Work Text:
Scotty let out a long whistle. "Well, ain't she a ripsnorter?"
Instead of agreeing, though, only blank stares and quirked eyebrows were offered.
His brows furrowed. Did they not understand what he was saying here? "A ripsnorter. Ya know, a sockdolager; a lollapalooza; a corker; a pippin; a dilly—a doozy."
Nothing. Not even a flash of comprehension among them.
One more try: "A humdinger, you ken?"
It was Spock who spoke for the crew present. "I believe the obvious response to be that we do not."
Disappointed, Scotty's shoulders slumped. "Jus' meant she's a beaut s'all."
Finally, exclamations of understanding and murmurs of agreement rang out. It was too late, though; the moment had already been lost.
How he could be so misunderstood while speaking perfectly acceptable (if somewhat accented) Standard, he'd never know. He just hated that his beloved Enterprise had suffered for it. She didn't deserve that.