TEST DRIVE #6 - The Bridge and Ten Forward

[ten_fwd_mods]

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 Bridge: Well, aren't you a lucky duck? You've found yourself in hallowed quarters. Wherever you were before, you're not there anymore. Now you're in a room that could be some kind of command center or control room; there's a captain's chair flanked by seats for his chief officers, computer panels and stations at each interior wall, and before you a broad viewscreen that shows the wide expanse of space rushing towards you. Have you ever wanted to be a starship captain for a day? Well, here's your chance. Feel free to roam around, but try not to touch anything shiny.


[OOC: The Bridge isn't usually available for in-game posts, so if you've ever wanted to play there, here's your chance!]

Comments

[imperatrices]

Space. It doesn't make any sense. Just a moment ago she was in Tartarus; how is this even possible?

She takes a deep breath, then another, trying to maintain her calm.

"I don't understand—" What's going on, why she's here, what reason she would have to be in space, of all places.

Mitsuru stops for a moment, collecting herself; when she speaks again, she meets the stranger's eyes without flinching.

"Is there someone in authority I can speak with? I'm afraid I need to return to where I was right away."

It's polite, her tone, but also clearly a demand.

[immutablysam]

Sam remains nonplussed, feet up on the table and kicked back, watching the newcomer.

"The people in authority didn't bring you, or any of the other visitors here. They don't know how to get anyone back, either. It's apparently the work of some kind of space-god, playing a trick. And sticking the crew of the ship with us, and us with being here."

[imperatrices]

Without really thinking about it, Mitsuru finds herself leaning one hand on the back of a chair for support. She's been in situations that seemed impossible before, but this — it's almost too much information at once. Finally, she has the presence of mind to put up her sword. She's in no immediate danger, at least, and she doesn't sense any Shadows nearby — not that she would expect to, not outside of Tartarus.

"Why should I believe anything you say?" she says. She tries to make it sound challenging, but her voice wavers, uncharacteristically. "I have no reason to trust you."

She also has no reason not to... and that might be what makes her more nervous. Her one hand on the back of the chair holds on in a white-knuckled grip.

[immutablysam]

Sam remains casual, quirking one brow at the hint of challenge. Then there's a small shrug.

"Nope, you got no reason to trust me, or anyone else here. Feel free to look out the windows at the stars, or ask anyone else who'll chat at'cha, though a lot of them don't speak Japanese. If it's a trick, it's a mighty elaborate one... but you're still free to question it all."

[imperatrices]

The language barrier is hardly an issue; she'll figure out the universal translators soon enough, and in any case, she's fluent in English and French, not just Japanese. The rest of Sam's words, though—

There's a moment, and then Mitsuru lets out a breath, resigned for the time being. This all could be a very elaborate trick, to be sure; but whether it is or not, it's clear she's not going anywhere just yet, no matter how much she would like to.

Very carefully, she sits down in the chair she was holding onto. Her posture is perfectly straight, but the way her fingers tighten as she clasps her hands together in her lap betrays her tension.

"I... suppose we're all in the same situation, after all."

It's then that she realizes she's actually being fairly rude. Mitsuru can be a rather blunt young woman, but she was brought up with better manners than this. She flushes slightly.

"I apologize. My name is Mitsuru Kirijo. What should I call you?"

[immutablysam]

"Sam... Sam Bowe." Sam replies, remaining rather rude, by most standards, given the casual informality and feet kicked up on the edge of the table.

"I'd offer you a drink, but they don't serve booze here. Just stuff that sort of tastes a little like it."

[imperatrices]

She's used to that kind of informality — certainly she can't stop Iori from putting his feet up on the table in the dorm lounge — but that doesn't mean she has to engage in it herself. To say it can be difficult to get Mitsuru to relax is a bit of an understatement.

She shakes her head at the abortive offer. "That's all right. I'm afraid I'm not old enough yet, regardless." Her bearing and looks may suggest otherwise, but Mitsuru is only eighteen, and even in Japan not yet of age to drink. Even if there were real alcohol here, she's not sure she'd try it.

"This 'god'... Has anyone tried to communicate with it?"

[immutablysam]

"Not... old enough?" Well, ok. Strange rules.

"Don't know much about that. Given some of the folks here, pretty sure they have. Best I can tell, it just doesn't listen well, or care. Just thinks all of this is funny."

[imperatrices]

Mitsuru blinks, then looks at Sam a little quizzically.

"Yes. In Japan, it's illegal to drink alcohol if you're younger than twenty years old."

The answer to her question doesn't make her feel any better, unfortunately. The last thing she wants to be is the butt of someone's joke — god or not. "I see," she says, frowning slightly.

There's a pause. She doesn't know why she's thinking this, or what would even move her to ask, but—

"This may seem like an odd question, but what year was it for you, before you arrived here?"

She's already guessed that wherever this is now, it's far in her own future... and the way Sam looks, is dressed, talks has begun to make her wonder. (It would certainly explain why his Japanese sounds so strange.)

[immutablysam]

"Twenty... huh, ok."

Sam shifts attention to the new question. "Depends on which calendar. One I think most folks here know best, 1819."