ten_fwd_ooc | Test Drive #7 - Ten Forward and Captain's Yacht

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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!]

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She gestured at the bottle and it lifted, filling the first two mugs, but Theiorn shook his head and filled his own mug with Yabarah. It was called "the blood wine" for good reason, and the smell was heady as his bug lifted and rotated slightly in the air as a tongue of witch-flame heated it.

"Maddness?" she asked, alert suddenly, her attention sharp as the edge of a knife's blade.

Merlin lifted his mug to toast her. He paused at her question. "Strangeness. Crazy events? Or, well, true madness. Such times and places as this, milady, breed it, as sure as time breeds fools of us all." He nodded.

"There is nothing to do but look for it, and be ready." He stretched and nodded, closing his eyes for a moment. "I have been Watching for a very long time." He blinked, and for a moment as his eyes opened, they were the eyes of a very old man, old and tired, and then the look was gone and they were his eyes once more, youthful and full of sincerity.

She seemed preternaturally tense at the talk of madness, her fingers moving ever so slightly, her eyes slightly glazing, staring off into the distance. "The twisted kingdom is the perilous road, forever lost in the confusing twisting darkness and light," she said, her voice odd. She shook her head and studied the ring finger of her right hand pensively, or perhaps the jeweled ring thereon. "Speaking of madness is no idle thing among the Blood," she said simply.

"Especially not with a Black Widow," Theiorn said, vanishing the witch fire and claiming his goblet from the air to sip the heated wine.

It might be a little unjust.

Okay, it might be a lot unjust, but Finnick can't help the wickedly teasing smile that creeps over his face at Haymitch's annoyance. He knows why Haymitch drinks, just like he knows why some victors drown themselves in morphling, or whatever other poison they choose for themselves. But the easy smile like he's laughing at the world is as much a part of Finnick's poison as alcohol is Haymitch's.

"Look at this. Haymitch Abernathy, stuck in a bar with no booze."

Finnick saunters up to the bar and gives a wide, toothy smile to Haymitch as he leans one elbow on the counter top.

No sign of anything here between them but the mocking disdain so many of the victors have always shown towards Haymitch.

"This must be some special kind of hell for you, right?" he says, with a mock-thoughtful expression, though his voice is carrying a suggestion of laughter.

Never mind that Finnick, too, is without the characteristic vice in which he famously indulges every time he's in the Capitol: a wealthy woman on his arm.

"Well, obviously," Roshanak says, more than a little impatient. "What powers it? How can it be propelled - is there kind of substance out here? Another form of air?"

There is an awkward pause.

"Um. Although I suppose I should ask who is in charge here, and what we do for our keep, shouldn't I."

Practicalities, Roshanak, then science.

Finnick may be a Capitol darling. He may be a man known for flirtation and seduction and making the hedonistic most of the pleasures of the Capitol. But that has not made him soft, and it hasn't negated the truth of how he got that fame.

Finnick is a killer. Very rarely does anyone win the Hunger Games by being anything else, and Finnick was not one of those victors. He's not weak. Not for a human, whatever that means, whatever this ... creature is.

If he thought there was a reason for the Capitol to have turned on him, he'd be sure this was some engineered hallucination. (If they knew about the revolution, he'd be dead by now.)

Finnick's not interested in taking turns. He's not interested in rules. He's interested in survival, like he has been all his life. The creature's punch lands hard, but that just makes Finnick duck, weave, spin, and lash out again with his arm.

YES! Oh Maxim is having some fun with this scrawny little human boy! He grabbed the arm that lashed out. He wanted to bite it, see if he couldn't rip it off! What fun! But that would end the fight too soon, because Agatha wouldn't be pleased. And he could tell she was watching, could even picture the exasperated look of limited patience.

so instead he hauled on the arm, pulling Finnick in close, making a kissy noise at him before twisting and throwing him over one hip onto the ground. Grinning, he stepped one foot on the human's chest, intentionally giving him the opening to catch his ankle and return the favor. But of course it would be no fun if it was CLEAR he was giving the opening. No, the boy had to find it himself.

So Maxim stood there, one foot up on his chest, hands clasped together, shaking over his head in a universal gesture of victory. You just HAD to knock down someone who was taunting you like that, right? This was fun!

That's a hard word to trust.

It looks glamorous and exciting, like a life of luxury, fame, and ease nobody else in the districts can approach, but the life of a victor is all deception, because under that gleaming facade is a darkness that nobody sees. You can't trust somebody's word in the arena, and you can't trust it out of the arena, either.

Especially when you deal in secrets, in the shadowy world where appearances are nothing more than lies and beauty, especially beauty like Finnick's, is poison.

Finnick stares at her for another few long moments, the eyes that are so famous in the Capitol still wide and intent, before, slowly, he drops the defensive stance.

"This isn't the arena."

And she's not human, though that, perhaps laughably, is a secondary concern.

Mags appeared to be relieved as Finnick approached her. She didn't need him trying to fight here when they didn't even know where here was. For all she knew this was still part of the Capitol.

She shook her head in agreement. "I don't know what happened, but we need to keep an eye out. You especially need to be careful." As always her concern was always about Finnick and back at home Annie as well. Her own well being was the last of her worries. She ushered for Finnick to lead them away from others so they could talk more in private and adjust their plans.

Mags turned at the unfamiliar voice. No one had ever called her Auntie before. Then she did a double take. She wasn't quite sure how to react as she was quite surprised to see the kentauride standing before her. She knew the Capitol couldn't have created something like her. That much she was aware of. She only finally answered once she had gathered her thoughts and nerves.

"My name is Mags," she answered back... She tried her best to make sure that she could be understood. She didn't have Finnick around to help translate what people referred to as mumbles. "Perhaps you can tell me where we are?"

If he had a trident with him, he'd be jabbing it upwards into the heart of his opponent. Without a weapon, it's harder, but hard doesn't frighten Finnick. What's hard to someone who survived the Hunger Games? Who's watched people he's responsible for go into the arena to die year after year after year?

And nobody in the Hunger Games would be stupid enough to pull a move like that. You get someone on the ground, you take them out, you don't stand and gloat. Because if you do that, you're going to get the tables turned on you.

A lifetime on and off boats, in and out of training, living with a trident as an extension of himself, has given Finnick upper body strength far beyond most, and years of combat experience and training have given him the ability to leverage it, which he does, by grabbing the leg perched on top of him and twisting, throwing his upper body into upending the creature so he can spring to his feet.

Maxim grinned as he was flipped into the air. He landed at Agatha's feet and grinned up at her.

Agatha sighed and shook her head slightly. She was coming to view the Jaggerkin fighting in a different light. Had they not been who and what they were, Mechanicsburg might have fallen. "Do try not to destroy anything I cannot fix," she said with a slight reluctance.

"Den hyu getz to fix hem up goot!" He said happily, as he clambered to his feet, sure he had given Finnick enough time to get up and close the gap.

Finnick had always been going to take a leading role in all of this. In protecting Katniss, in protecting Peeta, and for as long as he could, in protecting Mags. That's why he's coiled taut as a fishing line, ready to strike.

But he's also, always, been going to pay attention to Mags, and she maintains the outward poise that's so calming about her which, in turn, is a silent signal to Finnick, a reminder not to lash out until they know what they're facing.

If this is something to do with the Capitol, then doing that will show their game far too soon.

"That we do."

His green eyes are as alert as ever, with the sharp focus they'd learned years ago, that lets him assess a situation in a few quick glances, and he never stops watching, never loses the readiness to jump to action, though it might only be Mags in the room who could notice it. But nobody moves against them. None of the weapons are drawn. Very few people seem to pay them any attention and that, in itself, is strange, because they're stars. Victors and tributes.

Everyone in Panem knows them and knows that right now, they're due to face the dance with death in the arena again.

There isn't really anywhere good to talk here, but there is a table that's empty, off to one side of the lounge, and that's where he leads Mags.

When they get there, he leans in close, a cheeky smile on his face for the benefit of anyone who might be watching, though Mags, of course, will know it's faked, would know it better than anyone except Annie.

"So what happens now?"

"Oh! I think it's something called dilithium crystals, and a matter-energy engine of some kind. I, ah, haven't asked to see it, yet." His hands itched to do so.

He grinned. "I want to, though. My ship runs on an intermix of polarized and depolarized tri-photons, and I was wondering of the two designs would be compatible at all." Once stuck in space, he had learned all he could, and had ended up helping to design the next generation of starfighter ships.

"A man named Captain Picard. This ship apparently belongs to the Federation of Planets, to their exploration and peacekeeping arm, called Starfleet. I guess you could talk to him. And i heard they are working on making arrangements for those of us who want to to have jobs, but no news on when that will be finished."

He didn't like being idle. He might have already driven the staff a little crazy with asking if he could help, between studying as much of their technology as he possibly could and exploring everywhere he was allowed, and possibly a few places he wasn't.

"Oh! We're required to go through a week or two of medical quarantine, which means between here and sickbay and the guest quarters, until they are absolutely sure no one here can make us sick with stuff we have never been exposed to, and vice versa, with whatever we brought in." He glanced around.

"One of their people will probably be around, pretty soon to explain everything more clearly to you."

"I see. I will avoid the term for thee then. Here, and in this time as well as many others in earth human history, it can mean insanity, but also just the wildness and unpredictability of events. Just so you know." He wanted them to be as prepared as they could be for those around them.

Merlin was perhaps, no, let's be honest. Merlin was definitively insane, and dangerous, but he also happened to be nice, sometimes, and kind others, and to be firmly dedicated to helping all humanity and all life survive. Mostly.

"What is a Black Widow, in your terms, and the Blood? From the way you say them, I take it they have specific connotations and meanings to you and your world."

Curiosity now blazed in his eyes, and he leaned forward, animated and almost bouncy. Food appeared on the table, as if by afterthought, small platters of bread, cheeses, and meats. Nothing fancy, really, mostly the sort of thing you could eat with your fingers. And it was all ignored by Merlin, who looked to them for answers.

"Oh come on." This was not where Jaime was supposed to be. Not that she normally minded finding herself in a bar, but she was supposed to be on her ship. Her beautiful, perfect ship where she had been planning on spending the evening having Spock destroy her at chess. She wasn't supposed to find herself in some lounge, surrounded by people she didn't recognize.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, she moves toward the bar, figuring if she was going to get answers, that's be the best place. She has learned a few things about being discrete. Kind of. Getting in trouble with whoever runs the place isn't going to get her answers so blend in and try to figure out where she is.

Ordering a beer so she didn't look out of place, Jaime scanned the bar, noting various species and languages that were familiar. It feels Starfleet but something's off about it. Taking a sip of her drink, she leans against the bar, trying to figure out where the hell she ended up and if any of her crew had been brought with her.

Finnick is graced with a look, one which states with no words needed that now is not the time, nor is he in any mood for this shit he's being subjected to. Still, given he still doesn't know where they are, who this crappy bar belongs to, nor how he was brought here, he's willing to play along with the teasing.

"What about you? I noticed there's a distinct lack of lovely ladies here. How will you cope without anyone to sigh and coo over that pretty little face of yours?"

He has to wonder just how long Finnick's been in this place. Did he just arrive as well? Or has he been here awhile? Does he know anything about this situation? Or is it up to them to somehow figure it out without tipping the people here off as to their intentions? What ever the answers to those silent questions, one fact remains. They need to find a way out and he needs to find a way back.

Back to Katniss, back to Peeta.

Emma nods and motioned to the table behind them to sit. She also feared she was going to need a stiff drink for this, but she wanted a clear head.

"Hook and I had returned from the enchanted Forrest, and I unintentionally hurt Regina. Where are you from?"

"Hello Agatha," She said, extending her hand. "How about you tell me a little more about this place."

"No kidding," She said sadly. "He couldn't get away from me fast enough honestly. Poisoned? By what?" She asked. There were really so many options with the amount of time Rumple spent in Danger.

"No," she says. "It's not. This is a starship."

Arena - an escaped gladiator from Old Rome, maybe? He's all desperation, like those who've escaped something terrible are.

She moves a bit, hooves clicking on the floor and tail flicking and her ears briefly flattening against her skull, at the thought of being captured, made to fight for sport.

(And her people are called barbarian, bah.)

"I am called Roshanak. What, uh. What do you want to know?"

Then she bites down on the inside of her lip to keep from babbling. Babble would not be helpful.

"And I am Roshanak."

The woman is hard to understand, but there is one advantage to Roshanak's large, equine ears - heightened hearing. It helps.

...Laying down would help even more, but, no.

"We're on a starship. Sailing through space."

Half-way through his explanation, she feels her attention wandering and tries to bring it back. She repeats his words in her mind, trying to get them to stick. Not now, mind.

Captain Picard. All right.

"I...suppose I should ask," she says, her hooves shifting a little awkwardly. "Is everyone human?"

Alex has had that response before. It's okay!

"No. The Federation is made up of at least two or three dozen different races. Humans seem to be most of Starfleet, but we are not all of it, by far." He grinned at her. "May I ask, and tell me no, if it offends somehow, but what race are you?" He knew the legends of centaurs, but she seemed nice, so he was predisposed to discount them.

It is less him and more how her mind works, particularly when there are so many things to look at.

Her teachers despair over her, they really do.

"I am a centaur. Not human." Then she sighs a little relief. "So I'd guess that they would be use to those with different body-shapes?"

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Test Drive #7 - Ten Forward and Captain's Yacht

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Jaime T Kirk | Star Trek AOS (genderbend) | Option 1

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Re: Emma Swan|Once Upon a Time|Option 1

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