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Entry tags:
Wakes
The nightmares were particularly bad tonight. There was a smell to them. Burnt polymers, dry sand, and something decaying. Someone...or was it something? It was talking in a voice that sounded far away, yet at the same time cloying, choking, drowning. A death rattle voice.
An interesting notion I do not share. It rasped mockingly. You may leave now; if you wish.
But she couldn't leave. There had been a logic to the dream where she couldn't leave. She stepped in front of Data. She couldn't recall what she said. She was talking and moving, focusing this thing's attention on her. Then the dream shifted and she was flying and when she landed there was nothing.
She took a deep breath in and tried opening her eyes. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt. She redoubled her efforts, took the next breath in and opened her eyes only to discover she had a sizable headache. There was an unhappy gasp as she pulled herself up to a seating position and marveled at the fact she hadn't felt this bad since the day after the Tchaikovsky problem. Whatever this was, she'd check in with Dr. Crusher if she felt any worse.
"Computer, give me the time."
"The time is 0713 hours and 17 seconds."
Tasha spat out something short, scandalous, and to the point that covered her irritation with being nearly late. No time for a shower. Good thing she had fallen asleep in uniform again. She made herself leave the bed, throws on her boots, runs her fingers through her honey blonde hair, and starts out the door.
In her somewhat sleep-and-pain fogged state, she didn't notice some things she should have, like the differences in the few uniformed officers passing her in this early hour. It was only when she entered the lift and ordered it to the bridge that she encountered her first problem.
"Bridge."
The turbolift didn't budge. She repeated herself.
"Bridge!"
Still nothing.
She sighed. There must be some kind of maintenance going on. Damn annoying.
She touched her badge. "Yar to bridge."
Silence. The communicator was unresponsive.
She let out a huff and made a note to go to the gym this evening to take all of this out on the punching bags. Think, Tasha!
Most of the primary bridge crew would not be on at this hour. Will could be busy. Data could be up there, or he could be tinkering with the lifts. Either way, she wasn't much interested in presenting herself to his cheerful demeanor while she was like this. Same thing with Geordi. She could get Worf, but he would have just gotten off shift and he needed to understand what "time off" meant - even if she had a poor grasp of it herself. That left:
"Yar to Captian Picard."
[OOC note: Picard gets to be tortured first and without back-up. The next post is going to be open. Thank you.]
An interesting notion I do not share. It rasped mockingly. You may leave now; if you wish.
But she couldn't leave. There had been a logic to the dream where she couldn't leave. She stepped in front of Data. She couldn't recall what she said. She was talking and moving, focusing this thing's attention on her. Then the dream shifted and she was flying and when she landed there was nothing.
She took a deep breath in and tried opening her eyes. Her chest hurt. Everything hurt. She redoubled her efforts, took the next breath in and opened her eyes only to discover she had a sizable headache. There was an unhappy gasp as she pulled herself up to a seating position and marveled at the fact she hadn't felt this bad since the day after the Tchaikovsky problem. Whatever this was, she'd check in with Dr. Crusher if she felt any worse.
"Computer, give me the time."
"The time is 0713 hours and 17 seconds."
Tasha spat out something short, scandalous, and to the point that covered her irritation with being nearly late. No time for a shower. Good thing she had fallen asleep in uniform again. She made herself leave the bed, throws on her boots, runs her fingers through her honey blonde hair, and starts out the door.
In her somewhat sleep-and-pain fogged state, she didn't notice some things she should have, like the differences in the few uniformed officers passing her in this early hour. It was only when she entered the lift and ordered it to the bridge that she encountered her first problem.
"Bridge."
The turbolift didn't budge. She repeated herself.
"Bridge!"
Still nothing.
She sighed. There must be some kind of maintenance going on. Damn annoying.
She touched her badge. "Yar to bridge."
Silence. The communicator was unresponsive.
She let out a huff and made a note to go to the gym this evening to take all of this out on the punching bags. Think, Tasha!
Most of the primary bridge crew would not be on at this hour. Will could be busy. Data could be up there, or he could be tinkering with the lifts. Either way, she wasn't much interested in presenting herself to his cheerful demeanor while she was like this. Same thing with Geordi. She could get Worf, but he would have just gotten off shift and he needed to understand what "time off" meant - even if she had a poor grasp of it herself. That left:
"Yar to Captian Picard."
[OOC note: Picard gets to be tortured first and without back-up. The next post is going to be open. Thank you.]
no subject
"And before that?" he presses carefully. "Do you remember?"
no subject
This court should get down on its knees...
It never happened!
No! The challenge is unequivocally refused.
Just try it, Ferengi!
Now, run! This place isn't safe at all!
Things are coming faster now.
When one is in the penalty box...
What of Justice to Wesley? Does he deserve to die?
I don't know how we'll defeat the next one!
"It's stardate 41601.3," she reported slowly, not looking up. Tasha's voice takes on a light chuckle. "It's been quiet lately. I've been overseeing maintenance and remodeling with Chief Engineer Logan as well as Commander Data and Lieutenant LaForge."
The Three Musketeers and the pompous windbag, she thinks briefly before quashing the impulse to tell Picard that's what the whole exercise felt like to her. She shouldn't report how many time she'd been tempted to knock Logan out so they could get on with the work. Geordi knew more about the conduits than Logan had and had a saint's patience on top of it. Data was, of course, Data, and not everyone could handle that. There's was a note in her report about Logan's manners and that was how professionals operated.
"Last night, I was able to return to my normal bridge shift and after that -" She shrugged and looks up with more focus and her shoulder square again. "That's probably why I'm sore, sir. I was practicing last night for the martial arts competition the security team is holding this week."
What she just gave is not the right answer. The witnessing officers look confused. Picard looks...
"Captain," she takes a step forward. "Tell me what's going on. Please!" Whatever is going on has him looking at her like she's some kind of broken thing. "This - Whatever this is, it isn't right!"
no subject
He must school his expression, and though he stands tall his fists clench at his sides. Tasha Yar always was an immaculate officer, disciplined, well-trained, thoughtful, thorough. Echoes of her past did not often come up, and when they did it was his responsibility to temper them with compassion. She has made a request of him, and he would not deny her the answer she seeks.
"Lieutenant Yar," he begins with the same softness he used earlier when calling her Tasha. "I'm afraid the stardate is 44046.7. You have not been aboard the Enterprise for more than two years."
no subject
AWOL.
How did she become that? Where would she even think of going? There was nothing for her anywhere in the universe then here on this ship! She betrayed them. She betrayed Starfleet and everything she believed in or dared to love.
And that hideous voice from her dream burbles up to her consciousness. Did you ever believe you could do anything else? It rattles once before adding. Girl.
She looks away. He watches her center herself slowly; with closed eyes because the tears are coming. She takes in a rattling breath.
"Then," she says in a choked voice. "Under Starfleet regulations regarding officers in deriliction of duty..." She slowly - to show her lack of aggression - unclips the belt holding her phaser and lets it fall. Then she removes her badge and places it in his hand briefly before stepping to the side and looking beyond him.
She nods to the other two officers. "Please," she asks them. "Don't make the Captain take me to the brig. He -" Her voice quavers and she needs a moment to look away.
This is not Q's "penalty box." She won't cry here.
It's only then she makes eye contact again with Picard. "He needs to assemble the senior staff and alert Starfleet regarding my status."
no subject
"Yes, in due time," he says, nodding softly. He then turns to the officers, who look more confused than ever, and nods to the discarded phaser. "You may take the lieutenant's weapon and escort us to Sickbay, but she will not be seeing the brig today."
He hastens to add, turning back to Tasha: "That's an order, lieutenant."
If she is the Tasha he remembers, he is aware that nothing less will convince her. She believes she is a deserter, and as such a brigging would be no less than what she deserves. The truth is perhaps far worse than what she can imagine, and he would rather Beverly were at his side for it than imparting it from the other side of a cell.
no subject
There a faintest hint of an embarrassed grimace, because - for a split second - she found that sexy. While no time is the time, this really is not the time!
She obviously needs to work on hormone control. Still.
Her captain has ordered her, however, and there's nothing she can do about it. Time to face Beverly who will, hopefully, straighten this all out, or at least do something with this damn headache and the stubborn pain in her chest.
Could be worse. She muses. He could have called in Data to try and explain missing time, and would be an interrogation!
"Aye, sir." She glaces at the other two officers as one enters the lift to get her phaser. She hopes she can earn it back.
"The uniforms look more comfortable, at least, sir."