A thread for threading about gold thread - Locked to Gold

[agathaheterodyne]

Okay, so for the moment she wasn't ripping apart the walls. But she still need to build herself a small portable death-ray. The one Ginny helped her build was good, but too large to hide under her skirt. And besides, Ginny was CLEARLY in need of one herself. So Agatha had to make at least two more. So she had sent her small clank out again to fetch supplies, while she sat in a corridor that didn't seem to see much foot traffic, and worked.


The small little thing looked like a thin pocket watch with an eye where the face should be, and small joined bronze and copper limbs jutting out, two legs, two arms, and more ambitions than brains. It was sent to find parts, and parts it would find.

It scurried around this way and that, bringing her things, and then...Jackpot. Marching along inside walls via the vent system was mostly how it traveled, and when it passed gold's room... and saw all that bright shining metal thread...

It quietly lowered itself down, sliding along the wall. How much easier with that rope! It would bring some to Agatha, and keep some for itself! That decided it climbed into the basket. There was so much, and the man kept making more. The little clank didn't realize it was all of one piece, though, and so it grabbed the end it found, and climbed back out of the basket....

It carried the golden rope back towards the vent, leaving a shining trail to trace it's path from the spinning wheel. It was unaware, however, that it had attracted the attention of the spinner...

A Sleeping Warrior Arrives

[1st_starfighter]

Alex Rogan smiled as he banked the ship, bringing it about. The asteroid field was a perfect place to test the new systems of the Mark VIII Starfighter he was piloting. With renewed capabilities and the ability of the gunman and pilot to be one and the same if needed, it took away some of the old flaws of the Starfighter units and allowed for them to actually work if part of the ship were holed now.

He wondered what Grig would think of it. And he sighed. Grig had passed on years ago. Alex had been doing this sort of thing for awhile, all by his lonesome, which had inspired this redesign, since he had rigged two different Starfighter designs to allow him to do both anyway.

As he banked around a particularly vicious looking asteroid, he got an alarm. "Say, System control, I'm getting a high Quantum energy level reading. Looks like some sort of anomaly, and closing fast. I'm going to divert from Test pattern Alpha to detour around it."

"Roger that, Starfighter One. Good fly-shhnnnnn---" The comm signal cut off into static and Alex looked out into space, realizing the sensors had been a little off. A glowing and shimmering curtain of light was sweeping across space, and right toward him! The super-magnetic fields of the asteroids that made them perfect for piloted navigation tests must have shielded the anomaly from his sensors.

His years of training and experience came alive as he acted swiftly. Shunting emergency power into the drive system, he spun the starfighter and shot them into a tight 18 G turn, feeling the Inertial dampers strain to keep up with it. And then he was hit, and the Starfighter seemed to spin, and dance. The whole ship seemed to rock, and then he was bring thrown forward toward the main altitude controls and - - -

- - - the ship tumbled out of the other side of the asteroid field, slowly stabilizing, but drifting nonetheless. It's pilot unconscious, the starfighter drifted onward, emergency life support slowing it's occupant's life signals and suspending him into near death as it emitted a distress call, a quiet and low powered beep that went out into the night. It was unheard... for 300 years, it's occupant preserved unchanged.

Eventually it drifted near a planetary system called Risa, and the beeping went on, boosted by the energy fields holding the ship together, a recording sounding in the night;

"This is Starfighter One to anyone nearby, Mayday. Emergency declared. Please assist. This is Starfighter One to anyone nearby---"

(ooc: plot locked, please and thank you)

(no subject)

[bakesafe]

There are dreams and then there are flashes of memory, and these days Peeta can't tell what's real or fake, what's a true memory and what's been hijacked: a memory manipulated, infused with terror (and tracker jacker venom), saved, and sent back into his mind so he remembers an event a whole lot differently than the world does.

A lot of things don't make sense. A lot of what he feels is confusing. Mostly what he feels is scared all the time, but on the edge of that is anger - dark, boiling, red-hot anger; and then, beneath all that is a desperate need to do something about it, scratch it off as if he could shed the feelings like a second skin. He wants to save his brothers, save his District, save someone or something but most of all, he wants to save himself. Because if he doesn't, he feels useless, feels like the poor beaten down boy under his mother's fist with bruises across his face and across his back because he'd tried to turn away - fast but not fast enough.

He's standing in the centre of a room, surrounded by people in different costume, some sparing him curious glances, others not bothering to acknowledge him at all. He's dressed in a very simple shirt and trousers, both the same tan colour like a set of scrubs only without the profession to go along with it. He doesn't recognize any of these people, that much he can tell, and he wonders if this is real, or if this is one of his dreams, or one of his tampered memories.

His first instinct is to find something to defend himself with, something to keep his fist clenched around so he can stop drifting in and out of the confusion in his head, a lot of the time skewing his sense of place and time. But he doesn't move. He stays rooted where he is, dark circles under his eyes looking like deep blue bruises on his pale skin, his lips cracked dry, mouth pressed into a tight, tense line.

To someone in the modern contemporary Earth, he looks as though he could have escaped from a mental facility. To others, maybe he just looks like a stressed out teenage boy who could use a good (thousand) night's sleep.

He swallows once, exhales - but then just as suddenly, he jumps and a silent scream tears through his senses and makes him flinch when someone mistakenly bumps into him from behind, mutters an apology, and keeps going. The action does get him to move though, and move he does. Aimless, a little dazed at first, but with one hand clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles are white, he schools his expression into one of neutral, focused interest.

Dream. Memory. Reality.

He's not sure what this is, but he's alone and he has to save himself.

[ ooc: oh yeah, forgot to mention that this is backdated to before the sickbay shenanigans to come. ]

(no subject)

[aehallh]

At one of the tables nearest the windows in Ten Forward, at some time in the afternoon, one might notice a Romulan woman carefully disassembling a plasma pistol. The weapon is her own, and — to anyone familiar with such things — obviously technology some decades advanced of what is available in the later 24th century.

She doesn't need to be sitting here calibrating a weapon she's only used once since she's been here, down on Alemar III, but going through the familiar motions is relaxing to her. At the moment, she's sitting back slightly from the table, a tool in one hand and the pistol's power matrix in the other, fussing with a stubborn faulty circuit. The rest of the pistol's parts are on the table in front of her: only a few, for such a little device.

It's been a while, since Irian's really worked with a weapon hands-on — sometimes, the Republic calls her in for a consultation on something new coming out of Fleet R&D, but that's not the same as building it herself. She's a little surprised to find that she's missed it.

Way to go, John - listening to a Wraith!

[ltcolonel]

[Locked to Picard]

John Sheppard’s been nursing a secret for awhile, and it’s playing on his mind. It isn’t one of those fun secrets, like a surprise party, it’s got the potential to affect everyone on the Enterprise. He’s been dealing with it, but he worries, if it gets out of hand and he dies, someone else needs to know what to do.

He’s pretty impressed with the security detail on the ship, there’s a few of them he would love to take back to Atlantis with him. They are up to handling a wraith. But he’s taking it to the Captain first, he’s got some respect for the chain of authority even when its a civilian at then head. It’s up to Picard how he wants to handle it.

It takes a little wheedling to get access to the captain without letting any know what it was but he pressed the point that it was a matter of security for the whole of the ship.

He’s sporting quite a few greys which hadn’t been there are a few days ago, when they escort him in. “Thanks for seeing me."