ten_fwd | (no subject)

It's been a little time since Stahma arrived in this place, on board this ship: enough time for her to acquaint herself with the fact that nothing she can do will allow her to return home. The realization is not exactly a pleasant one. Her son has just gotten married to a young woman Stahma is quite charmed by despite herself, her husband is in the midst of a heated race for mayor of Defiance, and she may be falling in love with a woman she never imagined she'd get so close to. If anything, she worries over Kenya the most, because if anything should happen that would cause Datak to learn about their affair... Stahma doesn't even want to think about it, about what she would have to do to protect herself should that happen, even though it's something she has to consider. That possibility has been a part of her calculation from the beginning.

So much is happening around her, she's learning so much about herself that she never knew, so many possibilities are only now coming within her grasp that would never have been available to her as a woman back on Casti all those years (millennia) ago, and to have that taken away in an instant — needless to say, it's jarring to her. But Stahma is accomplished at wearing masks, not giving away what she's thinking or feeling when she needs to conceal it; and, furthermore, she's genuinely curious about this world, these people. Many are human, but not the humans she's used to; the Earth here is not the Earth she knows. Alternate worlds are only theory, where she's from; scientists bandy the idea about, but no one's ever taken it seriously. Certainly it's not something Stahma herself ever thought about before; it never took her interest. But now that she's had the theory proven to her fairly obviously, she's curious to see what the differences are between the people of this world and her own — not to mention all of the others who have come here like she did, brought here from their own places and times. It's a pleasant enough distraction, for the time being.

In that spirit, she's sitting at a table in Ten Forward, near one of the windows, alternating between watching warp-attenuated stars streak by and observing people as they come and go from the lounge. She's rather conspicuously by herself, but if she feels vulnerable it certainly doesn't show. She has a cup of tea between her hands; one of the first things she did, after the initial shock of being here wore off, was learn how to use the replicator. It won't make anything Castithan, which is a shame, but there are a few human teas that are... acceptable, at least for now. The steam from her cup gives off a slight fragrance of mint and citrus.

Threaded | Flat

One of the saddest things about this place, Noriko finds, is that the chairs here are totally impossible to sit comfortably backwards in, save for one position. That said, she's definitely occupying a table right next to Stahma--not that she has a clue who the very pale lady actually is--in exactly that position, with her knees hooked over the chair's back, bare ankles crossed, and her lower back supported by the chair seat (her head, likewise, is resting on the table surrounded by a loose flow of electric blue hair).

She's got a cup of tea too--mint and cherry, though, and god she loves this stuff--and a plastic ball filled with equally plastic track, through which she is maneuvering a tiny metal ball with surprisingly dexterity given the gauntlets that encase her hands in metal up to the elbow. "Smells good," she notes absently, turning her head towards Stahma. "What've you got?"

If she's watching the room, she might notice the addition of a certain cowgirl after a spell who looks not so different from the sort of humans who wander in and out of Defiance. Guns on her hips, boots on her feet, blonde hair left loose around her shoulders and cowboy hat hung against her back from a stampede string. She's not a big thing by any stretch; just over five feet, with pretty blue eyes and soft features. But her hands are steel-rough and her shoulders are strong.

She makes her way over to a replicator and fetches her own tea — just black tea, with a dash of cream — gathering up the teacup and heading into the room in search of an empty table. It's a busy night, and most of the seats are taken.

That's when she makes eye contact with Stahma, and smiles.

"Howdy."

Loneliness is a strange concept for a Wraith. On a Hive, surrounded by kin and a part of the vast telepathic network that stretches between individual Wraith and even across space to connect whole Hives, there simply is no such thing as loneliness.

This particular Wraith is no stranger to it, though. He has experienced isolation before, trapped inside a cell with no windows, without even the slightest hint of daylight or sky, and with nothing to help him measure time. He had wondered, then, what would drive him mad first; the hunger or the deafening silence that had descended over his mind, when the ever-present hum of his Hive was no longer there.

It had eventually been the hunger that had just about done it. The base physical need for sustenance had overridden the need for companionship. And yet, the day when his freedom arrived, it wasn't the end of the hunger that left the largest impression in his mind, but rather the odd companionship he had found during his escape.

It's not loneliness he feels now. Not quite. There are people all around him, of all manners of races, milling about this great ship. He isn't confined to a cell, and outside the windows the bright streaks of stars can be seen as the ship flies through hyperspace. But, he is still trapped, and it is a completely different kind of isolation he experiences now. A sense of not belonging.

The more pragmatic side of him says that it doesn't matter much. His objectives are really quite simple: find a way back to his own galaxy and his own people, and find a way to stay alive long enough to accomplish this. That he misses his own kind has no real impact on this, motivation aside.

Allies are a useful thing, be it to aid in his quest to get home, but also if worst comes to worst and he has to remain for an extended period of time. Alone and without allies, even an ancient thing like him can only do so much.

Though not a necessarily social creature, he can admit to feeling the need to be around others. The best place for this seems to be the very place he first appeared at: Ten Forward. While he doesn't have a want or need for anything to eat or drink, he nevertheless heads for the bar. Having a glass in front of him seems to make him being there - a place where people go to eat and drink and spend time with others - more... Normal, for the lack of a better word.

He doesn't make it to the bar, however, before he spots a somewhat familiar face. A pale female, clad in clothes as white as her hair.

"Stahma Tarr," he greets, coming to stand beside her table. "I trust you are well?"

She's no Wraith. She has no way off this ship any more than he does, and he doesn't know if she could prove to be a useful ally or not. But whatever else, she can hopefully provide a moment of pleasant company.