TEST DRIVE #2 - The Holodeck/Ten Forward

[tenforward_m]

Where were you a minute ago? Well, you aren't there anymore. Instead, you're standing in a very large, dark room lined with yellow. There are doors at either end of it.

Here's where things get a little choose your own adventure-y. You could:



1: Approach a console filled with buttons, located a few feet away. Press one, and it'll let you out of the room. Travel down a long hallway and you'll be in Ten Forward, the Enterprises' entertainment lounge. Have a drink, mingle and try to figure out why you're here.

OR

2: Maybe you just muttered some vague request under your breath. Maybe you wished aloud you were somewhere else. Or for help? If you did, might be in a fire station. Muttered something about killing whoever dumped you here? Surprise - you're in a slasher movie!

Though they're confusing, these visions feel about as real as they can be. And guess what - other people can experience those fantasies with you, as if they too were really there. How ever will you escape? Or do you want to?

[OOC: Welcome to the Holodeck! If you choose this option, whatever your character chooses to say out loud will cause a virtual reality program to load and play. While your character feels as if what they're experiencing and seeing is quite real, they're purely living through the latest and best in what he Enterprise has to offer in entertainment. Make sure to detail what your character's fantasy is, so that those threading with them will know how to react.

Open til next month's test drive!]

Comments

Julian Bashir | Star Trek: DS9 | Ten-Forward

[asklepian]

Julian was really starting to despise time travel. Granted, he'd ended up in the same century at least, but with that came its own complications--he actually existed in this timeframe. Two years out from graduating Starfleet Academy, in fact. He could look up his own file if he wanted.

On the wake of that realization came the fact that he had knowledge of events that hadn't yet transpired, but would, terrible things that he couldn't interfere with, lest he make it infinitely worse without even meaning it. Nevermind the Temporal Prime Directive. He could potentially warn Captain Picard of the most devastating events in recent Federation history, but at the same time knew that was impossible.

Either one of these would be enough to drive a man to drink.

Julian had the added injury that he had to by necessity revert to hiding his genetic status. No one, much less Julian--either the starry-eyed young cadet or the older and considerably more careworn officer that he was now--was ready to deal with the fallout of that particular revelation.

And because injuries couldn't go without insult, synthehol stood about as much chance as water of getting him honestly drunk, due to his enhanced metabolism. Bloody hell.

"Another round, if you please."

But he's sure going to try, apparently.

Re: Julian Bashir | Star Trek: DS9 | Ten-Forward

[electro_kinetic]

"Are we actually allowed to get trashed on this boat?" comes the question from a young woman with a couple of noticeable and interesting physical differences. One is the dyed blue hair, but the metal gloves--one of which is half-off and being further disassembled--are a bit more along the lines of what the hell are you-inducing.

"Because that will make this relocation so much better."

[asklepian]

"There's absolutely nothing stopping you from trying, but this is synthehol, not true alcohol. The replicator can't produce the latter."

Julian has seen a lot of things--he's interested, but not particularly shocked, or scandalized. Metal hands are not all that alarming to a doctor who has seen all manner of prosthetics.

"We are on the flagship of the fleet, at least. There's quite a number of worse places we could be."

[electro_kinetic]

"Wait, sobriety ages aren't a thing here? Righteous," Nori says with a nod. This place might be worth not hating. Eventually. Maybe. "Why, out of curiosity, can't it produce real alcohol? It's not that difficult."

For the record, they're not really prosthetics; they're gauntlets, she still has functioning arms under them. The tan lines make a nice delineation of where the metal usually ends, though the more striking thing is that the forearm underneath the metal is heavily scarred with look like steam burns. "Yeah, man, this? This is nothing like the only space travel we've got--or had, rather--in my world. Pretty sure NASA would have killed to even dream about this kind of technology."

She kneads a ball of cleaning putty in one hand as she talks, working it into consistency to clean the metal. Water plus high current, not exactly the loveliest of cleaning options.

[asklepian]

"Fell by the wayside once we found out how arbitrary counting age is when there's any number of other civilizations that do not, and synthehol was invented. 18 is generally accepted as a tradition, but enforcement isn't nearly so strict. In fact..."

Julian waves over a bartender with a smile to ask for another. Not like he has to worry about a tab, the Federation didn't use money in the same way prior centuries did.

"On me. Though money is an outdated concept as well, so I'm afraid the gesture isn't quite as generous as it could be."

Because he wasn't exactly adverse to talking work business while drinking and has basically no shame, he continues right along. "May I ask about your hands?"

He might not be able to correct the scarring, but if he knew what caused it, it was more likely.

[electro_kinetic]

Now that offer gets a raised brow. "Huh," she chuckled, tilting her head at the glass. Well, it's not like her professors are here to yell at her for it, and Noriko hardly minds the taste of alcohol. (And it does far less bad things to her than PCP did, she supposes.) And actually, this doesn't taste bad. Doesn't taste great, either, but then she's not picky.

"This place is full of surprises, isn't it? No money, fake alcohol, time traveling. And people are surprised at mutants," she says. "You can ask. They're steam burns from electrical current turning my sweat to steam. I act as an electrical conductor, it's a genetic thing. Unfortunately the side-effects suck."

[asklepian]

Better not be, because you're probably not going to get anything different unless you make friends with someone getting care packages from Earth.

"Not so much for me, the only surprise there was waking up some eight years in the past and halfway across the Quadrant."

He doesn't startle at the mention of mutants, despite it calling up memories of Jack and the others--and himself lumped in with them, he supposed. Jack had, anyway.

"I see. One of us may be able to heal some of the damage at least, in Sickbay. Doctor Crusher is a fantastic physician, as is Doctor McCoy. And I'm not bad myself, if I can say so without sounding like an arrogant ass."

[electro_kinetic]

"Yeah, it's...we're about four hundred years and a million and a half miles away from where I was before here," she says, and shrugs as she studies her arm.

"This could turn out to be a really awkward conversation, but they're recurring burns. It happens every time I sweat, which is kind of all the time," Nori shrugs. "And taking the gauntlets off is not a good option." Especially here, though she doesn't go into why. (But she would like to not be responsible for everyone being in the dark, and potentially electrocuted.)

"You don't sound like an ass, no. But speaking of yourself, you got a name?"

[asklepian]

"Awkward how?" Julian frowns, the supercharged wheels in his mind already turning. Perhaps some sort of superconductive material could draw the heat away and negate it...it was something to think about at least, he could bring the idea up to one of the engineers at some point.

"More often if your hands are encased in metal. It doesn't really breathe, you know. And a dermal regenerator may be able to at least help with any pain--hands are sensitive things, with quite a lot of nerve endings."

Julian might not know when to lay off, but he's not going to shy away from the conversation.

"As for my name, it's Julian Bashir."

Enjoy

[blind_arrogance]

A Cardassian slid in right next to Julian. No, not just any Cardassian. Gul Dukat. And then, with a Cardassian PADD in one hand, he politely addressed the woman tending bar and ordered a mug of red leaf tea. He turned to the Federation officer, and gave him a polite smile. Dukat was irritated. Slightly annoyed. The lights were much to bright and the air was cold. Just how the humans liked it. It was going to give him a headache.

"I don't know how I'm expected to stay here much less continue to do my job." The man complained. "I can't stay here. On the Federation flagship. Central Command will be in uproar."

well who invited you. :|

[asklepian]

Julian knew that voice. And wondered what vengeful God he pissed off to hear it.

He covered his urge to curse by taking a drink of his own. And wrestled down his impulse to tell him he'd be out of a job soon anyway. The Occupation was in its death throes, he'd find out soon enough on his own.

"You could think of it as a vacation."

He invited himself. He's quite courteous.

[blind_arrogance]

Think of it this way Julian. It could be Dukat and Garak, arguing. Incessantly. But, as it was, he was just graced with Dukat, who had been oh so rudely taken from his office in Terok Nor. Trying to manage a rather big problem, thank you very much. It was difficult enough to do, without Bajorans continuously trying to assassinate you. This was how they repaied him? After all he did to help them and make life easier?

"A vacation. I could certainly use a vacation, but a Federation ship is not the location I would choose.At this rate I'm going to miss my son's birthday. Only this time, this time he's not going to hear that his father was too busy dealing with Bajoran terrorists to play with him, he'll hear that he's on a Federation ship and isn't allowed to leave. And who do we think he'll blame? Me? Or the Federation?"

You're always inviting yourself. Don't you have better things to do?

[asklepian]

At least if Garak was around, Julian would have one of his own friends. As it is, the Chief and Worf both don't so much as know his name. It's rather distressing, once one stops trying to drown themselves in a shot glass to think about it. Also, you and Garak arguing is a sight to behold, rather entertaining, actually.

Also, shocking that, people not taking kindly to being ruled over with terror and starved and worked to death. Julian experienced a handful of days of the same sort of treatment, any more and he'd be right there alongside them.

"Well, from what I hear he should be blaming Q. And I wish you and he luck with holding him accountable for anything."

How many of Ziyal's birthdays did you miss, again? And good luck making them up to her now.

He needed another drink after that particularly dark thought, but the synthehol suddenly was not half as appealing as it used to be. Considering it wasn't that appealing to begin with, Julian just sighs and sets it aside.

"How is the red leaf tea, anyway?"

Nope. It's this or execute some more slaves. OMG he's so delusional.

[blind_arrogance]

"The red leaf tea is quite good today, thank you for asking." Dukat did love to hear himself talk. Every syllable, every word was enunciated, slowly, precise. It was a miracle no one had strangled him yet. Although that's probably because they'd be executed.

"At least here I can take a rest from the bomb threats. Bomb threats! Do you believe it? I try to help these people and they show their gratitude by trying to kill me. I guess I let my hopes climb to high. I thought I could change them. Help them lead better lives." He paused, switching tracks. "Would you like some? The tea. Not the bomb threats."

Yes, it was a very good thing he didn't know about Ziyal yet. Enjoy the only semi-crazy Cardiassian.

[asklepian]

He supposes it's a Cardassian thing--it's far more charming in Garak, but he talks about nice things like literature and culture and not oppressing the Bajoran masses. Listening to Dukat is like trying to have a conversation with an Aldebaran screech owl--wholly unpleasant and grating on the nerves.

"It's almost as if people don't take kindly to being subjugated and killed by the thousands," Julian says casually. Those are the least of the Occupation's crimes, that he knew of. "Shocking, that."

He smiles genially and orders his usual Tarkalean tea, extra sweet, and apologizes for the change to the bartender, assuring them that the other drink was perfect, but he just felt like a change. Then he lifts his glass, as if to make a toast.

"To a lack of bomb threats."

He looks so thrilled.

[blind_arrogance]

"Now I object to that. They wouldn't be getting killed if they would just behave and do as they're told. Really, I don't do this out of spite. I would much rather be at home with my children, but we all have to do our duty, don't we? But it seems you have me at a disadvantage. Who might you be, Lieutenant?"

Dukat took a long, slow sip of his tea. It really was too bad Quark wasn't here. He was going to miss all those cases of Cardassian ale. Maybe Q would get them for him. After all, it'd be a shame to let them go to waste back on Terok Nor.

oh he is *so* very thrilled. look at how thrilled he is.

[asklepian]

No, they would be dying of malnutrition, disease, and exhaustion instead, at an even greater rate than they already are.

Well, this put him in a bit of a tight spot, what with the complications of being from the future and knowing Dukat personally in said future. Really, he probably shouldn't give his name. It would only complicate matters when the Julian Bashir of this timeframe got his posting on DS9 and encountered this man.

But not to introduce himself would pique Dukat's curiosity--and his suspicions. Best to not.

"Doctor, actually. Julian Bashir."

[empathic_pathfinder]

"I don't think that's a particularily healthy mindset."

This is from a man in command gold, who has slid into the stool next to Bashir. He couldn't help himself, the man irradiated frustration. Being half-Betazoid was a pain sometimes.

"If you don't mind my saying so."

And, upon closer inspection, this man will have faded spots running down the side of his face; Trill, obviously.

[asklepian]

Julian glances over--corner of his mouth quirking upward as he recognizes those distinctive markings and the mark of rank on the man.

"Say anything you like, sir."

It wasn't like he was drunk or anything, that would be too easy.

"I'm just really beginning to loathe time travel." It was bad enough the first time, this wasn't so big of a jump but it came with any number of complications.

[empathic_pathfinder]

"You, too?" Terzen asks, frowning. "How far?"

It was a simple enough question, something that could avoid any... spoilers. Terzen himself was only a year or so out, but any information could lead to a corruption of the timeline... and a nasy visit from Temporal Investigations.

Although, Terzen was also, supposedly, from another universe... His duty as a Starfleet officer, though, didn't afford him the luxury of that assumption, however.

[asklepian]

"Eight years, give or take a few months." With such a relatively small number, in the span of time humans have been about, he might seem almost melodramatic. But a lot could happen in eight years.

"It was 2374 when I woke up yesterday."

Different universes or not, surely some things would happen the same way. And he's just as bound by the Temporal Prime Directive as anyone else.

[empathic_pathfinder]

A nod. Okay, that would definitely be frustrating... For any Starfleet officer.

"I get the feeling that Temporal Investigations is going to have a field day."

A sigh, there, and it was meant to try and lighten the mood... Hopefully it would work.

"Terzen T'Karr, formerly of the USS Pathfinder."

[asklepian]

See why he's drinking?

"I am not looking forward to that conversation."

Julian holds out his hand even as he casts his mind back, trying to recall the name of the ship. All he's coming up with is the nascent Pathfinder Project, formed to try to find USS Voyager out in the Delta Quadrant. Curious, but he's not going to pursue it.

"Julian Bashir, Deep Space 9--which doesn't exist yet, complicating introductions a touch."

[empathic_pathfinder]

"Consider the fact ignored."

He gives Bashir a pleasant smile, definitely not wanting to complicate things.

"Doctor?" He asks, noting the blue of his uniform. He didn't seem the science officer type.

[asklepian]

Good man.

"Got it in one. I suppose there must be something obvious about my manner, since I don't think I'm wearing a sign about my neck." He sounds cheerful, at least.