ten_fwd | [Ten Forward]: Picard never knew he could hate an Earth holiday this much (Halloween plot)

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[Ten Forward]: Picard never knew he could hate an Earth holiday this much (Halloween plot)

Something strange is beginning to happen in Ten Forward. People are murmuring, and it isn't the steady hum of polite conversation or the sound of clinking glasses. It is the bemused, unhappy cacophony of passengers receiving the wrong orders, plates of meat suddenly replaced with plates of candy.

That isn't even the worst of it. Along with the replicators producing nothing but confections, people's attire is beginning to change. Officer and civilian alike are affected; one moment they are sitting in peace, and the next there is a small flash of light and they reappear in costumes, each more outrageous than the last. For some who are still eating, their physical appearance changes, they feel different, or they are suddenly struck with a strange dread and fear. The room is steadily growing to madness, and it is happening in every corner of the ship from bow to stern.

Suddenly, there is a particularly bright flash of light, and Captain Picard materializes in the middle of the room. Only — well, this is embarrassing.

It would appear that the overtures Q had made just moments earlier were in reference to this. The captain suddenly finds himself in medieval garb, and though he cannot see the crown atop his head he can feel it. Along with the facial hair. Dammit, Q.

He spares a moment to look at himself, and then sighs, resisting the urge to place his head in his hands. They are weighted with chain maille, at any rate.

He supposes there will be no escaping with his dignity intact.

[ooc: And with that, let the Hallowe'en changes commence! Picard will look like King Richard for the duration of the plot, much to his chagrin. This post is OTA, but unless we have plans in place I will apologize if the captain is a little clipped -- he is not happy. :x]

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For someone who can count his lifetime in millenia and is more or less immortal, time is often a relative and almost abstract thing. But nevertheless, the wraith known as Todd can currently feel time slipping through his fingers. Trapped on this ship, he is running out of it.

Starving to death is not a pleasant thing.

There is hope, still, and wraith are nothing if not tenacious. However, it is crucial that he speak to the captain. The problem is, that with all the recent events and that more and more people are continuing to blink into existence on the ship, it is safe to say that the captain has been otherwise occupied and has apparently not had the time to grant an audience to one of his unexpected guests. While normally very patient, this old wraith is rapidly coming to the end of his. Sitting in Ten Forward and watching the growing confusion happening around him - currently very glad that he has no use for the so called food given from the replicators - he is entertaining very real thoughts of simply forcing his way past security and onto the bridge.

Is is then very fortunate that the captain himself suddenly materializes right next to the wraith's table. While Todd at first thinks him to be just another poor soul dragged on board against his will - especially with that rather odd outfit - he has seen the man enough in passing to be able to recognize him.

"Captain Picard," he greets, slowly rising from his table. Strange current events be damned, with the captain right there he is not going to let this opportunity slip past him.

"Might I take this opportunity to claim some of your time," he requests, the tone of his somewhat eerie voice polite and formal. "There is an urgent matter I need to discuss with you."

Picard, pinching the bridge of his nose, turns his attention to the voice. The wraith does rather stand out in the crowd, and yes, Picard can place him with the reports his chief of security has given him. He owes the man an audience. He only wishes it were under less embarrassing circumstances.

"Why not?" he mutters, accent a little high and proper, even for his generally polite tone. He seems to remember himself then and endeavors to smile. "Other than removing this outfit, I can think of nothing more important to be doing at this time. I believe you have been waiting patiently for an audience."

He has, of course, noticed the odd things happening. He would have had to be blind not to. And while he does find some of the changes in attire amusing - or at least peoples reactions to them amusing - he can only wonder and hope that he himself will be spared.

"Indeed." Very patiently, considering that his life is on the line. He hasn't been idle while waiting; by now his PADD is containing a great amount of notes, theories and formulas he hopes might work, or at least be of use. But there is only so much he can do without an actual lab.

"Might we go somewhere more private for this discussion?" For the simple reason that if the people on board were to know that they have a predator in their midst - one that isn't only very capable of killing them and has no moral reasons not to, but is also in fact very hungry - it might put them ill at ease.

"Please," he answers, barely containing his relief at the suggestion. He straightens his suit of maille as best he can, sighing at the inconvenience of it all, and lifts a hand to gesture to the doors. "I'll escort you to the observation lounge."

Lieutenant Worf would no doubt prefer to join them, but Picard would rather he keep his eye on the ship as it undergoes this unsettling transformation. Besides, there is a sword at Picard's hip, though he is endeavoring to ignore that fact. He can take care of himself.

The observation lounge is more a conference room, with a long table and chairs all that occupy the space. It borders the hull of the ship, so while one wall is tastefully adorned with model starships, the other is ceiling to floor windows that span the entire room, allowing for a rather magnificent view of space. It requires taking a turbolift to get there, moving from Deck 10 to Deck 1.

"How may I be of assistance to you?" he asks, trying — and failing — to remove the crown from his head at the very least.

The wraith is silent during the trip to the observation lounge, though he is playing close attention to the route they take. Once there, he strides to the large window, looking out at the stars as he ponders how to phrase his request. In the end, he decides to simply spit it out.

"By granting me access to the ship's medical and research facilities," he calmly replies, turning to face the captain.

"Believe me, captain, I am well aware that this is no small request. Had anyone come to me on my own ship, I would have been far more likely to laugh in their face at the sheer audacity of it than to grant such a request. However, the situation leaves me little choice." It is a bitter pill to swallow, when his best chance is to come like a beggar asking for a favour. And it's not even a chance with good odds.

"Being trapped on this ship as I am, I will be dead within a matter of weeks. As there is nothing available on this ship to sustain me, I am finding myself slowly but surely starving to death."

Pacing now, with slow, measured steps, hands clasped lightly behind his back. "There is a small chance - if given the proper resources - that I might be able to device a gene therapy that could made the food provided by your replicators suitable for me." He stops his pacing, turning once more to face Picard. "And this is what I come here to ask of you; to grant me those resources, that I might attempt to save my very life."

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Ooc: I really do apologize for the long delay. I hope that tagging this late might be okay, but I understand if not.

[ooc: It's absolutely fine! I will backtag into infinity, and lately have had to as RL has been crazy. <3]

The request is, to put it lightly, surprising. When Todd turns to face him, he will no doubt see the surprise on Picard's ~~kingly~~ face; however, as he goes on he does appeal to the captain's own feelings on the matter, and that will take him a long way.

Picard leans back in his seat, chin in his hands, listening attentively before offering argument or indignation. It would appear the request is not being made lightly, and for that alone it warrants his sincere consideration. Even if it is not the sort of thing he would ever grant without proper clearance.

"Are you quite sure?" he begins. "The food replicators on this vessel have been designed to produce dishes from a number of different worlds, for a large variety of species. Though yours specifically may not be known to us, surely there must be something comparable. What is it your kind consumes that you cannot replicate here?"

This could be an issue. If he has to, the old wraith would reveal just what his food source is, but he would greatly prefer not to. The trick is, then, to give just enough information to let the discussion continue without revealing too much.

"Due to my people's unique biology, we require live prey, and a rather specific one at that. I think you can see my problem." Or at least enough of it to grant the permission needed, was the wraith's hope.

"When we are young, however, we do eat more... Conventional foods. Things you replicator can provide. And therein lies my hope. There has been attempts to do this before, that has been partially successful. Enough so to make me believe that attempting this gives me the best odds." Not good odds, by any means, with time running so short. But it really is his best option if he is to remain stuck on this ship.

It is not a direct answer, and that causes some concern for Captain Picard. It is, however, a thorough one, and therefore it gives him no reason to press Todd to be more specific. At least, not at present.

He purses his lips in thought, considering this unique issue.

"I see. Well, I can assure you that neither I myself nor the Federation wants to see any harm come to you. We will of course assist you in any way possible to circumvent such a dire outcome," he says. "Could you perhaps tell me more about this gene therapy? Perhaps the ship's doctors could assist you in finding a suitable treatment for your malnourishment while you work."

"Unfortunately, I strongly doubt that is possible. I would, however, greatly appreciate assistance in my work, if you have the personnel to spare." He strongly suspects he will be kept a close eye on. This way he hopes that his watchers will at least be useful.

"As I said, previous attempts have been made." Well, only one, targeting this specific problem." Not too long ago, one was promising enough that I was the first one to take it. Unfortunately, it brought with it a terrible illness. I believe that the cause lied in that it did not only reactivate our dormant digestive system, but also eliminated our normal method of feeding. Sadly, this was discovered far too late. I had been so impressed by the results, that by the time we found out about these adverse side effects, I had already administered it to my entire crew."

It was a failure on his part, and a rather dark memory that he did not much like to talk about. But, in order to hide certain fact and to hopefully gain some of the Captain's trust, he choses to speak openly.

"I lost both ship and crew to the illness, and only barely survived, myself. Only by subjecting myself to an excruciatingly painful cure, that had better odds of killing me rather than curing me, was I restored."

Gold was no more pleased than Picard at the abrupt change of clothes, having went from a three piece suit to complete leather esemble in the blink of an eye. Upon seeing the captain, the idea he had briefly entertained earlier came to mind once more. He could use someone to talk to, someone well experienced in life and hard decisions, someone partial and not part of his problems.

The captain he thought fit that bill rather nicely and he already knew the man knew well how to keep mum when it was asked of him. Especially, given he'd heeded Gold's earlier request to not use his birth name on the 'guest list', using his cursed name instead.

"Captain, if I might request a moment of your time? I'd like to speak with you about something."

"Yes? What?" he says irritably, losing his diplomatic composure for but a moment. Being outfitted in medieval garb, it would seem, puts him in a foul temper.

However, as he turns to regard Mr. Gold, seeing the effect Q's little game has had on him as well, he immediately regrets his abrupt tone. At least Picard is in kingly attire, albeit heavy and chafing; what Gold is wearing is embarrassment enough. He sighs, holding out his hands in apology.

"You must forgive me my tone," he endeavors again, much softer than before. "I am aware of what is happening to the ship, and I apologize profusely for it."

He mis-guesses what exactly Gold wishes to speak with him about, but it bears saying nonetheless.

"I understand. I take it this little...mishap is Q's doing?" He's guessed as much, but it would be good to have confirmation on that.

However, inasmuch as he'd like to question the man about how long this was to last, what the reasoning was behind it, there was no guarantee that the good captain even knew the answers to those questions. Thus perhaps it was best he didn't distract himself from the topic he'd requested time for. No matter how uncomfortable a topic it was.

"That isn't what I wanted to speak with you about." A pause and he wet his lips as he gathered his resolve and continued. "I was wondering if I might ask your advice on how to deal with a certain situation."

Dukat strode over to the dear Federation captain, a mug of red leaf tea in hand. He was really trying to look dignified while clothed in an alligator costume.

"Captain Picard. I do believe we have a problem on our hands that may threaten the very nature of the Federation. If I might have a moment of your time." Dukat didn't wait for an answer, and sat down opposite the Captain, who was likewise dressed in a ridiculous outfit.

" I require contact with Terok Nor and the Cardassian Central Command, as well as the ability to send and receive classified files and transmissions. Terok Nor and Bajor are no doubt suffering from lack of leadership. Both are in a fragile state and it would not be in the Federations best interests to let terrorists gain control of the planet or the station. I'm sure you can understand the complex nature of this dilemma, Captain. Bajor is struggling to rise despite the persistence of Bajoran terrorists and I cannot help the Bajoran people if I am here. I hope the damage would mitigated if I could be in contact and do some work from here."

The Cardassian took a sip of his tea and set down the mug, steaming in front of the Enterprise's very own King Richard.

"We wouldn't want to endanger the peace talks between Cardassia and the Federation, would we? They're tenuous as they are. I can only imagine what might happen if word got out that yhe Federation is refusing to cooperate with the Prefect of Bajor, who after all is only trying to do his best to bring peace to a turbulant planet. And all this after he was kidnapped onboard the Fedration Flagship."

The Prefect put on his best charming smile and took another lazy sip of his tea.

A lesser man would have laughed upon seeing the Cardassian dignitary so outfitted. Picard merely stares, holding back mild indignation as he sits and carries on without pause or respect for the captain's predicament or position. Sighing, Picard has no choice but to join him.

"Am I to understand that you wish to work from the Enterprise?" he repeats, surprise tinging his otherwise respectful tone. It should come as no shock to him, upon reflection; however, for how freely he speaks of the Bajoran 'terrorists', Picard is not assured he finds Dukat to be any better.

Still, his interference in matters will do no good to either side of the conflict. And, as repeatedly pointing out the tenuous relationship between the Federation and Cardassia seems to be one of the prefect's favorite tactics, he cannot willingly interfere. He sighs, bringing his hand to his face, disturbed at the reminder that he is sporting a lush Van Dyke. It aggravates him momentarily.

"No, we certainly wouldn't want that," he answers tightly, the smile he provides less than amicable. "I prefer you would not use terms such as 'kidnapped'. You understand you have the full cooperation of this ship within reason; our predicament is hardly any better than yours. Our current attires should be evidence enough of that, I believe."

How utterly ridiculous this all is! "Peace is desired by us all. We would not wish to leave Bajor without leadership, neither would we wish to leave her without protection or safety. You understand that, even should we allow such transmissions to occur, the Enterprise herself will not get involved in any way?"

"I wouldn't have it any other way, Captain. And I can only imagine Central Command would not react kindly to Federation interference in issues that are strictly internal Cardassian affairs. And yes, I wish to continue my work on the Enterprise. Not unreasonable given the situation." He paused, looking at the other man.

"The red leaf tea is quite good, you should try some." The Prefect took another sip of his tea, raising the glass to Jean Luc.

"I would also hope that Starfleet trains their crewmembers with enough restraint and understanding that any Bajoran crewmembers wont act on some quest for misguided patriotism. Although I admit, it is quite nice to work undisturbed without violence toward me or my crew, or bomb threats. Some people can be most unreasonable."

Edited 2014-11-12 21:45 (UTC)

Trance walked into Ten Forward, and straight for Captain Picard. Almost as if she knew exactly where he was going to be. Imagine that.

"Captain. It is my understanding that the Captain of a ship is responsible for the safety of his crew and guests. Is this correct?" Trance remained standing, and didn't seem the slightest bit phased by Picard's King Richard outfit, although a smirk did creep up on her lips when she first saw him.

He stares at her for a moment.

Honestly? She can look at him as he is now and ask such a loaded question without hesitation or consideration? Honestly? He purses his lips, just barely restraining a sigh. He understands what this is about, but he rather wishes he was not so — affected by Q's whims.

"A few costumes will not harm the Enterprise or her guests," he says, though he is but addressing a symptom of a larger problem, and he realizes that. "You know that I am responsible, and that I take that responsibility seriously."

So says the King of England.

Captain Picard might feel different if he knew how instrumental she was in making Dylan blow up 10,000 Nietzscheans. In such a light, a few silly costumes didn't bother her. True, if she was younger, Trance might have ooed and ahhed over how nice the Captain looked, just to play with him a little. This Trance had seen what laxity had morphed the future into, and it was a Bad one.

"I am not referring to the costumes, Captain. The situation Alemar III only proves that you and your crew need to work with us, even as guests, if we are to both flourish in this universe. Events came dangerously close to having fatalities. Dylan Hunt was hurt."

If there was only one thing Jean Luc got from his conversation with Trance today, it would be just how protective she was of her Captain. She Needed him.

Ezri was nervous. She was so nervous. There was really no hiding it after 'Ezri Dax' was called to be roomed with Quark. But, she still needed to speak to the Captain about it. Maybe he could help. It's what Ben would tell her to do. At the very least, he was the Captain, and he should know. She stood nervously outside the doors to Ten Forward, when her uniform was suddenly replaced with a very short, very revealing dress, and high heels. She nearly toppled over, not expecting the sudden change.

She glowered a bit, and muttered irritably. This was why someone needed to punch Q. And then, she went in.

"Captain. I think we might need to talk. At least, I think we need to. Oh I said that already didn't I? You see, I'm already on the ship." Like that wasn't at all confusing. "Oh." She held out her hand to the Captain. "I'm Lieutenant Ezri Dax."

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[Ten Forward]: Picard never knew he could hate an Earth holiday this much (Halloween plot)

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ooc: so sorry for the delay! :(

ooc: right back at you

ooc: shall we continue this slowtime tango, my dear? ;)

ooc: Let's dance!

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