ten_fwd | (Open) The Stranger

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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.

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At least the things Tasha mentions are positive - or sound it. Resettlement could be euphemistic, but she keeps that to herself. So all she says is, "True enough. Although voting for representatives will be interesting, I'm not sure everyone even has the concept of the vote.

And I prefer Natasha," she adds. "If it gets confusing, we could always go by surname. Unless your surname is similar to 'Romanoff'."

Something tells her it won't be.

"Can I go back? Yeah. Wasn't by choice. I mean," Natasha pauses. "I wanted to go back, but Q didn't exactly discuss with me."

"People learn," she says knowingly. "You have to give them some latitude to do so."

"Yar, and -" She winces. "Until I read my birth registry, I didn't even know 'Tasha' was short for something." She doesn't know anything about either of her names, honestly. They're just one more artifact of of a broken colonial experiment.

She's really glad the dog is here. Natasha can see that. She can also see work is safer.

"So Q just - takes you - whenever and wherever? Is that common?"

She's going to shove that memory of the "penalty box," out of her mind. Thanks again, pooch.

Velikan is, it should be said, more than happy to loll around being petted. He moves his head to direct Tasha's hand to new spots, and his leathery tail is setting a steady thump-thump-thump as he wags it against the floor.

"Names drift. 'Natasha' is actually a nickname for the name 'Natalia', but unless you're from Eastern European, not many people use it that way."

Suits her well enough, her preferred name having lost many of its cultural markers.

But she can tell the other woman is more comfortable with things not as personal, and she's happy enough to go along with that.

"Common? Uh. I haven't exactly run any statistical analysis, but... So, I went back, and two friends of mine also went back. But then Q winked me here along with only one of those friends. So. Who knows. But from my observations, people wink in and a fair number of them wink back. But not all."

Edited 2015-06-01 01:51 (UTC)

Yes, but now she's curious. "I didn't know that. I didn't even know the name originates from that section of Earth." By way of explanation she offers. "I grew up on a failed colony. There's...a lot I missed." She looks up. "I'd like to know more, if you're from the area."

"But not all," she repeats thoughtfully. "Must make living a life more difficult."

"Makes it hard to find a purpose, knowing I could wink back. But... Hell, maybe Q just wanted to bring me back with my car."

Her beautiful car, which if anyone touches or scratches, she will taser them.

Natasha regards Tasha for a moment, then nods. "Sure. I am, actually. I'm Russian, Natalia - Natasha - is one of the most popular girls' names there. And I'd say from your surname, your family's also Eastern European. Or was. Yar is a location name. Russia, and Ukraine."

She pauses.

"Ukraine is a neighbouring country to Russia, at least from the time I'm from. Lots of shared history, hence similarities."

Edited 2015-06-01 03:06 (UTC)

"Q is..." Her tone says it before she does. "He was here twice before that I know of, and tried to kill me both times." A pause. "I think. Either way, I seem to get his attention."

"Really?" Her eyebrows go up. "Might have to visit." She never considered roots before - or maybe she should say, "her last life."

"Been to at least 50 world and there's so much I still don't know." At least she knows Spike likes her. She may be the Best Human Ever right now. "Was this in the 20th century?"

Tasha's admission makes Natasha's brows furrow. "That sounds... Well, shit. You have my sympathies."

Given what Q can do...

Yeah. Tasha Yar has her most sincere sympathies.

"20th and early 21st, I'm from 2014." But if she'd turned serious about Q, now she smiles. A little. "I hope you like hiking, most of the Yars are rural. Then you have the Bely Yars... But, Russia is a beautiful country. And Kapustin Yar is, or was I guess, a launch site. Missiles, rockets. Space rockets, too."

There is another Yar she knows of, Babi Yar. But it's mostly cemeteries. And there's no easy way to bring up what happened there during the Nazi occupation.

"Was that where they started the space program?" she asks in awe.

"Started? Ah, no," but her smile is warmer now. "The main cosmodrome was - is, still - Baikonur. But Kapustin Yar is the main testing launch site."

"Maybe, if we're called back to Earth and...if you're here...you can show me around. Having a connection to somewhere other than the Enterprise -" Her smile dies on her face, but Spike is glad to salvage the wreck. "It might be nice."

"Sure. I have to admit, I'm curious about what my home country's like in this century."

Tasha's fading smile (no matter that Nat's puppy is there is lick things away) is a reminder, though, that the woman needs a head's up.

Particularly as she mentioned being from a failed colony, which Natasha's seen enough social collapse to guess at what might have happened.

"As a head's up. If you look up the Yars on the computer? There's another one, very famous. Or infamous. Babi Yar, Ukraine, in World War II. It was the site of a series of massacres."

"Figures."

Pregnant pause is pregnant.

"Thanks for telling me," she finally says. "Earth united long ago. The 20 and 21st century in Earth's history sound -" She shrugs. "Frightening. Almost chaotic. I can't see how anyone made a home out of it."

Natasha looks at her for a moment, thoughtful.

"Number of conflicts, I doubt it's worse than most other times in human history. What's different is the number of causalities. But we humans are a stubborn lot.

We make the best of things. 'Sides, living there? Not so bad."

"In what way?" History was never her thing unless it had something to do with tactics.

"Which bit are you asking about?" Natasha says, and then huffs a little. "We could move to a couch, if you didn't want to be on the ground patting my dog for the whole time."

Edited 2015-06-01 06:02 (UTC)

Spike is falling asleep anyway.

"I meant no offense. History isn't my strong suit." She picks up a pliant dog and heads to a better seat. "When Starfleet rescued me on the colony, I never looked back, but -" She bit her lip. "I was the only one out of the people they found. I never really understood it. I wanted nothing more than to leave and, they all stayed." In her mind, it was a death sentence in Hell.

BEING PICKED UP, BEING PICKED UP, it's suddenly a change for Spike Velikan, and one he's not sure of. His Humans can pick him up, but this lady is a stranger. He starts to wriggle and, once he's put down again, he goes to sit at Natasha's feet.

"I can understand that," Natasha says, untangling Velikan's lead. "And, I'm sorry that happened to you."

She's silent for a moment, thinking. "Earth's history fights a lot of wars. And I, uh, I think that looking back, it's really too easy to go the whole planet was a mess when to the average Jane on the street, it might not even be affecting her that much. And the two world wars were horrific, don't get me wrong, but given the century before had Napoleon running around trying to conquer Europe, and American Civil War, other things in Europe, doubtless other wars in other parts of the world..."

She shrugs.

"History's not my strong point, either. But as far as chaos goes, it depends more on where you live. Or lived."

She understand, Spike, but it's a shame to lose you.

"I survived." And that's all she has to say on that matter - and hopes this other Tasha understands as much. Some people are too interested in knowing about her homeworld.

"I don't think I have a context. The colony enveloped the whole planet. 'Region' is something of an abstract concept. Territory? That I understand."

"What is Russia - your Russia - like?"

"Big," she says, then chuckles softly. "It's a very big territory, I haven't seen all of it. I lived in the south-western area, part of the Eurasian steppes. Uh, large, large area of mostly grassland, although there are trees around my hometown. The skies are big, too. Which is a hard thing to explain, I know, but they are.

Uh, the people... Like people everywhere. Kind, selfish. We're still working out where we're going, as a country." Her mouth tilts wryly. "We have an unfortunate tendency towards tyrants, and changing political systems isn't ever a good time. But it's not the worst that the higher-ups have ever thrown at us, so. It'll be okay."

She hopes.

"Sounds there's a great pride in resilience there." There's a pause. "Do you think - somehow - seeing what it could become potentially helps you?"

Natasha regards her. "My hometown's kinda known for it," she says. "And it's not a bad thing to take pride from."

You survive. That's what she learnt at Stalingrad: you survive.

It's a lesson she's carried with her for her entire life since.

"Helps? It can't hurt. But I'm not exactly one of the movers and shakers in my world."

The other woman regards her. She won't say it out loud, but it's clear she find that hard to believe.

"Thank you, for letting me know what you know." She nods to Spike. "And to him as well. You move like you've been trained in some kind of sport or athletics of some kind. Competitive martial arts?"

Edited 2015-06-07 02:38 (UTC)

"You take ballet as a kid, the movements are hard to shake off." Natasha's voice is wry. "But, yeah, I also do martial arts. You?"

She nods. "Several. I am -" She stops to think about what she's saying. "Was a security officer in Starfleet."

The Chief of Security. Of this ship. Tasha remembers. This is way she doesn't add anymore on that.

"Up for sparing sometime?"

It's an interesting slip, and one Natasha notes. But all she says is, "Sure. Only person I've been sparring against is my partner. Change is useful."

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