TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

[tenforward_m]

#1

Option 001. Alien planet, marketplace: So you're new to this whole space travel thing. The ship is cool and all, but there are hundreds of alien worlds out there. You want to explore. To see what the universe REALLY looks like.

Well, here's your chance! Your first stop is this lovely indoor marketplace, which looks kind of like a mall. There are stalls one after the other as far as the eye can see, and they sell all kinds of things: food, clothes, trinkets, animals, fabrics, jewelry, perfumes, books, etc etc. Some things look human, easy to recognize; other things look very alien. There are two levels, and constant chatter as people hawk their wares and discuss prices.

Do you want to explore? Poke at the weird shops? Buy a gift for a new friend? Flirt with someone at the food court? Maybe you see a pickpocket, and must run to the aid of the victim. Maybe there's some other villainy afoot. After all, a crowded marketplace is a good place for villains to lurk, causing trouble. Whether you're a hero or just an unassuming traveler, there proves to be some adventure for you on this planet.


2

Option 002. Aboard the Enterprise, Ten Forward: You have no idea what just happened. One minute you were home, and now you're on a spaceship, in the middle of a crowded room. It looks like a bar. There are people eating and drinking, some in uniform, others not. Some are clearly aliens.

You've managed to land in Ten Forward a long bar with barstools and a bartender, tables sprinkled throughout, and the far wall is nothing but windows out to space. It looks like a nice lounge, low conversation making the room hum.

Better ask some questions and find out where you are, or just tap the closest person on the shoulder and try to make friends. The bar is open.

Comments

[queenofthenile]

A bazaar! Phryne simply adores bazaars, and this one may very well be the most exceptional collection of exotic items she has ever viewed. Dot would be crossing herself, and Jack would give his crossest look, but Phryne flips the filmy end of her stole back across her shoulder, and strides forward into the marketplace, heels tapping out a vibrant rhythm. She fancies it matches the heartbeat of this strange, otherworldly place -- or her own, which has never been able to plod along at the usual sedate pace.

Why walk when you can dance, after all?

But it's a point of fact that, as her things are still in Melbourne and the replicators hardly a good judge of the finer fabrics, she's in a mood to make some purchases. That glorious burgundy satin, for example -- a stunning color.

Perhaps there's a tailor here, too? After all, though she lacks the customary currency for this particular marketplace, Miss Fisher is never without something of value to trade.

[osirian_doctor]

Simon glances up from a shawl he'd been admiring. There may not be any point in looking for gifts for River in this place, not knowing if or when he'll be able to return to her, but he can't help it.

All her life, he's looked out for things to make River smile, and that lifetime's habit isn't one he can break.

The clicking of shoes makes him look up as a woman passes, dressed in clothes unlike anything he knows, but with a richness about them that remind him of times long past, of a life that wasn't stuck on the edges of civilization with the people the Core's forgotten.

When she pauses to look at some fabric, he smiles.

"They have some nice things, don't they?"

John Geary | The Lost Fleet | Ten Forward

[fatedbythelivingstars]

"What about Senator Navarro? What did those digs..."

A man in a, clearly military, uniform pauses, having been winked in mid-sentance. His eyes widen as he looks around, startled.

The man is Captain John "Black Jack" Geary, temporary Admiral of the Alliance Fleet, and this is not where he expected to be.

After his deliberations with the Alliance Grand Council, he and Co-President of the Callas Republic, and member of the Alliance Senate, Victoria Rione, had stepped outside...

...now Rione was nowhere to be found and Geary found himself in some sort of swank bar. He pales, looking around a bit more.frantically.

"Ancestors preserve me..." He mutters under his breath.

Re: John Geary | The Lost Fleet | Ten Forward

[nottheritestuff]

And he gets walked into by some scrawny teenager who wasn't there a second ago and apparently has a great deal of timing because he managed to walk into someone who wasn't there a second ago.

"Ow! Fuckit!"

[osirian_doctor]

It's been a long time since Simon could set foot in a public place without constantly wanting to look over his shoulder.

Every inhabited planet Serenity has landed on, he's been on the lookout for Alliance Federals. Even before he left Osiris, he'd been on edge, waiting for someone to realize what he was planning. Waiting for it all to go wrong. Being on Serenity had helped, of course, but there have been so many close shaves and the stakes are so high he's never allowed himself to relax.

But here, the Alliance doesn't exist. He doesn't exist.

There may be no River here with him on the Enterprise, but there's no arrest warrant out for him either.

So he's wandering, hands in his pockets, around the bazaar, stopping every now and then to finger the fabric on a dress that would be pretty on River, or Kaylee, and wishing they were there.

[tanteiotaku]

Along the way, there's a young man trying on a few different fedoras. He seems to be enjoying making "cool" faces in the mirror a bit more than considering which of the hats he prefers. He's off in his own little world, so much so that he doesn't notice Simon's there until he reaches for another hat blindly and whacks him in the arm. "Ah, sorry," he gave him a nod.

Adama | Battlestar Galactica (1978)

[kobol]

It's been some time since Adama's set foot on a planet, longer still to have the luxury of wandering around a market. The fleet didn't have anything like it and the last time he was on a planet Starbuck had ended up a constable and he had a Siress hanging off his arm coercing him into kissing her. Here however, there's no Colonial fleet, no Galactica, his children aren't about and he's honestly lost among the foreign items presented before him, and he's rather enjoying it when he's not worrying over the hows of being here. At least here he doesn't have the Council harassing him or has to worry over Cylons, at least so far.

Dressed still in his uniform of blue with silver trim, he picks up a bottle and looks at it with narrowed eyes before lifting an eyebrow at the vendor trying to sell the full bottle to him. "And you are certain it's ambrosia?"

Finding the beverage was hard enough back home after the destruction of the colonies, but here? He's honestly shocked, after everything else being different he hadn't expected finding it and he's a little uncertain on if it's a true piece of home or not.

Re: Adama | Battlestar Galactica (1978)

[pyrrha_pandora]

Hey look, it's a Pyrrha--wrangling a squirmy toddler who isn't particularly happy about being carried, but she doesn't want to let him walk around on his own, not here. He's fast and who knows how safe it is for little kids?

"I used to know a guy who made ambrosia," she says, opinion completely unsolicited. "I never got to try any, but people always said it was really good."

Andrew McKee | Original Character | Ten Forward

[just_be_quiet]

Andrew had just gotten off the bus. It is offically summer break for him. He had loosened the collar of his shirt and undone the buttons to his coat. There had been a meeting earlier in the day because there had been some questions about what to do with him next year.

The school wants to have him in faster classes. He supposes he is okay with that just so long as they don't try to force the issue when it comes to talking. He doesn't care for being really chatty.

"Bernie!" He had expected to meet his dog on the way up the drive way. He blinks when it is no longer very sunny or in the low eighties. He blinks even more at the strange outfits people are in.

He frowns and sets his book bag down at a mostly empty table then tries to get an adult's attention. "Excuse me? I... I really don't think I'm supposed to be here. This isn't my Aunt's house."

This is very upsetting right now. He wants his dog.

Re: Andrew McKee | Original Character | Ten Forward

[reginald_barclay]

Oh boy.

Oh boy. This is not Barclay's strong suit--he's a systems diagnostic engineer, so his strong suit is scanning things and figuring out what's wrong. He's happiest when left to his own devices, to sort out problems, but this seems to be happening lately--people appearing, and he's the closest one at hand to help them figure it out.

"Uh," he says. "No, this is the Enterprise."

Sakuta Ryūsei | Kamen Rider Fourze | Bazaar

[fatefulmeteor]

Well... This was new.

Ryūsei had just opened the door to the Rabbit Hutch, stepped through it, like he had done so many times... only this time, he found himself in another place entirely...

It wasn't ridiculous to assume that this place was on another planet, or even dimension. The corridor connecting the Rabbit Hutch Moon Base to Amanogawa High School was created by Astroswitches and Cosmic Energy. Who knows what could happen.

Still, he's not panicking. Not yet. There'd be a way home, he's sure of it.

As he wanders around the bazaar, taking in the various sights, he has something blue in his right hand, partly obscured by his fingers.

Re: Sakuta Ryūsei | Kamen Rider Fourze | Bazaar

[just_a_chemical]

It's so strange to Eleanor: being on the surface of a planet, being in a bazaar, being around so many normal and healthy-seeming people. Oh, she remembers shops from when she was a child, but to be in one again--well. She'll get used to it.

For now, she's just looking at a stall full of assorted secondhand trinkets and mechanical things. She has no idea what most of them are, or how they work, but they can't be that hard to take apart, can they?

"Hey, does this look broken to you?"

Irian t'Aumne | Star Trek Online AU | Bazaar

[aehallh]

In her own world — or, perhaps more accurately, her own time period, some forty years ahead of this one — Irian never has any time to do something like shopping for its own sake, or for pleasure. Even if she did, she likely wouldn't. Unfortunately, she's the sort of officer who rarely spares herself any time to take shore leave or do much for fun; all her life, she's been a career woman, even though the career itself has changed over the years.

In this case, though, it's either stay on board the Enterprise or go do something that might be mildly more entertaining. Since she has nothing as yet to do on board ship, except being watched by security officers who — understandably — probably still half suspect her of being a Romulan spy, the prospect of a few hours at the marketplace wins out.

She's not really expecting to find anything of use here, let alone anything from home. New Romulus is a beautiful world, and more and more every day her people continue to make it theirs, but there are no replacements for ch'Rihan and ch'Havran (do they even call them that here? she wonders). Irian would never admit aloud to being homesick, but she is, all the same. She's browsing the various stalls and kiosks, examining things here and there with a vague, aloof sort of interest, at least until she comes across the scarf. It's the color that catches her eye first, crimson and rust, dyed in a pattern that's very traditionally Rihannsu; she reaches out a hand to examine it more closely, and her demeanor loses a bit of its aloofness to sheer surprise as she finds herself caught off guard by how fine and delicate it is — as if she's barely touching more than air. Irian knows counterfeit tivish by feel; this is the real thing, and she runs it gently through her hands, cautious not to catch the fabric on anything. It's at least a little ridiculous to feel so suddenly sentimental about a scarf, of all things, but it's almost impossible to find genuine tivish at home anymore, after the fall of the Hearthworlds.

She wouldn't wear a piece like this herself — though she thinks, a bit absently, of her ship's surgeon, who collects scarves like some Terrans collect old Earth money — but, perhaps, it might be worth having anyway.


[ ooc: Since Irian's AU is a little complicated — info and stuff is in her journal. :) ]

Re: Irian t'Aumne | Star Trek Online AU | Bazaar

[bet_on_the_river]

Booker's never been much of one for shopping--you buy what you need, what you can afford, and that's that. The sort of asceticism that comes from not having much money, and not seeing much point in self-indulgence anyway.

But he's won a bit at cards lately, so he's got some money, and since they don't charge for anything on the ship, what else is he going to do with it? He doesn't need anything, and if he doesn't spend it on things for other people, he'll just end up finding whatever passes for alcohol hereabouts.

"Those scarves are nice," he says. "Do you think a teenage girl would wear one?"

Tora Ziyal | Star Trek: DS9 | Bazaar

[blindadoration]

The Promenade of Deep Space 9 had been far less overwhelming than this, even when full of Bajorans, Humans, Ferengi, Klingons, and whoever else was there on any given day. There was no pocket of respectful silence before the Temple, no safe haven of Garak's shop, and Ziyal was feeling a little bowled over by the noise and chaos without someone to ground her.

She gravitates towards a stall selling art supplies, it's quieter than the rest and maybe she can talk a little with the kindly older woman running it. She doesn't seem that taken aback by her Cardassian features, which is a certain plus.

Re: Tora Ziyal | Star Trek: DS9 | Bazaar

[blind_arrogance]

Dukat looked around. He didn't like having Ziyal out of sight--it seemed like 5 minutes ago she was thirteen and now, in an instant, had grown into a young woman. It took every fiber of his being to resist locking her in her quarters and throwing away the key. But, she was here. And she was his daughter. Family was everything. Even, it seemed, if they were responsible for ruining your entire political career.

He spotted her by a booth selling art supplies, and smiled, walking over to her. Dukat put an arm around her shoulders and looked down at her, and the items she was eyeing.

"See anything you like, my dear?"

Quark | Star Trek Deep Space 9 | 2

[norefunds]

You know the universe really hates you when one minute you're running your own bar and the next your just a patron in someone else's. Quark slowly set a full drink that had previously been an empty glass down on a table that he was pretty sure was a bartop a minute ago and blinked.

"What the-" he muttered in a bewildered whisper, glancing around at the unconcerned patrons and the bartender- who definitely wasn't him- working busily behind the counter. A dream? Holosuite accident? Prophet vision? Quark hurriedly began patting at his suit and examining his hands to make sure he was still himself at least. A touch to his own ears confirmed it. Still him.

"All right then. Whoever is doing this- cut it out right now. I'm losing money hanging around in someone else's bar!" he shouted, irritably addressing the open air.

OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG OMG

[blind_arrogance]

"Quark." Dukat sat down next to him, rather surprised but if it was a choice between Quark and Guinan he'd take Quark every time. That and he was pretty sure the little troll still owed him a case of Cardassian Ale.

"Do you have any idea just how hard it is to run things on Terok Nor from a Federation ship?" It was bad enough he could see the Occupation winding down. Central Command was pressuring him to keep the Bajorans under control by any means necessary, the Detapa Council wanted to leave and he certainly couldn't fix the situation from here.

"You don't happen to have a bottle of Bajoran springwine that just happened to be transported with you?"

002 - Dylan Hunt, Andromeda

[dreams_dont_die]

And suddenly, the Enterprise has another captain aboard. Not that any of the crew will recognize the insignia on his collar or the style of his uniform, because this one is High Guard. He's a tall man, broad-shouldered, dark-haired, and he's striding along a corridor on his ship when very suddenly, he's not.

Dylan stops in mid-stride, senses on sudden alert as he looks around at this place which is entirely new.

"Andromeda?"

But there's no reply from the ship's AI.

Not that it's a particular surprise to him. Because he knows his ship, top to bottom and this bar is not aboard his ship.

SQUEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

[heartofasun]

And then suddenly there's a sun avatar flying in his direction. It wasn't incredibly dignified and was probably a lot more reminiscent of her purple self, but hey, she grew up, not changed completely. At least she didn't jump on him.

"Dylan!"

Trance gave him a hug, wrapping her arms around him and then stepped back.

"You made it. And you're on time too." She looked around and motioned to a table for them to sit down at. "Do you have any questions?" Trance asked, knowing he did. But she wasn't about to volunteer anything. Not just yet anyway. It was still early.

Telemachus Rhade | Andromeda

[not_gaheris]

Rhade had been sitting at the bar on Seefra, arguing with Harper over whether or not he could get another drink. Harper was under the mistaken impression that he was cut off. You'd think after growing up with Nietzcheans, the little man would have figured out by now that antagonizing them was a bad idea. Especially for one so itsy bitsy. Fortunately for Harper, Rhade was so sloshed he could barely stand. Good thing he was sitting down.

"Harper, give me that bottle." Rhade addressed Harper who was....there a second ago. He looked around. Not in the same place he was. Well, at least it was still a bar. And it wasn't Seefra. Probably Dylan or Trance's fault.

"....whatever. Someone get me another drink."

Re: Telemachus Rhade | Andromeda

[dreams_dont_die]

He knows that voice.

It's not how he's used to hearing it, but he knows it. He doesn't know how or why it's here, but that voice used to be at his right hand.

Until Rhade, best friend, best man, first officer, turned on him and betrayed him to a rebellion. Oh. And tried to kill him.

He's drawn his force lance almost before he's aware of it.

"Rhade."

Garyn Balvadares, the Nerevarine | The Elder Scrolls: Morrowind

[moonandstar]

Nerevar Redoran is furious. So furious he has yet to sheath his blade, much less clean it. He had drawn it from his bedpost when the attacker made his fatal wrong step. It had remained drawn when he interrogated Hetman Guls and Captain Pullia about where the intruder could have come from. It is still drawn now, as he searches with them for the source of the breach.

No writ.

They carried no writ.

That Orvas Dren would send assassins into his home - his home, the home of the savior of Morrowind, without whom he would not even be alive to murder, steal, and seize litters of Khajiit from their homes - is a sign of utmost desperation in itself. But he understands it. Welcomes it, even, for it is a sign of his fear and respect for his Hortator.

But the Camonna Tong, for all their bluster, all their talk of Morrowind-for-the-Dunmer, has sent these assassins with no honorable writ of execution, defiling thousands of years of Dunmer tradition. He had thought such a thing was beneath even them. They had profaned his home, the home he had built, the home where he would one day raise his children, with the blood of the lowest kind of mercenary scum. Who carried no writ. Make no mistake, the Morag Tong would hear of this.

Lord Nerevar has spent much time of late in Bal Isra. It is his home, his sanctuary, and at the very least he must know its defenses. So he is instantly aware when, not for the first time, he finds himself very suddenly in another place.

His eyes narrow and his nostrils flare, as he leaps into a defensive stance. Someone has taken him here - a sorcerer, no doubt. But a sorcerer in whose employ?

There is only one possible answer to this question.

"ORVAS DREN!" he bellows. "SHOW YOURSELF!"

Re: Garyn Balvadares, the Nerevarine | The Elder Scrolls: Morrowind

[dreams_dont_die]

Dylan's still uneasy in this place, even after talking to Trance. He doesn't trust nothing else to happen, and he's considering what his options might be when he hears the shout and turns to see who's doing the shouting.

This could be what he's been expecting to happen.

If it's not, it's sure something he can at least do something about. A creature of a race completely unfamiliar to him, shouting, wielding a sword that looks very much like it's stained in blood?

This is the point at which instinct takes over, instinct and years of High Guard training and High Guard operations and living with the lance as a part of himself. Slowly, not taking his eyes off whoever this is, Dylan draws his lance and holds it out in front of him. He extends the lance and, in one smooth movement, steps forward to take up a classic defensive stance of his own.

He can read the body language of combat well, and this looks like somebody who's not about to leap straight to the attack, but he's going to take guard anyway.

"Whoever you're looking for, they're not here!"

[This is what you've got. Big guy, big stick.]

Lal | TNG Pocket Canon | 02

[paroxysmen]

[ The young woman sitting at the bar may appear familiar to some of the crew of the ship... Maybe even to some of the new residents who had interacted with her when she was in her infancy. Though, she does look quite different now.

While her facial features are the same, her hair is a dark shade of red today, and much longer, worn in a long fishtail braid. Her simple dress has been swapped out for something a little more trendy (and expensive). A jacket woven out of strips of battery powered material that light up. It's almost difficult to imagine that she might be attempting to be inconspicuous.

She's not even sure if she's honestly trying at this point. Her father hadn't allowed her to say goodbye to her old friends last time they were aboard a ship called the Enterprise. Not exactly this ship. The replacement the future held for this one.

While she knows tampering with the past could have serious repercussions, she isn't sure she can resist interacting with all of them now, surprising them with her new abilities. She bites her lip in thought, slowly scanning the bar for one of the familiar faces. One of those will surely help her decide what to do. ]

[she_listens]

In this time and this place, Guinan is never too far off.

She takes her usual place behind the bar, speaking with patrons as they approach and scanning the room for others. Her eyes keep drifting back to Lal. She's so different that Guinan can't place her at first, but she knows she knows her.

"Can I help you?"

The 8th Doctor | Doctor Who | 01

[tragic_optimist]

Well, this was an odd situation.

Last he had known, The Doctor had returned form seeing Susan again, trying to get her to go get some help all the while ignoring his pleas for her to join him. "Too much work here" she kept saying, "too much to clean up on Earth now." She was obviously in pain, even if it had been a decade in her timeline since Alex's death. But for him it was as raw as the day before.

Hell, it may have even been the day before. The Doctor had been jumping around so much in the TARDIS, trying to find every loophole, every contradicting rule, even foolish little bylaw to find a way to get Lucie and Alex back. It had been long and exhausting, but when he was busy the Doctor made sure to lose himself. Because stopping meant thinking.

The sad thing is The Doctor was always thinking. And thinking. And thinking and thinking and thinking and-

Then he was in a Different Place.

He couldn't feel the TARDIS, at least not in the way he always did. He was in what could be best described as a bazaar, but with a large number of alien species. Which he did not recognize. For a few moments, The Doctors mind is pulled away from Lucie Millers face and to the odd sight around him, where things are both familiar and unfamiliar. The aliens are all humanoid, but not in any of the forms he knew.

"Now this is a curiosity."

[and_she_waited]

Amy tends to go for the alien bazaars and markets more so than the screaming and running for her life, so she's not going to complain about her current location. Not that the latter won't happen here, but as usual she'll cross that bridge when she gets to it.

She's having a look at a stand set up with holographic chronometers, next to another that's pushing some odd alien meat she's got no intention of trying, when she hears The Doctor.

Not her Doctor, of course, no. But something about his voice makes her straighten and turn, looking him over with her customary stern expression.

"All right?" she says.

John Kennex | Almost Human | Ten Forward

[likeavirtue]

It's not the easiest thing in the world to rattle Kennex and make him believe he could possibly have been transported from one world to another, even given the kind of world he comes from.

Earth. 2048. Technology is so advanced, it's creating thousands of new problems, and thousands of new ways to get away with crime. Every human cop gets an android partner. Humans are genetically modified to perfection. Androids, even more so. Some even have 'souls'. Synthetic, yes, but a soul nevertheless.

Take his partner, Dorian, for example. An ex-decommissioned DRN android of an older model-make. Sometimes Kennex is convinced the guy feels more than he does, and he's 100% stinkin' human.

But now when Kennex finds himself standing in the middle of an intergalactic bar (not knowing it's an intergalactic bar) all he can think is that somehow someone's got a hold of some new transporter technology, and given his luck, they decided to target him as a test subject.

Well, fuck that.

Shoulders are tense, and his hand hovers over the holster at his side.

"All right, who the hell's responsible for this?"

[decideformyself]

When Kennex appears, a colorfully-dressed Japanese boy with paperclips in his hair glances up from the weird alien beverage he's been sipping at the bar.

It's one of those attitudes. Philip has to smile fondly. In a way, it reminds him of Shotaro. "Nobody within earshot, I assure you," he replies.

[gossipmonger]

As JK peruses the stalls at the alien marketplace, his expression ranges from amused to intrigued to baffled. Some jewelry at one shop or another earns a look of disgust. How tacky.

Tacky, and yet kind of hilarious. He looks around surreptitiously before grabbing a bracelet and slipping it into his pocket.

[fatefulmeteor]

And Ryūsei stops, staring at the familiar blazer of Amanogawa High School... The hair, the garish decoration to it...

"JK?"

Icheb/Second - Ten Forward

[brunali_borg]

[One minute he was standing in the damaged remains of the Borg cube, the next he was standing in a bar with lots of people. He didn't understand where he was or how he had come to be there. There were no other Borg here. Who was he to ask for instructions?]

[simulatedmedic]

The Doctor is just staring despondantly around.

He nearly didn't believe them when they said that he was on the USS Enterprise. They were, after all, just about to enter a Transwarp Conduit to lead them home to the Alpha Quadrant, and he was about to start delivering a baby.

Of course, the second they mentioned Q, he understood.

So, now, he was just milling around. Not sure what to do with himself.

[abatement]

There's a woman walking along the bazaar.





There is little of note about her, perhaps, except her beauty -- precise and almost chilly, blunted but not disguised by the large sunglasses she wears -- and figure, and yet there is something isolated about her: some quality that makes the crowd part around her rather than jostle into her space. She is keeping to herself, holding her few purchases in a large bag tucked against the side of her body, under one arm. Her hair is very black, her dress very red, her skin the pale porcelain of someone most used to the indoors, but with a faint burned flush of pink high on her cheekbones. It's there when she pushes the glasses up into her hair to study a bolt of cloth, a statuette, a bushel basket of strangely-shaped fruit more carefully. One might conclude, after watching her, that she is on some sort of holiday, in a warmer clime than she's accustomed.

She should, perhaps, stay out of the sun.

/sobs

[00_7]

"You might not want that one."

There's a hand that lightly covers hers, strong and larger over her long and delicate fingers, his skin rough and calloused from years of abuse in the field. James Bond, ex-spy with one of the shortest careers in espionage while remaining alive, guides her hand over to the right, fingers always touching, almost dancing across the basket of fruit in various shades of pink, some deeper and more vivid than others.

He lets her hand stop, hovering over a deep, deep pink one, its flesh looking as though it wants to burst from the skin. Bond honestly has no idea what the fruit is, or whether he's chosen the right one.

But that hardly matters. It was really never about the fruit anyway.

Things could be a lot worse than they are, being trapped on a spaceship (though currently moored to this strange planet) with no real conclusions for a return trip back home. But what is home anyway? He could be floating anywhere in the cosmos and it would be perfectly fine with him, so long as the woman currently within kissing distance is by his side.

Speaking of which, he presses a kiss against her hair, a slow, almost lazy smile crossing his features.

"Hm. Hello."

[panicandfreeze]

Naturally. One moment she was at the manor and the next? She was in freaking outer space. Fabulous. Just fabulous. Doesn't anyone just ask anymore? Or knock? What is this 'I need you so I'll just zap you' thing. It's so very goddamn rude.

"What the hell is this? The demon of insane interior decorating? Why can't it be the demon of moisturizing or something. Why do they all have to be creepy?" At least she was clothed. It could have been so much worse.

Freezing the entire goddamn hallway, Piper grabbed her cell phone, shoving her car keys in her pocket since she certainly wasn't going to be using them here, and punched in the manor’s phone number. And nothing happened. Of course.

“Naturally. I’m stuck in some hell hole with no cell service. LEO! Hey!” Piper starts screaming to the frozen area. “You get your whitelighter ass down here. Wherever here is.....what are you out of calling range or something? You better not have put me on mute.”

Piper sighed.

“Figures. What’s the use of being married to an angel if they DON’T COME WHEN YOU CALL!?” Piper screamed the last words at the ship’s ceiling.

[demontobeloved]

"Do you mind?" Comes a probably all-too-familiar voice from the corner of the room. "Some of us are trying to figure out how to get out of here."

Yes, poking his head out of the doorway to Ten Forward is a particular demon that Piper will probably want to kill... depending on where Q's zapped her from.

Not that Cole cares. He can shimmer his way away from anything that Piper can throw at him. It takes a Power of Three spell to vanquish a demon like him, after all. He feels pretty safe.

"And freezing hallways isn't the best way to make new friends, Piper."

Toothless | How to Train Your Dragon

[lightningndeath]

There is a Night Fury sat in the middle of Ten Forward. That's it. A dragon. He looks a little confused. All the people dressed strange and no Hiccup. Still he seems oddly calm about it all.

[brunali_borg]

There is a Borg standing off to one side of Ten Forward. He's also confused and yet oddly calm about the lack of voices in his head. And the dragon looks interesting. So he slowly walks towards the creature.

Emergency Medical Hologram | Star Trek: Voyager | Ten Forward

[simulatedmedic]

Ten Forward seems particularily free of extra-dimensional visitors for a change... And that's about to end.

A man phases into existence in the centre of the room. Those who know the technology could say that a hologram just activated in the middle of the lounge... But that's impossible. There are no holo-emitters in Ten Forward, right?

The man looks middle-aged, balding, and dressed in a Medical Blue Starfleet Uniform.

Before he even looks around, he says the following phrase, almost as if it had been programmed;

"Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

A pause, and then he looks around.

"This isn't sickbay..." A sigh, and a roll of his eyes, before he taps his combadge. "Doctor to Bridge."

[likeavirtue]

"You got that right," says a voice from closeby.

It belongs to a grumpy mcgrumpypants slightly less than impressed detective, sitting with one leg propped up on a chair, almost relaxed, the other firmly rooted to the floor.

"This is not the sickbay you're looking for."

If Kennex had the energy or the care to do so, he'd even do a little wavy bit with his hand. Not that this guy will get the reference. Probably. Maybe.

Ah, who knows anymore.

[emotional_security]

From the low-level hum of the engines and the field of stars beyond the windows, Spock knows that he is aboard a starship. The colour-coded uniforms he sees, augmented with a stylised insignia matching his own, tell him that this is a Federation ship, most likely the Enterprise or a ship modelled after her.

But this is not Spock's Enterprise.

The spacious lounge area he is standing in is larger than any of the recreation rooms aboard his ship, the lighting is less harsh (which Spock prefers), and - he notes with disapproval - alcohol is being served.

Common practice would be to blend in, and try to ascertain his exact location - in time and space - before deciding on what to do next. He is a Starfleet officer, like the majority of the men and women populating this area, but Spock hesitates before initiating 'first contact'. Claiming a free table, he decides to sit and observe, but manages to attract the attention of someone nearby.

[empathic_pathfinder]

"Is this seat taken?"

The man he's attracted the attention of is a person in a modern Starfleet Uniform, Operations Gold. He hovers by the chair, awaiting permission to sit, if it is coming.

Upon closer inspection, probably missed the first time you glance at him, is a row of faded spots running down either side of his face, identifying him as Trill, though perhaps not full-blooded. The man's black-irised eyes indicate Betazoid.

Regardless, he's smiling pleasantly, waiting.

[in_the_wrong_q]

"Well," Comes the voice of a man reclining in a barstool, a Ferengi Starduster in his hand. He takes a sip of it, sighing.

"I can see why Q likes this place. So... relaxing. Of course, not for much longer."

[element_wizard]

"Would you like a scare cord to go with that ominous statement?" Alec asks from a few empty seats down.

Peter Parker/Spider-Man } The Amazing Spiderman } Choose Your Own Adventure

[spideys]

i. Spider-Man | The Marketplace

Finally.

A chance to let loose a little and stretch his limbs. After a, frankly, claustrophobic flight stuck on a spaceship (despite the size, which he gets is really, really big), being in this crowded, alien bazaar feels like a breath of fresh air. Plus, there are stalls and surrounding buildings that create the perfect atmosphere for a webslinging teenager to go flying. For a little bit, at least.

The crowd is perfect. So many strange people, so many different colours of skin, hair, eyes, clothing - it makes him feel more at home in his own Spidey-suit, where hardly a person would recognize him. And that's what he's missed all these weeks on board the Enterprise: a certain level of anonymity.

He sails in between two narrowly situated buildings and comes swinging back out into the main road, nearly colliding into a large alien-being carting a wagon behind him (or her, Peter can't tell).

"Hey! I'm swingin' here, I'm swingin' here!" he shouts with more pleasure than annoyance, adopting the quote for his own.

It's possible he might swing over you next.


ii. Peter Parker | Ten Forward

Back in Ten Forward, Peter is feeling a little flushed and exhilarated from an afternoon out in the alien bazaar. But everyone's been sent back to the ship to move on, and feeling like he's on some kind of hellish cruise, Peter follows suit.

He is dressed in his usual attire: a dark shirt with the top two buttons left open, dark jeans, and Converse sneakers. An army-green jacket is slung over a seat across from him, and he's got a sandwich and mug of hot cocoa set on the table.

Peter's got his camera set in front of him too, though he's not sure how he'll ever get the film developed in a place like this.

2!

[in_the_wrong_q]

"Hello!"

There's a man stood opposite the table the teen is sat at, grinning at him.

Barbarella | Barbarella | Marketplace

[astronavigatrix]

In all of her travels across the galaxies, whether for business or pleasure, Barbarella rarely came across places such as these: where humans and aliens and even amorphous, genderless beings of shimmering light and energy assembled to buy, sell, and trade goods of all sorts. On Earth, commerce was precise and efficient; but now that she was watching a handsome couple of amphibious origin animatedly describe their ideal engagement ring to a jewelry vendor, Barbarella wondered if, perhaps, an element of fun wasn't somehow lost on her fellow earthlings.

As she passed stall after stall, their owners trying to flag her down and entice her with fruits and flowers from the lush gardens of recently colonized moons or beautiful articles of clothing befitting a queen, she declined, saying, "Just browsing, thank you." Truthfully, she had no idea what she was browsing for, but somehow felt she'd know it when she saw it.

[kodiak]

For most, it was a particularly lazy day in the marketplace. The low din of haggling could not truly break the leisurely spell of the early evening light cast by the planet's second sun. The milling customers shuffled here and there just slow enough to be an ever present nuisance only if speed was the aim, and not an excuse for further browsing. Of course, every thief had his ways, and this particular ne'er-do-well -- a thin creature with gangly limbs and barely enough height to be called a young man were he human, but clad in too many loose scars and robes to tell -- sewed his way through the crowd with all the dexterity of an eel in water.

Tyr didn't have the boy's dexterity, and though he possessed the bearing to intimidate a clear path, it was hardly as effective when sprinting through the thoroughfare.

The thief bounded through a narrow alley between two stalls about two feet down the row, and twisted almost in mid air to dart around down the aisle. Only the wind off is fleeing back brushed Barbarella in passing. But Tyr, who came after, had a bit more trouble with wider shoulders, knocking several people out of his way and skidding directly into Barbarella.

At least he had his guns holstered.