she can get to feeling what he does. Childhood stories of La Llorona wandering the night - that's what it's like.
Whatever it is, it doesn't mean them harm. She closes her free hand around Spock's elbow, telling herself it's to keep him on his feet. "How do we stop it?"
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If she weren't looking at it, it wouldn't make sense. Even looking at it, it doesn't. "Cuidado."
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There is confusion in the darkness, something like curiosity, and- pain. So much more pain than he could have ever expected. Spock staggers back, and he screams.
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Instead, she rushes over to him, phaser shoved in its holster as she reaches out to steady him. There's a sickly familiarity to putting an arm around him, one that has nothing to do with Spock himself. "What is it? What's going on."
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The mist thickens, pushed deeper into the cave by another gust of howling wind. It makes the skin tingle, makes the senses sharpen and stretch. Spock tries to clear his mind, but keeps coming back to that anguish- "pain, Ortega."
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Whatever it is, it doesn't mean them harm. She closes her free hand around Spock's elbow, telling herself it's to keep him on his feet. "How do we stop it?"