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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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She's not touching the "not human," part. She knows many ways humanity can be set aside for something more ruthless. The deaths Marion speaks of are startling only because she's been in the Federation as long as she has. She should accept that as a victory, she supposes.
"Is the fight the only thing to return to? If so, I'm not sure it's enough."
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"I.... can't go back home. If I went back to Pentecost I would be a danger to my Mother. Not just my little hairy condition but.... I'm fairly certain I've started making enemies. My only friends these days are all wrapped up in the supernatural." Because she just can't do normal anymore.
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"I'm a werewolf. Meaning once every standard Earth moon cycle I turn into a large wolf shaped creature. I'm.... Much different than a normal human even right now."
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"I learned from others of my kind in how to control the changes in my emotions. But... Here? I have the doctors put me in isolation." She smiles n a slightly embarrassed manner. "I met Lieutenant Worf almost right away and... felt the need to disclose my condition considering he found me trying to reign in my temper while carrying a sword."
Marion shakes her head. "I gave him my sword. Show of.... I guess you'd call it a desire to behave myself. Then explained myself a bit. He took me to Dr. Crusher right away."
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"Bite wounds." And the fact she was infected is probably way too telling. Marion grips the glass a bit tighter than necessary. "Big part of why I'm totally serious about isolation during my uh.... time of the moon cycle."
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"I'm sorry, Marion. Long day."
She's boggled any infection could do that, but if Worf and Beverly have documentation...Well, that's what she can do right now.
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"I get it.I'd have questions too.... If you ever have anymore? You can talk to me. I don't mind giving the four-one-one on werewolves." Marion is very straight forward that way.
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