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ten_fwd_ooc2014-12-27 03:39 pm
ten_fwd_mods) wrote in ten_fwd_ooc2014-12-27 03:39 pm
Entry tags:
Test Drive #7 - Ten Forward and Captain's Yacht
Option 01. Ten Forward: The first thing you see is a bar. A large, lively bar filled with many different faces and many different smells, sights and sounds. This is Ten Forward, the Enterprise's off-duty lounge; feel free to get acquainted with your fellow travelers and try to find somebody who's in charge: this is your new home now, after all...
Option 02. The Captain's Yacht: Oooh, you sneaky stowaway! You've found yourself in a very exclusive part of the ship: Captain Picard's personal craft, used for short jaunts when a shuttle just won't do. (One must retain some decorum, after all.) It may not be as large as the Enterprise itself, but there are sure to be some surprises aboard once people start snooping.
[OOC: The Captain's Yacht is located at the very base of the Enterprise's saucer portion, so if you put someone in there you can also play them trying to get back to somewhere they know!]
Sean Slater | EastEnders | Option 1
He could still feel it, biting through his wet clothes, but he continued to drag himself onto the shore of the lake.
He can't help but shiver, disorientated, not knowing where he is, other than the cold pressure of the water was gone. He sucks in shuddering breaths, wincing at the fact that it was... warm. He's had his eyes screwed shut since breaking through the ice, and he finally opens them.
His vision's fuzzy, but he can clearly tell that he's not on the lakeside any more.
"...Roxy." He grunts out, voice rough, ragged, affected by the shivering. He starts pushing himself up...
...Bad idea.
"Roxy...!" He manages to get out, again, a bit louder, his vision clearing somewhat, but still fuzzy, like he was drunk. He stumbles, grabbing ahold of a nearby table, luckily empty. He shoves his wet hair to the side, the shivering stopping.
"Roxy! Where... Where are...?" She was safe, right? Ronnie got to her. He got her free of the pond weed and Ronnie... She has to be safe...
Then where is she?!
Someone reaches out to grab him, and he lashes back, voice raising.
"Gerroff me! I need to... Need to find her!"
Re: Sean Slater | EastEnders | Option 1
"I don't need help, but thank you for the offer would have sufficed," she said a bit primly from behind him, crossing her arms, spanner still in hand.
She stood there, early-mid twenties, long green skirt, long green vest over a white silk shirt, marked here and there with grease. Her look was somewhat... archaic, almost antiquated, though she herself was young. Well...
She gazed at him through her glasses, waiting for his reaction, ready to jump away again, if she had to.
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Sean turns, giving Agatha a cursory glance, before growling and starting to move away. He tries to straighten up, but barely gets a few steps away before stumbling against the back of a chair.
There was a pain in his chest, but he couldn't stop. Not now. He had to make sure she was safe.
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"You're..." hurt? No, he was soaking wet, staggering around... so... drunk? Except that didn't account for the wet. This place was weird. THAT accounted for the wet. Except... oh cogs and ashes, she couldn't just... leave him here like this.
"You need medical help," she told him flatly. That much was clearly obvious. "Are you going to let me help, or do I have to kill you first, and then bring you back to life when I've fixed the damage?" she asked, hands on her hips, one of those hands still holding the spanner.
And it wasn't a bluff. Not really. Okay, maybe a little bit. Maybe. She'd done it before. Of course then she had a lab at hand, three other sparks and a castle full of minions. But all that tech was half broken, two of those three other sparks were dying and fighting, and the minions were... well.... she was sure she could figure out SOMETHING if she had to....
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He turns, facing Agatha. "I don't need help..." He mumbles, voice slurred. He clenches and unclenches a fist, the hand shaking and he seems to have some difficulty doing such a simple action. He's only slightly shivering.
"Nothing's wrong! I just... Need to..."
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"Look, from a quick glance, you're either drunk or overtired, or... I don't know what. Is that water or nitrogen you're dripping?" Knowing that could answer everything. "Tell me what's wrong, then I can fix it, then you can do whatever it is you were trying to do when you got dumped in here with the rest of us."
She put one hand on the table, still fisted around the spanner. The other first was on her hip as she leaned to look the not-upright man in the eye. "I am very good at fixing things," she said with dead seriousness. "So tell me what I can fix, then I can be on my way."
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He takes a few deep breaths, trying to clear his head, before continuing. It works.
Kind of.
He's still dripping water everywhere, the shivering retaking over for a second, before he manages to control it.
"Roxy, she... she was trapped under... I got her free, but... I need to know." He's rambling, scrunching his eyes shut. "I was... By the lake."
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She looked about desperately for something to use, then inspiration struck. She whistled sharply and five small.... It was hard to know what to call them. They all had round bodies with limbs, each a little than a pocket watch. She eyed the five brass things.
"I only had one of you with me when I came..." She gave one particularly more attention, it had an eyeball, flat, where the face of the watch would otherwise have been. "How many clanks are you now?" She asked in the tone an irritated school teacher might take. The thing shuffled its small brass feet and she sighed. "We will talk about this later. For now, all of you, even the ones not here at the moment are forbidden from building more of each other until I say otherwise."
All the little toy things slumped. "But, I need your help right now...." She trailed off, laving the implication that she might be convinced to rescind the order if they were of aid. "You," she said, pointing to one of the outliers, "this man needs clothing. Do not take anything that will be missed, do not take anything anyone is wearing now. Go." The thing skittered off. She pointed to another. "Warm blankets, same rule. Go." It went. An army of handspan sized machines. She looked to the other three and grinned, "I need to build a heat ray." They all perked up. "Nonlethal," she qualified. They all slumped. "I can make it lethal later," she said with a sigh. "I need a good death ray anyhow. But first, nonlethal. I need parts. I need them fast. Same rules, nothing that is in use, nothing that will cripple this place, and nothing that will be missed. Go."
They ran off, seeming happy in their task. She turned back to him and smiled. "we'll have you dry in no time. Now, you are, it seems, on a ship in the aether. Whoever you were looking for probably is safe, but is also probably not here. It is... Weird... Here."
(Sorry for my typos, you got me after the computer shut down, so I am posting from my ipad)
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Suddenly, he lets out a harsh cry of pain, falling to his knees, doubling up and clutching his chest.
Of course, the man stumbling around the crowded lounge of Ten Forward is drawing attention from the patrons, and one of them, a blue-skinned male with antennae in a gold uniform, stands and taps his combadge.
"Laran to Sickbay, we have a medical emergency in Ten Forward."
Whilst this is happening, the so-called, medical emergency keeps trying to stand up, lashing out at people who are starting to gather and help.
"Leave me alone! I'm fine!"
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"So he will be okay with you?" And she could leave? She couldn't call off the clanks... But she could still build that heat ray anyhow...
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Once subdued, the woman folds out a tricorder, unclipping the hand scanner and starting to check.
"He has severe hypothermia. We need to get him to Sickbay." A nod from the other medic, tapping his Combadge, too. "Yaxley to Transporter Room 8, emergency site-to-site transport, three to beam directly to Sickbay."
And, then, the three are enveloped in a beam of light, disappearing from view. Seems Agatha's role is complete.
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What he sees isn't what he expects. A man, staggering, shivering, disoriented, and drenched.
He's seen it before. Not often, but occasionally, on long fishing trips in the middle of winter when storms turn bad and waves sweep the boat, when not even a born fisherman of District Four can stay afloat. When things fall apart and the ocean tries to claim a crew, not with drowning, not with exposure, but with cold, pure and deadly. He's been on the rescue boat that hauled them aboard, that did what it could too far from shore to reach medical assistance.
(He's even seen it in the Hunger Games, watched tributes succumb to it while he charmed sponsors to give him the money to send help to his charge.)
This doesn't bode well for the guy.
Finnick approaches with caution, but the man still tries to strike out at him, and Finnick's hand is almost lightning-fast, reaching to grab the wrist that aims at him.
"No. You need to let someone help you."
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You ever heard a man's wrist snap?
Why would he remember that? Why now? Either way, he's going to pull back, harshly, to get his wrist back.
"You can help me..." Sean growls, it framed by the slight shivering of his lower jaw. "By tellin' me Roxy's safe... that she... she got out. Right?"
He's going to, if able, back up, looking around. "I... I can't see her. She's... Where am I? I wasn't here before..."
ugh I tagged this yesterday and my computer ate it so mad
It would be easy to lie to the man, to tell him that whoever she is is safe, just for the sake of calming him down, and Finnick's more than capable of it, but it wouldn't do any good, because he'd expect to be able to see her.
"Whoever she is, she's not here. You're not where you were."
The man's disoriented, clearly worried, but they can't focus on that worry. They can't do anything about whoever he left back home, but this man needs help, or he'll die.
"You're not well," he says. "We need to get you warm."
And a doctor. Assuming there are some in this place.
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He moves to start walking again, stumbling, grabbing the back of a chair to keep his footing. The shivering returns, his jaw chattering.
"What...What's going on? Where the hell am I?"
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Finnick's clear eyes are sharp on the man's face, his voice sarcastic, because it's clear to anyone who cares to see it that the man is all of those things, and the grasp of his cold, wet wrist was enough for Finnick to guess about the water.
He'd watched tributes die from hypothermia one year in the Games; he knows what he's seeing.
"I'm not sure where we are myself. But you've been brought here from wherever you were."
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He says that through the fuzziness of his brain. Through the pain in his chest, that was only getting worse... A voice, clear as day, screaming at him that this was all impossible, that he was passed out from being under the water too long, or... something.
"No, no! This isn't real... Is it? This..."
He's trailing off, threading a hand through wet hair, pausing, pulling it away and looking at the moisture on his palm.
"I was... in the lake. Roxy, she..." She's safe... Ronnie got her out. He saw that.
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"I don't know if it's real," he says. "But I know enough about being in and around water to know that lake was too cold. You need to let me help you, or things are going to get worse. We need to warm you up."
He holds out a hand to the man again, in a silent appeal, lifting his eyebrows.
That's the problem with hypothermia: when it's bad, the person doesn't want any help. No matter how much they need it.
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He doesn't. He glares at Finnick's hand, panting heavily, finding it a tad hard to breathe. For the longest moment, he considers it, fighting his brain, that one spark of common sense struggling in the deluge.
It wins.
Sean reaches out, grabbing the hand.
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"You've got the symptoms of hypothermia," he says, his voice soft, boyish, its accent completely unlike that of the man he's speaking to. He's never heard an accent like this man's, and maybe he's heard nothing like the faded District Four accent.
"You should lie down. I'll get you warm and find you some medical help. All right?"
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He squeezes his eyes shut, the shivering starting again.
"W-What the bloody 'ell's goin' on?"
He manages to get out, fighting to control his chattering lips.