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(Open) The Stranger
Tasha hadn't want to scare anyone - or worse - have their pity. She'd been here on some nights before, but always in disguise and making it a point to watch, but not interact, with anyone. Also, she didn't like to admit it, but she loved make-up. Not the kind that Deanna or Beverly wore to bring out their features. That kind of make-up wasn't for her. It didn't feel right on. She didn't like extra attention regarding her appearance; a holdover from Turkana IV, she supposed.
But make-up to disguise? To conceal who and what you were and be able to become someone else? She had an incredible love of that. She justified her enjoyment by its usefulness as a skill, but it was more than that. It was a chance to be someone without the burden of duty or a past. Someone more normal - unless the part called for something else.
The risk of discovery also played a big part in both the thrill of the challenge and the growing irritation at her self-imposed isolation. Tasha justified it easily. She might disappear at any moment - or maybe even drop dead - because "dead" was still her official status, though Picard had assured her the wheels of bureaucracy were getting a firm push regarding all that. Starfleet's reluctance was understandable with all the strange happenings onboard the ship, but it gnawed at her patience. She didn't want to upend anyone's life, but she missed them! It would also mean opening herself up to stacks of unfinished business, too, but she was tired of avoiding her friends - even is she still thought keeping her distance might remain the best course of action.
At least her insistence on isolation had gotten her caught up on as much security information and protocols a civilian had access to. Well, a civilian and a cadet. It turned out the Academy hadn't cancelled her alumni access. There wasn't much dangerous in that, but "not much" wasn't "nothing" by a longshot. She'd have to talk to them about that.
Tasha's tired of keeping to herself and making Aggie feel like she's rooming with a crazy hermit. Tonight, she's keeping her "disguise" to a hooded sweatshirt. It's time to go Ten Forward, to stop being someone else, face what, if anything, comes of it.
But make-up to disguise? To conceal who and what you were and be able to become someone else? She had an incredible love of that. She justified her enjoyment by its usefulness as a skill, but it was more than that. It was a chance to be someone without the burden of duty or a past. Someone more normal - unless the part called for something else.
The risk of discovery also played a big part in both the thrill of the challenge and the growing irritation at her self-imposed isolation. Tasha justified it easily. She might disappear at any moment - or maybe even drop dead - because "dead" was still her official status, though Picard had assured her the wheels of bureaucracy were getting a firm push regarding all that. Starfleet's reluctance was understandable with all the strange happenings onboard the ship, but it gnawed at her patience. She didn't want to upend anyone's life, but she missed them! It would also mean opening herself up to stacks of unfinished business, too, but she was tired of avoiding her friends - even is she still thought keeping her distance might remain the best course of action.
At least her insistence on isolation had gotten her caught up on as much security information and protocols a civilian had access to. Well, a civilian and a cadet. It turned out the Academy hadn't cancelled her alumni access. There wasn't much dangerous in that, but "not much" wasn't "nothing" by a longshot. She'd have to talk to them about that.
Tasha's tired of keeping to herself and making Aggie feel like she's rooming with a crazy hermit. Tonight, she's keeping her "disguise" to a hooded sweatshirt. It's time to go Ten Forward, to stop being someone else, face what, if anything, comes of it.
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"I'm fine."
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He's bending down to retrieve the sandwich off the floor and onto the plate, not minding the fact it was still hot. Tasha will get a good look at him; a red collared shirt, jeans, black belt and brown riding boots. One of the Q-passengers, no doubt, considering the incredibly 21st Century clothing...
The slight difference is the combadge glinting on his breast.
"I'm really sorry about this..." Mack remarks, his voice accented. Southern United States, if you pay much attention to this. "Should'a watched where the hell I was goin'."
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Tasha's eyes focus on the combadge. "Are you off-duty from this ship, or are you an acting officer from one of the crew?"
The sandwich is deposited back onto the plate without a second thought. The soup might need a refill.
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"Mm?" He asks, a tad confused as to where the question came from, before he sees where her eyes are focused. "Oh. Uh, neither, I guess. I'm one of Q's... guests. I worked in Sickbay for a bit, and still offer my services for an emergency, so I get to keep one." He taps the badge on his chest gently.
"Mack Gerhardt." He says, eventually. "And I ain't usually that clumsy." He offers, with a smile.
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"Tasha Yar," she replies. No harm in letting a guest know her name. She's not going to get the looks she has been dreading.
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"How about you? Native, or...?"
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Subject change.
"Is it...anything like where you're from?"
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He'll accept that, after all, they have just met and all.
"This place? Nah..." He looks around. "Nothing like home at all." He looks back at Tasha. "Which makes sense, considering it's 300 years in the past. Home, I mean."
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"Well, I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't from there. Spent most've my life in the Army, though. More at home there than anywhere south."
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"Who with?"
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"Mostly Afghanistan at the moment." A shrug. "There's always someone threatening freedom."
The last line sounds parrotted, and something Mack doesn't fully believe.
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She winces. "When Q first appeared - during the Enterprise's first mission - he took the form of various soldiers from Earth's history. One of them from the 20th and he babbled about 'defeating the commies' or something. Is this the conflict you're referring to?"
If you asked her about the conflicts and the tactics used, she could answer almost anything. If you want Tasha to understand the ideology behind conflicts, she doesn't tend to get that involved.
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The Gene War? The Bell Uprisings? Some kind of lead up to the anarchy collectively called World War III? Or was he from some other timeline all together?
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She scans to lounge for a quiet corner. One with a window. "Do you mind following me for a second?"
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"I don't come from the Federation," she admits. "I came from a world where warlords and gangs fought and died for gardens or buildings smaller than this lounge." She hadn't been looking at him before. She now does. "And then people from the Federation found me - and they didn't want anything from me. It was the second hardest thing to wrap my head around."
She scans the galaxy and points to something light years away. Just a small blue dot among countless others.
"That world is likely 5 times the size of Earth. Not to say Earth isn't worth fighting for, but...This is the galaxy. It welcomes everything, because everything is already a part of it."
She licks her lips nervously. The tone says she's done her own sinning. "The hardest thing was learning that - up here, Mac? The galaxy doesn't care who you were before. Not what you had, who you took it from, or how you took it."
Her green-blue eyes dart back over to him. "It just takes who you are going to be moving forward."
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Being flung into the future nonwithstanding, he wouldn't betray the Unit. Not now, not ever.
"I'm glad you got a chance to escape." He adds.
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But he's not moving away from the window.
"Thank you, Mack."
Normal people might touch an arm or a shoulder in solidarity. They aren't normal people. The momentary silence and having their hands where each other can see them is enough.
After a moment, she adds. "Enjoy the view." It might not be going away.
Or it could. But she also thinks that might just be a waste for the warrior before her.
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A slight lift to the corners of his mouth in a smile.
"On the plus side, no more requisition orders to fill out, 'cause some trooper somewhere misplaced his rifle."
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