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Ten Forward RPG mod account ([personal profile] ten_fwd_mods) wrote in [community profile] ten_fwd_ooc2014-12-27 03:39 pm
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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!]

[personal profile] aehallh 2015-01-09 12:32 am (UTC)(link)
A flash of movement from the corner of her eye, and Irian looks up, gaze focusing on the young man who has suddenly appeared in Ten Forward as if out of thin air. It's not a new sight now; Q seems always to be bringing people here on a whim, these days.

But the look of him makes her more cautious. It's not just confusion, worry, or even fear. He looks like a wild animal, poised to fight or to run. She's seen that look a thousand times — during the Dominion War, on the faces of frightened civilians who don't know whom to trust, or more recently on Rihannsu refugees who have done nothing for the last twenty years but run from the Tal Shiar.

Irian is not the most compassionate of women, most days, but she knows from experience that things here could go very badly if someone doesn't at least attempt to calm him down. She leaves her tea and crosses to him, slowly, stopping a few feet away with her hands turned out in front of her, palms facing toward him: the universal gesture of someone wishing to show that they're unarmed. It's hardly as if she would need a weapon in her hands to hurt him — but that's not the point. "It's all right," she says, even-voiced. "You're in no danger here."

She's out of uniform, as has become more and more the case lately, dressed in long-sleeved tunic and trousers and soft boots, her hair plaited over one shoulder rather than in its usual tail — but her bearing may suggest she's not a civilian, all the same.
fishermansweater: (So common as money)

[personal profile] fishermansweater 2015-01-09 05:48 pm (UTC)(link)
Alert as he is, Finnick spots the movement quickly, moving to defend, to guard, wishing he had a weapon and glancing at his surroundings for something to use as one. Not that he's not entirely capable of fighting unarmed: he's the same height as the woman, he's fit, he's strong, and he'd been combat-trained from an early age in preparation for the arena.

The woman who approaches -- not close, but enough to draw his attention -- has her hands out, clearly unarmed, but it's her appearance that makes Finnick's demeanour change. Though he doesn't lower his arms, he does relax, a little, and give a smile that, to the observant, would seem a little forced.

With those ears and that skin color, this woman must be from the Capitol, and though his popularity stems from the Games he survived ten years ago, Finnick Odair doesn't go to the Capitol poised to kill.

"I guess I took a wrong turn," he says. "The Games are about to start."

[personal profile] aehallh 2015-01-09 06:16 pm (UTC)(link)
Whether or not his training would hold up to her superior strength is hard to say, but regardless, it doesn't matter. She's not interested in fighting him, and when he doesn't make a move to attack her, she drops her hands to her sides. From all appearances, she's perfectly relaxed, self-assured, confident.

There's a sharp awareness in her look, though, that might suggest something else; her eyes don't leave his face. Not as if she's expecting him to attack her, but watchful all the same. Watchful — but no recognition, either of him or of what he says when he mentions the Games. Irian doesn't actually ask him what he's talking about, but it's there in her eyes, and in the slight questioning lift of her upswept brows.

"Wherever it was that you were, you aren't there anymore," she says, her tone that of a woman who's had to explain the same thing on more than one occasion. She turns her head slightly, with a jerk of her chin in the direction of the windows, the Rihannsu equivalent of pointing. "We are on board a Federation starship named Enterprise. I was brought here without my will, just as you were."

It's a rather perfunctory explanation, and perhaps she's being less polite than she ought, but there's a sort of resigned calm to her words. She doesn't expect him to believe her right away, but that's not new.
fishermansweater: (He says you don't wanna be like me)

[personal profile] fishermansweater 2015-01-15 04:28 pm (UTC)(link)
She may look Capitol, with whatever's been done to her eyebrows and ears and skin, but she's nothing like most people he's ever met there, and he's met oh so very many of them. In oh so many places and oh so many ways. She's already different in that she's showing no sign of recognition.

Not everyone he meets starts screaming about it, but most of them give him at least an appreciative look, which is not what she's doing. No, she's giving him a look that says, silently but clearly enough, that she's querying what he's saying.

"The Hunger Games? The Quarter Quell? You know, the television event of the year?"

Were she not so clearly Capitol, there'd be more there, but he swallows the bitterness at going back into the arena behind a brittly bright smile.

What she says next stops any further attempts at getting recognition out of her in his throat. Finnick's body tenses, barely perceptibly, but it's there to read for one who can. He may not face someone from the Capitol like he's about to kill, may wreathe himself in smiles and flirtations and laughter, but that doesn't mean he's stupid.

And this is wrong.

"Starship?"

The word is startled from him before he can school his face, stop his voice. He's a sailor, son and grandson and great-grandson of the fisherfolk of District 4. Ships and boats and their rhythms and moods have sailed into and out of his story his whole life.

He'd be more impressed with the view if he hadn't spent so long in the Capitol, where their technology lets them perpetrate so very many illusions and frauds.

"You're trying to tell me I'm on a ship in the stars."

[personal profile] aehallh 2015-01-24 10:26 pm (UTC)(link)
"That's right."

Irian is attempting to be patient with him, and for the time being she's succeeding. If she were on board her own ship, she would have better things to do than stand here and talk to a stranger. But this isn't her ship, and he looks approximately as lost as she knows she herself felt when she first arrived, if not more so. It's obvious enough he's not from a world anything like her own; there's at least some sense of familiarity for her.

"You were brought here by a being called Q. He seems to enjoy kidnapping people from other worlds to transport them here — but the people who live and work on this ship will do nothing to harm you."

That much, she knows for certain. No Starfleet officer would willingly hurt an unarmed and defenseless civilian. Whether he believes her or not is up to him, but it should certainly be clear enough that she believes what she's saying.
fishermansweater: (That was called saving his life)

[personal profile] fishermansweater 2015-03-01 01:56 am (UTC)(link)
She shows no sign of recognition of the Games, no more than she had of him, and that makes him deeply uneasy, more deeply so than anything else so far. Everyone in Panem knows him, everyone knows the Games. The Games are mandatory viewing, and his face has been all over the screens this year. He's popular, he's talented, he's a darling of the Capitol. The cameras love him. Even without seeing much of the footage, he knows a lot of it has been of him, just like a lot of it has been of Katniss and Peeta, of Cashmere and Gloss, of Johanna. They're star attractions of this year's entertainment.

What she goes on to say, though, makes even less sense.

Except it's also sickeningly familiar. He looks back from the window (or screen, he's still not sold on that as a genuine view into space) to her.

He's good at words, good at people, at finding the gaps in what they say and leveraging them. Now, though, he goes for the direct approach.

"And what about Q?" he asks, his smile cold.

He's been taken and transported before, many, many times. In his experience, it doesn't happen because people wish him no harm.

[personal profile] aehallh 2015-03-03 05:09 am (UTC)(link)
"As I said, it seems he views bringing all of us here from our own places and times as a sort of practical joke." Her lips thin, an expression of displeasure and one of the handful that exactly corresponds to the same expression on a human. "So far he's done nothing that has resulted in any permanent harm, but I do not trust that that will continue to be the case."

She takes a couple steps back, only to pick up her tea from where she'd left it and bring it with her, sitting down at a table within conversation range. He's welcome to sit with her — although, studying him, she wouldn't be surprised if he chose not to.

"Q is from a race of seemingly god-like beings. I fear there's little we can do to resist him — for the time being."

It's fairly obvious that doesn't sit well with her. Irian cannot complain about the treatment she's been afforded on board Enterprise — they have been more courteous with her than she anticipated, as someone who is, in this timeline, technically an enemy national. But she's also too conscious of the fact that they're stuck in a cage, even if it is a cage with decent food and comfortable quarters.