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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Marion blinks slightly owlishly for a moment. Then she has to do her very best to not laugh.

"I'm a horror fiction writer from the 21st century. I've..." How much can she say? Marion pauses and takes a deep breath.

"Lets just say that unusual topics are my bread and butter." They're her life really but Marion doesn't know Tasha well enough yet. They've only exchanged a few words so far. Not even names.

"Ever written a character who returned from the dead?" she inquires glumly. "If so, how did it go?"

She actually needs the anonymity right now.

"Yes, actually." Poor Kara. Marion had gone to great lengths to explore what happens when someone who everyone thinks shouldn't be able to comes back.

"It was... a difficult story to write, to be honest. I can see it being even more difficult in real life." She won't ask Tasha if she has first hand experience. That's too personal.

"Why was it - difficult to write, I mean?" The fatigue coming off of her is palpable. She's obviously keen to keep this fictional, or at least abstract.

"Because I had to be true to the characters I had created. When.... When I killed Kara it left a wound in the people who knew her. The people who only knew of her were.... Haunted, in a way. Not by her ghost even if I coulda gone that way..."

She trails off shaking her head before she can continue. "But I didn't. Memories are powerful. Emotions are powerful. I couldn't let myself hold back. I don't believe in pulling punches. It was... emotionally draining. And hit a little close to home for me."

"You were dealing with a loss." It's not a question. It is an urging to continue. "And you were using the mask of someone else to work through it."

"Not loss." She runs her fingers over her face. Marion knows she isn't sweating but a very familiar sick feeling settles in her stomach.

"I... was a survivor. By chance. Serial killer attempted to eviscerate me. But I was smart. Clever. Damn stubborn." Marion lets out a huff of hot air.

"I wanted to see if I could feel like myself again."

"That's...still a loss." Her words are quiet, weighted with personal knowledge so deep -

"I can't imagine trying to put anything like that into words," she admits with wonderment. "I'm not artistic."

"It wasn't easy at first," she admits.

"It got easier after I decided to...go for the throat, so to speak." Marion is slightly amused as that is nearly a reference to her condition. "And I learned to fight. I won't let others become victims."

Marion lets Tasha's words sink in then levels her a look. "Bull. Anyone can create art. It's not about.... rainbows and flowers. It's about reaching down into a place you need to feel and grabbing onto the emotions. I sucked. Then I worked at it. You get out of it what you put into it."

Edited 2015-06-30 04:43 (UTC)

Tasha nods with understanding at the first point. "I'm - I mean before...everything...I was a security officer." That still feels surreal to say. Why it's easier to explain to a complete stranger is wholly confusing, but she's too damn tired to fight it.

"That was the look I used to get at the Academy," she quips. After the other woman has her say, "That's...kind of the problem. Feeling things, I mean."

So says the woman muttering shamefacedly into her water and who cried in her Captain's arms while in the Penalty Box.

"I was... a shop girl who had gone to med school for a bit," Marion admits. Retail had been good for her. She had learned how to connect with people.

"That's why I writer. Writing... it can give me a bit of distance. Because I can tell myself that it's not me. It's my characters. I used them. To deal with the fact I couldn't deal with.... With living. So I made Kara. Who had no choice but to figure out the answers to the questions I had. While her answers aren't mine, personally, they're still valid. They still help."

Marion stares at Tasha. Come on.See what writing did for her.

"Without Kara I'd still be afraid of the dark. She may not be physically real but... She kind of saved my life when I had no idea I still needed someone to save me."

"I'm not seeing how that could work -"

But:

She's leaning forward.

Her hands are on the table spread openly before Marion.

There's teeth gnawing at her bottom lip.

She's listening.

"Don't make it about yourself. Make it about.... Them. How do they feel? What are they facing? How do they deal with it?"

Marion smiles even if it hurts.

"They succeed. It can't be easy or it won't ring true. Hallow victories aren't okay. It's all or nothing." Marion is grim looking for a moment. Marion then drains her drink in one go and flags down a waiter.

She needs another. "If you help them succeed it's... Like a balm. It feels better."

"But life doesn't work like that."

Simple. True. Maybe.

She's here, isn't she?

"That's why it's fiction. We can idealize it without... without making it fake."

Marion doesn't know how to put it into words. Funny given she is a writer. "People need something to believe in. Something to aspire to. What if coming out on top when the chips are down is what someone desperately needs to see? I say give them that. Show them that beating the odds can happen."

"What place do tragic stories have then?" Her mind is whirling. She snaps out of it a bit.

"I'm sorry I'm barraging you with questions. There -" She shrugs. "In my old life there wasn't much room for expression." Her friend's attempts always amazed her. She never thought of doing it herself until - oddly enough - hearing the term, "bullshit."

"They remind us we can move on after that. While there may be no... 'and they lived happily ever after'. Well. Sometimes what is important is that even after something horrible that they lived."

Marion wonders where that came from. "It's okay. I totally opened myself up for this. And you're a lot kinder than a reporter who wanted to talk about my work."

She shrugs right back. "I'm not afraid to talk."

"Do you know if I can still find your novels then?" She's not much of a fiction reader, but this is compelling for some reason. Tasha needs to see this through, wherever it goes. "I'd like to. I mean, I can't give feedback because I normally don't read fiction, but - I'd still like to."

"Unfortunately I know I'm not from this reality's past," Marion said with a low groan.

"I'm trying to write a holonovel. To stretch my horizons... and learn a new skill. Programming is not really something I'm good at. So. It's taking time even though I have the story itself almost done."

"I could help with the hologram part," she offers. "One of the things my schooling required was creating in-depth battle simulations. It's the same format, I just...haven't used it that way before." There's a lot of doubt if she can pull it off, but it beats sitting around by light years.

"It's different from what I'm used to. It's like.... There was this book series I used to love as a kid. Choose your own adventures. I figured out pretty quickly that a lot of holonovels are like that," Marion admits with a slight shrug.

Marion considers mentioning that Dylan has been teaching her. But really mostly she has been trying really hard to not flirt with Dylan Hunt. It is impossible for her to not want to flirt with him. He smells good, he's nice, and he he has a few other features that Marion does not feel comfortable thinking about because deep down she is a little bit shy and a little bit of a romantic at heart.

"That.... would be seriously helpful. Thanks."

She smiles and it looks one hundred percent honest.

That's okay. Someone she misses hasn't come to see her yet - and she doesn't want to wonder why. Too many of the possibilities are heartbreaking. There's a lot running through her system, and the usual outlets just aren't doing it anymore. I mean, how do you process a resurrection? Marion here is the closest person she's ever met with a possible set of instructions.

Tasha catches the hesitation though. "How about you let me know if, or when, you are ready?"

Artists all have their processes.

"It would be nice if I could finish the story first." She almost blushes.

"I keep getting... distracted. Or frustrated with how things are going. This was easier when I was traveling on the road. Back home." She runs her fingers through her hair. This place is too clean and it grates on her.

Her smile is tired. "Most of the people I've heard today have complained that it's boring around here." From a security perspective, the best days are always going to boring. She is a warrior at heart though and can sense that tension among many of the Displaced. To a point, it shares it. "But it sounds like you've had the opposite problem?"

"After my original upset... yeah. At first it felt like a really weird vacation I didn't want," Marion admits giving a slight nod to the waiter who drops off her fresh drink.

"But honestly? After I dealt with some.... personal issues I realized I had the chance to learn things I wouldn't be able to back home. My.... version of Earth is pretty different. I've started learning things."

Educating herself is important and she is starting to come to a grim conclusion. She doesn't know what to think just yet.

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