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

[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 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!]

Comments

[asklepian]

At this rate, Julian is going to take to having his evening meals in his quarters. Or Sickbay. It's infinitely preferable to being in Ten Forward when another person is unceremoniously dropped into their midst by Q, someone who obviously doesn't take kindly to the surprise.

He recognizes the look on the boy's face, and it concerns him. Julian has seen people coming back from the front lines--Starfleet officers, shaken by war, by horrible circumstances. He looks young. Too young, in fact, to be a soldier.

Julian doesn't know what else could possibly cause that look. He doesn't want to know--the possibilities make him heartsick.

But he stands up, hands out, because he is tasked with keeping people safe and healthy, and that involves mental health when he has to, and not being stabbed with butter knives. But he doesn't approach the boy from behind, making very sure to go around to his front. To approach him with hands open, offering no threat.

"It's alright. You're not in danger here, I promise you. You can put the knife down."

[bakesafe]

That's what they want you to believe.

That's what they say before someone else comes up behind him and stabs him in the back, right between the shoulder blades, sends someone else to tell him they've got someone he loves, that they're going to kill her, kill them, unless he does whatever they want.

He belongs to the Capitol and that is never, ever going to stop, victor or not.

"You stay where you are," he says, butter knife raised between the two of them, ready to be jabbed into any soft, squishy part of the other man, and don't think he won't do it because he will, without hesitation, if it means his survival. His voice is calm, low, nothing to betray just how terrified he actually is. "Okay? You just stay there."

[asklepian]

"Alright, alright," Julian says, voice perfectly level, not moving any closer. He puts his hands down at his sides. "Don't be rash. My name is Julian--Doctor Julian Bashir. Are you injured? I can help you."

He's fairly sure he can get the knife away from him, if needed, but he'd rather not. He'd also rather not the Security officers have to stun him, but that may end up happening.

"You're on the Federation starship Enterprise. Wherever you were before you were brought here, you're very far away."

[bakesafe]

It's a trick; that's the second thing that pops into Peeta's mind as he scrutinizes the man in front of him, the man who calls himself a doctor.

He's seen some of the doctors in the Capitol, knows what they're capable of. He's read things, he's seen previous years' Hunger Games, and he wouldn't trust anyone to heal him but Katniss' mom, maybe. (And Katniss' little sister. Prim.) But a butter knife isn't going to win this fight.

The knife remains poised in his hand, arm held rigid, his entire body remaining calm and still, but a moment passes before he finally lets his arm drop to his side, a slow and deliberate 'truce'. (He's not even sure what he'd call it, because surrender and submission are not words he'd use either.) He's not letting go of the utensil, but it's clear he won't use it if he doesn't have to.

Peeta isn't a fighter, he never has been. His skill is in artistry, in his charm and his words. Maybe they'll be of some use to him here in this ... arena.

[asklepian]

Julian doesn't approach once the knife is down, he hopes the situation is de-escalated enough that the security detail doesn't approach, because this is still an explosion waiting to happen. If they intervene, it will go badly.

"Thank you," he starts, even if it sounds a bit ridiculous.

"As I said, my name is Julian Bashir. I'm a Starfleet officer, and you're on a Starfleet vessel. We're not going to hurt you--we're explorers, scientists." Soldiers, when they have to be. But that's not here and not now.

"What's your name?"

[bakesafe]

Explorers. Scientists.

These are occupations Peeta has never even dared to imagine, because nearly all of Panem (particularly the poorer districts) doesn't allow that kind of thing to float in the minds of the children. You're bred for one purpose and one purpose alone: to continue doing what your parents have been doing, what your grandparents have been doing, all to feed the Capitol. You can be a coalminer or a fisherman, or a grain-farmer, but never an explorer, an academic, a scholar.

"Peeta," Peeta responds, after a longer pause than necessary. "I don't think I understand what you mean. Where are we?"

[asklepian]

"Well, currently we're in orbit above the planet Risa, which is about 90 light-years from Earth," Julian says--as gently as possible, because this is obviously a big shock. He looks sympathetic and a bit worried, frankly. He can't conceive of what would cause this boy to be so afraid--so much so that the first thing he did was try to arm himself, ineffectual as a butter knife against a phaser on stun would be.

"It's a bit much to take in, I realize. The fact that we're in space, I mean. I'm guessing we haven't even come close to interstellar space travel in the time you're from."

[bakesafe]

"Inter - what?" Peeta shakes his head. "No, that doesn't make sense to me. Are you saying ..."

No, he's been in planes before. He knows planes. Coptors. Whatever you want to call them. They'd been used to transport the tributes from the Games once they've ended, but it's different when you're being airlifted out of a simulated arena ... and the world.

Planet, the man said.

Suddenly Peeta is suspicious again.

"This is a trick. Isn't it?"