one \\ Ten Forward Lounge

[savagemind]

The ship was falling.

Correction: the ship had fallen, skipping across the ocean like a pebble on a lake, scraping Alcatraz clean and tumbling towards the city. Sparks showered the bridge, alarms screaming about hull integrity, bulkhead damage, warp and impulse drive failure. None of it mattered. From his perch in the captain's chair, Khan let nothing but grief and rage fill his thoughts as the city skyline filled the viewscreen.

They'd taken everything from him. Now he would return the favor.

The saucer struck. Khan was thrown forward, and everything went white--


And he woke, aching and crumpled on a cold floor. He pushed himself up, face twisted in a silent snarl, and took stock, mind immediately jumping to one single, obvious conclusion.

Starfleet.

They should have let him die with his crew. Their mistake.

Comments

[asklepian]

It was beginning again--like clockwork, every month, people getting flung into various parts of the ship. Normally disoriented, suspicious, a few injured, like the man who'd just appeared in a flash, already being surrounded by concerned officers.

He leaves his PADD and tea abandoned on the table, judging the situation as he approaches. He's wary--because he can see the tension fairly radiating off the man, despite the injuries he can see.

"It's alright, you're not in danger," Julian says, trying to be soothing. "I'm a doctor, I can help you."

[savagemind]

Khan's focus is divided between attempting to parse his location - the quiet murmur of a warp core under his hands, the obvious but unfamiliar Starfleet uniforms - and the rapid approach of someone claiming to be a doctor.

The last time he woke up on a Starfleet vessel with a doctor claiming to want to help him, he'd ended up in Section 31. It won't happen again.

So he watches, warily, as the other man approaches, makes no effort to move out of the way. One step, two, and the second the doctor is close enough, Khan lunges, faster than a human has any right being, snags the man's forearm, and hurls him towards the wall. The sudden murmur of shock from the witnesses around them give him enough time to get his feet beneath him, back and shoulders one long line of tension.

Try him.

[alwaysnotwrong]

If it was not one thing then it had to be another. Worf had just returned from an unprompted animal control situation to settle himself at the bar, teeth grinding, head down over the inequity of being thrown back in time. He has scarcely a moment to simmer his anger before Khan's arrival and the gathering civilians and officers catches his attention.

Worf is on his feet in time to notice that Doctor Bashir is joining the fray... but that cannot be right. Julian had never worked aboard the Enterprise -- Q's mischief must have extended further than Worf has yet given him credit for. He approaches the crowd in just about enough time for Julian to be thrown back, providing a solid wall of Klingon for the doctor to land against, if push should come to shove. Worf is not wearing a starfleet uniform; he'd been in his ambassadorial robes when Q made the switch, but he greets his old compatriot just the same.

"Doctor," he nods sharply. "This man is causing you trouble." He does not ask what Bashir has said this time. He likes to think he has tact.

That's a mean grimace, Khan. Worf is doing his level best to glare you down.

[asklepian]

Julian, enhanced reflexes and all, barely even has a chance to react--he tries to back away, but he's still within range--then grabbed and tossed as if he weighs nothing. Adrenaline is a hell of a drug, but even then he doesn't think someone who looks like they've just had a starship dropped on them should be able to throw someone so forcefully--

--and then his trajectory toward the bulkhead is arrested by a person wearing robes, a person with a very familiar voice, but not one who'd held such familiarity toward him for the last few months.

"Worf?"

If he sounds dazed, it's because he's simply confused--he's nearly never seen Worf not wearing a Starfleet uniform, and that seems like a stupid thing to fixate on in the heat of the moment.

"He's barely just arrived, he's not had the chance to cause anyone trouble yet." Well. Aside from trying to fling him across the room. "He's injured."

Thus why the doctor was doing his job and responding.

[savagemind]

The crowd murmurs uneasily, edging back as Khan moves to face the new arrival, eyes immediately narrowing. A Klingon on a Federation vessel? Unheard of, but not an issue - he was fresh off two patrols' worth of kill on Qo'noS. Khan matches the glare with one of his own, unwilling to back down despite his obvious injuries and the crowd around them.

"Where am I?" His words are hoarse, but there's steel in them - he's not a man used to being ignored, even in this state. He can feel his own injuries; the blood caking his hairline and hands, the pain blooming in his lungs. The crash had taken its toll, and he wasn't in any position to fight his way through whatever ship this was. Not yet.

[alwaysnotwrong]

"You are aboard the U.S.S. Enterprise," Worf tells the injured human simply. "Everything will be explained." He has faith in the Captain for that much, at least! He glances at Bashir, who seems to have come to no harm, then back to Khan. "Allow the doctor to inspect your injuries. If you continue to resist you will be restrained."

As far as it comes to Bashir, Worf will have his own questions... but now is clearly not the time for them.

[dreams_dont_die]

It's the flash of light that makes Dylan look up, suddenly alert because, though this is not his ship and he has no true responsibility for the people here, he is still a High Guard officer, and that carries a duty with it. That duty and years of the need for heightened alertness from missions run under deep cover make him alert to changes in the room, and this ... this is one that warrants monitoring, at least, and that split-second assessment draws Dylan to his feet.

There's something fierce in the man's expression, something wild, barely controlled, and the moments he takes to assess his surroundings apparently do nothing to abate that.

Not that there's any particular reason they should.

Dylan approaches slowly, but with no hesitation and the confidence of a man who's not only capable of defending himself, but also obviously armed, though his force lance stays in its thigh holster. In this world, he's without the recognition the lance and the bits of High Guard uniform would bring in his own time, but some things are immutable. He's still a High Guard officer, and he still has the bearing of a man used to command and to confrontation.

"It's okay. We're not going to hurt you."

From the looks of the man, somebody or something has been doing just that, and the lack of danger in this sudden new place is important information for him.

[savagemind]

Khan has no interest in being coddled.

The savage light in his eyes doesn't vanish when he hauls himself up, weight on the balls of his feet and shoulders tensed. Injured, but effortlessly battle-ready. There's a subdued Starfleet insignia on his regulation shirt, but it's clear that he's not at all at ease amongst his so-called 'peers'; if anything, it's made him even more wary, his lean frame eerily motionless despite the coiled violence in his posture. He doesn't move when the crowd parts enough to allow another man to step forward.

The lack of a Starfleet uniform merits a more thorough once-over, and Khan immediately picks up on the easy confidence, the casual command. A leader, then. An armed leader, and Khan lets his gaze rest on the weapon so obviously strapped to the man's thigh. If he thinks to use it on Khan, he'll be sorely disappointed.

"You would be foolish to try." Not a boast - a fact.

[didnotwant]

Marion perked right up when she saw Dylan approach the new comer. She can pretty much smell the danger in the air. There is a good chance she actually can. The stranger has the heavy scent of what smells like smoke on the fabric of his clothing.

At least she think she can smell that. She could be wrong. Marion slinks through the crowd lingering just on the edge when the woman smells the air again.

That is when she goes cold. Marion doesn't just smell burnt materials and oxidized ozone from what she assumes might be an electrical fire but blood too. And other things that just make her gut turn.

"Dylan. He's been fighting," Marion calls. Then cants her head to one side to try and let him know she can smell it. It occurs to Marion that might let the stranger know she has a little secret but frankly she couldn't give less of a damn.

[dreams_dont_die]

Dylan doesn't move when the man gets to his feet, the movements containing a certain grace and power despite the man's injuries. It doesn't take much to read the readiness for action in the tense stance, any more than it did in the look in his eyes. Dylan knows the look of a man about to fling himself into a fight, and this man has the bearing of nothing more than someone backed into their last corner and prepared to fly at the first person to draw their attention.

Better Dylan than a bystander.

Those fierce eyes flash towards Dylan, assessing the dark turtleneck, the pants, lingering on the holstered force lance. Dylan's hands are nowhere near it; with Picard's insistence that none of their visitors discharge a weapon and with this man unarmed, he doesn't plan to.

Still, it's there, a symbol as clear as the unflinching way Dylan stands that he's not going to be intimidated. Not by those nearly mad eyes or the springlike tension in the man. Not even by the barely veiled suggestion the man will offer violence.

When he hears Marion's voice, Dylan doesn't look away from the man, but he does nod, once, to her, to tell her he hears what she says. It doesn't surprise him.

"None of us have any intention to harm you. We didn't bring you here."

[savagemind]

"And yet here I am."

The distrust is plain. Khan's not a fool - this isn't the first time he's woken up on a Starfleet vessel to promises that he wouldn't be hurt. They'll be just as true now as they were before, he's sure. This time, however, he doesn't intend to allow himself to be caught. He has no--

--no crew. No family to protect.

And the grief nearly chokes him, bitterness sliding down his throat, coiling in his chest to fuel his aggression. The augment steps forward, challenge in his posture. If you are so eager to play peacekeeper for Starfleet, then he will oblige.

[didnotwant]

"We didn't do this." Marion shouldn't speak. She knows she is no diplomat. She is a sledgehammer that is used to break things that most people here can't fathom are real outside of Earth's darkest fairy tales. Marion can't help herself however given she would rather this man know the truth.

But she sees the problem right away. This man wants a spot of violence. She shifts her weight as she considers what might happen.

This will get messy fast. "Starfleet didn't bring you here either. Don't think they'd have the cajones, pard."

Marion sees nothing wrong with letting her accent slide on out. She also has the impression Starfleet really wouldn't just kidnap people like this. Not their style.

[inwention]

Chekov turned in the direction of the light. He had an idea of what it meant and was curious to see what was going on. Yet the man who appeared out of no where was not familiar to him...Things looked like they were about to get interesting in the lounge. Finally some kind of excitement.

The lieutenant held back for a few minutes studying the new comer and was wary about approaching him. The stance and expression told him to expect a fight either way. He wanted to first see if the staff on board could handle the man, before he offered his assistance. He exactly wasn't chief of security here. He did push himself through the crowd, just in case he was needed.

"Let's get you to sickbay and then you can get some answers there," Chekov offered. Perhaps this would ease things a little with the promise of answers. Even though he didn't know much himself.

[savagemind]

It takes only a few moments for Khan to push himself to his feet, scanning the growing crowd with unmistakable wariness. His clothes are Starfleet-issue, off-duty uniform singed in places, superficial cuts marring his face and hands.

Despite this, his head jerks around at the first mention of the Sickbay from Chekov. He gives the lieutenant a once-over, eyes flicking from his rank, to the matching insignia, and finally settling on the man's face. "No."

Sickbay is not an option - not on a Starfleet vessel.

[ancientstalker]

"Welcome to the USS Enterprise." Comes a voice from behind Kahn, a tone neutral, unsurprised as to his sudden appearance.

It comes from a man, human, at first glance, sat at one of the tables, an array of PADDs in front of him depicting holographic program code, and what seem to be blueprints for a uniquely designed circular structure... At least, until that particular device is locked.

"I expect you have a lot of questions. Believe me, they're best answered from outside a holding cell."

[savagemind]

The man addressing him seems mild enough, but Khan's learned to never trust appearances - or information that's willingly provided. A quick, assessing glance around the area tells him far more than this man has: the uniforms, the presence of the lounge, the very ship itself... All of these are Starfleet, undoubtedly. But not the Starfleet he is familiar with.

Khan keeps his posture loose, battle-ready. There's a feral light in his eyes when he finally does respond, words growled. "This is not the Enterprise."

That they would not be putting him in a holding cell was left unsaid.

[ancientstalker]

"You may be displaced in time." Orlin remarks. "The Federation Starship USS Enterprise, Galaxy-class, registry NCC-1701-D."

A pause.

"You work on... Stardates. The current one is 43967.03." He reaches for another PADD, giving Kahn a cursory look. "Does that help?"

[savagemind]

Displaced in time. By over a century, it seems. It wasn't the first time he'd woken up decades ahead, but this is the most... unexpected.

Fifteen minutes ago, he had crashed a starship into Starfleet. Now he was... here. This new Enterprise.

"How?" His voice is a little rougher than usually, but Khan's tone is steely - he's not yet convinced this isn't an elaborate trick.

[ancientstalker]

"A being known as Q. He's displaced many people, some from different universes."

And the slightest frown, there. As though Orlin wasn't impressed by his actions.

"I'm one of the... Victims that Q has brought onto the Enterprise. Seems he and the captain of this ship have a rivalry."

[whereishe]

"Are you alright?" Yuna ran to the man's side not really understanding what situation he might have come from but he didn't look good. She quickly put her hands together bringing her magic forth to heal him. "Let me help!"

What looked like silver fireflies danced towards him and were absorbed into his skin filling in with warmth. She looked up at him and almost jumped back. "Ah! Sorry I probably should have asked first. Most here don't..." Well they don't believe in magic.

[savagemind]

There's silver... something sinking into his skin, leaving warmth in their wake, and Khan does not like it. He snarls at the girl's approach, at whatever it was that she was doing to him, and he doesn't spare a thought before he's lunging at her, aiming to snag her arm with a powerful - too powerful, for a human - grip.

Khan doesn't like to be experimented on, not matter the intention.

"What did you do?" His voice is a rumbling growl, eyes cold and hard.

[whereishe]

Yuna was used to fighting creatures with inhuman strength but she was surprised to have someone lunging at her. One hand reached out to intercept his lunge while her other began to summon ice to her palm. She didn't want to attack him but she was at least ready.

"I w-was just trying to help. It was a healing spell." Though as she told him the truth it sounded crazy.

[not_gaheris]

Telemachus put down his drink, making sure it was on the table and away from any possible bar mishaps. From what he gathered around here real alcohol was a rarity. He intended to savor it properly.

Really. Why wouldn't he just enjoy his drink in peace? Was it that hard? It was either bar fights, the universe was ending, people decided to fight over water again, the possibilities were endless on Seefra. And annoying. This place didn't even have real alcohol and it seemed like the prediliction for bar fights was just as high.

The Nietzschean stood up, and walked over to the newcomer, his arms crossed. Telemachus watched the man, his own bone blades sticking out from his forearms.

[savagemind]

The scent of smoke still lingers on Khan's clothes, cuts and burns still mar the thinner skin of his face and hands; the Vengeance's landing had been anything but graceful, hulking corpse of ship plowing into the city, and she had done no favors for her captain.

Still, he is alive. Alive, and on a Starfleet vessel that is completely unfamiliar to him.

There's a tightness to Khan's shoulders as he scans the room, wariness plain on his face. The approach of another man immediately draws his gaze, and his eyes linger on the bony spurs that erupt from the man's forearms. Not human, but not a species he's familiar with, either. The man's clothes are anything but Starfleet issue - a refugee, perhaps? Starfleet does like to flaunt their rightenousness, their 'humanitarian' efforts.

His chin raises, just slightly. "Where am I?" His voice is hoarse, but as sharp as cut glass.

[not_gaheris]

"Congratulations. You've been kidnapped." Telemachus reached over to pick up the drink he had set down a moment ago, and took a sip. " Might not be your universe, or even your time. And they don't even have good alcohol."

The Nietzschean noticed the other man linger on his bone blades. Not from his universe then, or at least if he was, from before CY 8402. "Bone blades. They're a Nietzschean thing." As if that explained everything. It was so odd for others not to know what a Nietzchean was.