ten_fwd_ooc | TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

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test drives

TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

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.

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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.

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"Oh the drink is part of it!" Alec says happily. "Everything is a part of it."

"Since when'd we get a bar?" It's as close to a greeting as it gets when McCoy can barely keep his eyes off the sight around them. Despite the crowd, Spock isn't hard to pick out of it. Anachronistic with the rest of the decor--Hell, just like him--it took no time at all.

He had considered grabbing a drink for his troubles, but thought better of it after his second beat around the bar. If this is some delirium, some toxic dream caused by what ever alien brew they cracked open for the night, topping it off isn't going to help. So he settles for the last best thing: Sitting with the chronic DD. Maybe the Vulcan can allay his fears, or if it's really a dream they are more likely to turn this into an absurd fight that certainly has nothing to do with anything. Seems to be a common overlaying theme.

Following his lead, she pulls out the chair on the other side of the table, sitting down and folding her hands across her lap, keeping her back straight. Someone happens by at that moment to see if either of them want anything to drink; she asks only for a glass of water. Irian suspects that someone would find a way to produce Rihannsu ale for her if she asked politely enough, contraband though it is on a Federation vessel, but now doesn't seem the time; and human alcoholic beverages, the only other sort she's tried, are almost tasteless by comparison. So water it is.

His first inquiry elicits a slight, dry smile that is gone almost as quickly as it appears. It's easy enough to tell that, while she doesn't have a Vulcan's perfectly studied calm, she isn't an effusive woman, either. "That," she says, "is quite a question, and one with more than one answer." She leaves it at that, for the time being, apparently content not to be more forthcoming unless he presses her. There's no reason to give away everything she knows at once, after all.

The server comes back with her water, and she takes it with a polite acknowledgement, cradling the cool glass between both her hands.

"As for your question of time: this is the past, for me. Forty-three years in the past."

And how many years in his future, she wonders? How much of what she has been told about the Spock in her timeline will hold true for him?

OPTION 1

Being bitter about the whole plucked from his time and space is getting a little exhausting and none productive. You can only wallow in replicated bourbon for so long until your dignity cries uncle. So if there's anything to pull himself out of his shell, a bazaar isn't a bad place to start. Sometimes he comes away with good flora and fauna samples for testing and synthesizing. Sometimes he finds nothing but squat, but never it hurts to look and haggle--Or, in McCoy's case, argue down pricing. Some of these species thought much too highly of their mundane stock.

As he pulls away from one stall, some ass runs right into his shoulder like he hasn't just been standing there for all the world to see! The doctor yells out as much when the punk doesn't even stop to apologize, and that's when he realizes his med kit's been lifted.

"Hey--Hey!" Barking out his indignation, McCoy turns around to see the thief has practically hightailed it out of the area already. "Stop him--Stop that man! Christ..." if you want something done right... McCoy starts following after him, doing his best to nudge the people out of his way rather than bulldoze them over. It's a damn fine line.

OPTION 2

When there's nothing else to do but sulk, it's best to do it at a bar. Well, no, it's better to do it in his own damn cabin, but that doesn't exactly exist anymore, or got moved. Everything's been moved around here. The entire Enterprise is misaligned to the schematics in his head. He gave up looking for the Mess Hall after the third try, only finding an Observation Deck instead. Damn frustrating if he does say so. And he does!

At least the synthehol actually tastes like the real thing. That's one change he can approve. Back to the crowd, he tries to ignore some of the stares that make him feel like a damn zombie. Can't a man just drink himself under the table in peace for crying out loud?

It is her.

She's real. She's really real, and right here in front of him. Young, the way she was the day he hijacked Schmidt's plane and ran it into the arctic, with those impossibly deep eyes and full, red lips; the way she looks at him and makes him simultaneously feel three-inches tall and as proud as a giant. He swallows, and takes a step closer to her.

"You've--?" he repeats, brow beetled. "Oh. No, you haven't. I know it ... it doesn't look real, but you're not mad."

One corner of his mouth twitches, his smile small, fond, and lopsided. "It's me."

Steve's across the path when he hears yelling. He hadn't been sure about disembarking, but life on the Enterprise was beginning to feel cramped, and when certain members of his team took the opportunity for shore leave he couldn't exactly stay behind. He thought about wearing the suit just in case, but settled for civvies and his running shoes. Not the best when you want to clear a quick path, but it'll work.

"Where did he go?" Steve asks, rushing up to Leonard's side. He's pacing him now, but as soon as the doctor points out the thief he'll really take off.

This is not where Stahma expects to be.

She'd intended to go out for a walk, just for a little while; it's strange, how lately even the bright, airy rooms of the house she shares with her husband and son feel so claustrophobic. Yet she'd expected to see the rough landscape of the Hollows outside her front door, not... this.

Stahma turns to look back the way she'd come, as if it will do her any good; it doesn't. She's in a strange room, with strange people in strange clothes all talking, drinking, eating; a sense of recognition, however small, doesn't take her long, though. She knows a bar when she sees one.

Abruptly her attention is arrested by the view from one of the windows — not sky or land, but space, with stars hanging in it, and for a few moments she simply stares, caught utterly off guard. How long has it been since she's seen a view like that? Not since the Arks, she thinks; a long time indeed.

Taking a breath, she gathers her composure about her like a cloak, looking around for the nearest individual who seems as if they might be of some help. She approaches, every inch a proper woman of the shanje liro: dignified, but demure. It's a mask as familiar to her by now as breathing.

"Forgive me for the interruption," she says, sounding genuinely apologetic, "but would you be able to tell me where I am?" She laughs, very softly: amiable, but a little abashed. "I believe I may have taken a wrong turn."

Amid the soft neutral tones of the lounge, she stands out: long white dress, white embroidered veil over her white hair, skin as pale as paper and eyes a startling lavender. If not for her height — like many Castithans, Stahma is very tall — she might seem unassuming, and indeed she would prefer to.

Let them think her charming, demure, harmless; she cannot fade into Datak's shadow here, but if nothing else, Stahma is a versatile woman.

[ OOC: I'm not yet caught up on season two, so Stahma here comes from just after Alak and Christie's wedding. ]

A hallucination. That was what this had to be. How else could she be in a bar that looked like a Hollywood set with Steve standing in front of her looking the way he had before...

It had to be a daydream of some sort. But if this was some sort of dream, then why not enjoy it. It would be better than the harsh reality of Steve being missing and her duties turning from field work to typing.

"If I were mad, that is exactly what I'd tell myself. Or have you tell me." Her tone was teasing with a hint of wistfulness that couldn't quite be hidden. "But if this were a hallucination, I would have imagined the Stork Club, not..." Looking around, Peggy looked momentarily bewildered before hiding that reaction. "Wherever we are now."

The man she has addressed is standing hunched over with his elbows on the bar, alone. He is quite tall, dressed completely in black that contrasts sharply against the long hair that falls down his back that is just as white as her own.

"It seems that many here has." His voice is the first thing that marks him as non-human, dark and with a dual tone to it that makes it somewhat eerie. When he turns to face her his features puts it beyond the shadow of a doubt that he belongs to a completely different race, from his pale green skin and yellow cat-like eyes, to the many small but sharp teeth that hints beneath narrow lips when he speaks. "Myself included. So regretfully, I do not have a proper answer for you."

He studies this pale creature. She's not human either, but her appearance is not familiar to him. He doesn't know what she is.

A young man with silver hair and silver appears in Victorian clothes. As he turns his head from side to side, dark marks like tattoos are visible above his collar. A look of consternation crosses his, this....isn't quite where he expects to be unless the Lightwoods have dramatically remodelled their house to look like some sort of....bar? At least he presumes it is from the barstools and drinks around the place.

Failing to spot the reason for his sudden appearance here, he steps forward and addresses himself to the nearest person. "Pardon me, but could you tell me where I am? I think I took a wrong turn. somewhere."

Jem had not strayed too far from Tessa as they made their way around the bazaar. His own curiosity for the surroundings and the wares was bright since he had established that this new place among the stars were no threat to them.

He leaned lightly when he reappeared at Tessa's side with a new knife tucked through his belt. "Tessa," he said softly and touched his fingers lightly to the back of her hand. "Are there any books you recognise from home?" He wondered how different people were here, whether Shadowhunters existed on this planet too.

"Doctor McCoy," Spock intones neutrally, well practiced at appearing unimpressed at best by the CMO's lively presence. "I see that there must be some meaning to the selection process, if you have also been transported through time and space to a drinking establishment."

He is, though he would never acknowledge the merest suggestion in public, or even to himself, gratified to see the good doctor - to see any other crew member from the Enterprise, his Enterprise.

"What activity were you engaged in before the entity brought you here?" he asks McCoy, somewhat imprecisely for Spock. Closer to the point, he adds: "Will the Captain have been alerted to your absence?"

She knows that face.

How many times had she sat on that woman's lap, and looked at pictures tinted sepia and gray-tone, and compared those features to her own? How many times had relatives or friends looked from one to the other and commented on the similarity, how many times had Sharon seen those red lips curve into a pleased smile at the notion?

How many times has she stared at her own face in the mirror, and hoped the resemblance was more than physical?

She's seen that uniform. The last time she was this close to it, it was hanging in a closet, smelling like mothballs, brass buttons still gleaming and creases still sharp.

There's an ache in her stomach, and a swirl of confusion she's grateful, distantly, that Rogers isn't here to see, because there's no way she can explain how Kate Newton could possibly know the woman walking by.

Noriko is still eyeing the shirt (generously called that, because she's only pretty sure it's actually going to cover what she was assured it would) she just got at the...alien mall, for lack of a better term, when she gets around to trying the sake that's been in front of her.

And she coughs, setting the cup down and away as her eyes water.

"God. Wow, that's...hell, is that what all of this tastes like?" she asks, glancing over at McCoy. "Way to discourage drinking."

It wasn't as if she wasn't used to walking into a bar and having others focus on her. She had been a woman in a man's world and many times the only woman in a camp. Other times there were women working beside her but many had been unnerved by her role in the war. She drew a certain amount of attentio but if Peggy had been the type to be unnerved by it, she would have been shipped back home before she had even had a chance to earn her status as an agent.

There was something odd about the woman who was staring at her. It wasn't the usual sort of look. There was also something vaguely familiar about her, but Peggy couldn't say exactly what that might be. Pausing, she considered the blonde for a moment before curiosity got the better of her. Admitting that she was at a disadvantage wasn't something she normally consider while in a potentially hostile environment, but perhaps it would put the woman at ease. "Beg pardon, but I seem to have lost my way."

Looking up when Jem approached, she smiled as she noticed that he had found a seller with weapons a Shadowhunter would find acceptable. Tessa doubted that they would find trouble in the middle of a market, but it was best to be cautious.

Almost blushing at the gentle contact, she lightly caught his little finger, reminding herself that there was nothing shocking about the sign of affection that they had begun to share after they had announced their engagement. They could hold hands here and no one would object. Although she wasn't quite sure if Jem would find that agreeable while they were in a public place.

"There are a few. Shakespeare's words seem to be well traveled. I found some Dumas. Others look like they might be from home, but I don't recognize the authors." But they were similar enough for there to be hope that there was some connection to the world they'd left. "I couldn't find any by Dickens." But perhaps that was for the best.

There's a little girl--only eight, but she carries herself quite erect and much more like an adult--humming a distinctly operatic song to herself as she sits at the bar.

She looks over and smiles at Peggy quietly, taking in her clothes--it's a deciding factor as to which language she greets the woman in. "Hello," she murmurs--having decided English is a fairly safe bet.

"You look a little lost."

Edited 2014-07-23 20:34 (UTC)

Jem allowed the gentle hold to continue for a few moments while his eyes went over the books Tessa described. It was not right of him to do, he did not wish Tessa to believe he would take advantage of her because they were no longer at home.

"I will look for Dickens for you, where ever we go," Jem promised. He was not comfortable using words such as 'earth', 'planets, 'aliens'. The concept of them was still to foreign. It amazed him that after all of the years people had looked to the stars they had finally reached them.

He smiled down at her. "I believe I could carry six books for you if you want to make a selection. I know the stories will bring you comfort back...onboard."

That voice.

Last heard on her phone, a little rougher, a little deeper with age and foggy with confusion, but the same voice she grew up with, the one that told her bedtime stories, shouted encouragement during her school field hockey games, whispered dry jokes into her ear during long formal family dinners. It feels like someone reached into Sharon's chest, snapped her sternum free, and twisted, grinding the jagged edge of bones into each other, killing breath, shorting out thought.

Of course, it was possible, but she never thought...

"Sure," she says, a little vaguely, blinking out of her stare and sticking a smile on, one that that keeps trying to edge towards disbelieving, that she keeps having to haul back to simple bland friendliness. "Of course. Yes. You...are probably not where you thought you were going to be. Right?"

It's a mess. Her thoughts are a jumble, but Aunt Peggy -- her Aunt Peggy, young and lovely and commanding in presence and carriage -- is standing right in front of her, and Sharon can't help the swelling, impetuous desire to run to her and spill out every detail, just like when she was little.

She shakes her head, as if clearing her ears of water, and tries a less strained smile. "Sorry. I don't think you lost your way, but you may have been a little...waylaid."

There was something definitely unnerving in the way the blonde was watching her. Almost as if the young woman had seen a ghost. Then her expression changed and Peggy couldn't help wondering if she had imagined that reaction.

"No, this place is nothing like where I expected to be." Which was far more unsettling than Peggy wanted to admit. Perhaps she had fallen asleep at her desk or the rumors about her were correct. Or, more troubling, perhaps she had become unhinged as the higher ups had predicted. That would explain how she had found herself in a bar that looked like something out of a pulp science fiction novel.

It was a daunting thought, but one she kept carefully concealed. If she was mad, the pretending she wasn't wouldn't harm anyone but herself. If this was real, then she shouldn't show weakness. "I've been waylaid before but what that happened, I didn't find myself in a place that looked like a movie set."

Which might not be the worst of her concerns considering how the young woman was acting. "Have you been waylaid as well?"

By the far wall stands a lone figure, staring out through the windows at the stars passing by. He wonders where he is, how far from home. It's been unsettling, to suddenly find himself standing there in the middle of the room, surrounded by all manners of creatures, without a single idea on how he got there. He can only guess that he's been brought there, but the hows and whys elude him. Questions, questions.

He holds a glass filled with a dark red liquid in a clawed hand. Wine of some kind. While normal food and drink isn't what sustains a Wraith, he does have a keen sense of taste. If he can't enjoy his.... usual meal, he can at least allow himself this distraction. It gives him a moment to think before he goes to search for answers.

Around him people are eating and drinking, and generally seem to be enjoying themselves. Even though there's the odd lone drinker here and there, and though he isn't trying to attract attention, the brooding old Wraith does stick out.

You bet he does. Even to one human (ish) in fairly normal nonmilitary clothes consisting of shorts and a tee shirt, with a bowl held cradled in one hand and chopsticks in the other, this guy...well. He's imposing.

"You going for neglect dreads?" she asks--Noriko is the least subtle that way--and gestures with the back end of the pair of sticks to his hair. Her own vibrant blue is held back in a tail, with several tiny cornrow-braids adorned with beads over one ear; the plastic clicks as she moves her head and talks.

It takes him by surprise that someone is addressing him, and he's even more surprised when he turns to see a human woman standing there. "Pardon?" It takes him a moment to realize that she's talking about his hair, of all things. With all the things that has happened in the last - how many years? - it seems so mundane that it's strange. Perhaps that's why he finds himself answering before he even knows it. "Has it become that bad?" Many of his people - with the exception of the near mindless soldiers and workers - do take pride in their hair. He himself, however, hasn't had much more time for his over the last couple of decades than to just sort through tangles with his fingers on occasion.

"Bad?" she echoes, quizzical.

"Man, I thought it was intentional, that's not bad. But I'm going to assume dreads are not your plan, by the look on your face," Noriko chuckles. She likes hair--it might be obvious, with the wild styles she keeps hers in--and it's generally something people have at least a vague opinion on. Makes it a great starter for conversations with strangers.

And let's be real, that's about all the entertainment she can get around here.

And there's a man stood beside you, Todd. Was he there before? Did he walk up to you?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Either way, he's smiling broadly.

"Hello."

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Page 23 of 43

TEST DRIVE #3 - Alien Bazaar/Ten Forward

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Shove over, Greeny!

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Leonard McCoy | Star Trek: TOS | OTA

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#1!

Stahma Tarr | Defiance

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Jem Carstairs | The Infernal Devices | 02

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Re: Shove over, Greeny!

Re: Peggy Carter | MCU | Option 2

Option 2!

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Todd the Wraith | Stargate Atlantis | 02, come bother him

~bother bother bother~

Yay, bother!

:D

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