tea_earlgrey_hot: (surprised)
[personal profile] tea_earlgrey_hot
[ooc: due to a family emergency with Emma Swan's player, this plot has been extended to March 15th & 16th in real time so that those getting involved with the turbolift malfunctions and power outages have plenty of time to post their own logs for the event. The date all of this happens IC remains March 15th, and as always backdating is love. Thanks everyone! If you need more info the plot announcement is right over here!]


There have been unusual readings from the bridge. Small irregularities in the ship's operations, nothing terribly out of the ordinary — and certainly nothing quite so alarming as Q has brought to the ship ever since he has made his stay permanent — but enough to warrant inspection. Mr. La Forge has been running diagnostics all morning, and a dedicated team of engineers has likewise been looking into the fluctuations.

The Captain is on his way to personally receive an update on their progress, leaving the bridge in Commander Riker's very capable hands. He could just as easily be apprised of the situation over the comms, but occasionally he appreciates seeing things for himself.

(And perhaps, too, he gets bored with the command chair every so often.)

Entering a turbolift from Deck 10, he puts in the command to be taken to Main Engineering on Deck 34. There are others in the lift with him — the woman he has come to know as Ms. Swan is treated to a polite smile and nod. Her pregnancy is well along now, and he opens his mouth to make some grasped-for inquiry into the health of the child she is carrying when the turbolift stutters. He barely has time to hold out a bracing hand to ensure she doesn't fall before the lights flicker and the whole cabin grinds to a rocky stop.

Throughout the ship, both simultaneously and with some delay, other turbolifts suffer the same malfunction.
ethnobotany: + jean-luc | well isn't this awkward }{ attached ({ let it fill the space between)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
Cridhe has given Beverly a lot to think about lately. They hadn't touched the topic of Trill, exactly, but they had discussed Time Lords. The concepts were too similar for Beverly to let go of, too close for her comfort. A part of her wants to lock it all away and stop thinking about it, but another part of her desperately wants to know more. Maybe if she gets more perspectives, she might finally be able to put it all behind her and move on.

It's only taken almost a decade.

Most of her time that isn't spent in sickbay lately is spent in Ten Forward, where she more or less camps out at a table with tea and a bowl of fruit. She has a couple of names to look for and is hopeful that the Doctor she met might turn up here sometime. She'd also like to talk with the one who took over sickbay not long ago for several reasons.

Either way, here she is and despite the thoughts on her mind, she's doing much better than she has been lately. She attributes that to a lot of factors, not the least of which was her daring midnight outing with Deanna on Pacifica. She has a feeling that will be making the rumor rounds and she is all right with that. Due to her better frame of mind, she is much more open to random conversation and might even offer a pleasant greeting to anyone passing by.
southernreaper: (Default)
[personal profile] southernreaper
Ten Forward:

Kevin steps into Ten Forward, looking to see if his favorite table in the corner is free. It is, thankfully. He settles with his back to the corner and puts the PADD device in front of him, ready to settle in and do a few hours of homework and working on the current art project that's consumed his attention. Alright, mostly to work on the art he's been working on. It's just in light, even if that's hardlight projection, but, it would be nice to be able to work in metal and fire again. He wonders who he talks to about that.

So, he's going to be sitting here a while. Someone bring the boy some food and drink or something, otherwise, he'll forget to eat.

Holodeck:

One thing Kevin has discovered with the holodecks is that he can workout here and no one gets hurt. Well, except for him, and that's okay. So, he works on his hand to hand in here. While he'd like to work on his control, there's something funky about his powers. So, shirtless, he works out with the self-defense programs, and doesn't worry about all that deadly skin to be displayed.

Well, unless he's bothered. Then he'll worry about it.

Arrival | OTA

2015-Jul-15, Wednesday 08:58 pm
major_egret_msfsod: Jackal is really not amused (Scowl)
[personal profile] major_egret_msfsod
Jackal was always a little reluctant at accepting even mandatory leave. Still, she knew the reasons for it, and could defend the policy as needed, whether she liked it or not, and as an officer she had an obligation to serve as a good example. Although the FMS Viking remained at its post in the Belt, high-speed transports ferried personnel and special-order supplies, and it was aboard such an interplanetary shuttle she was traveling back to Mars. The visit home would be trying, as usual, but seeing her militia unit again would be good, as well as her mother.

Resting her eyes momentarily, she didn't notice the bright light. Other changes, however, she noticed: the tone of the nearby conversations, in particular, and although it was subtle, something was definitely not quite right about the feel of the shuttle. Scowling, she opened her eyes again--then scowled more so, looking around. She was definitely not in the shuttle. She was still in her red-tone camouflage fatigues, with a holstered device (most likely some kind of pistol, at a glance) at her side, and a duffel bag rested at her feet.

She stood abruptly, wary, but of all the people in the room--judging by its size and the totally open view of starscape, most likely aboard a large ship--none showed any signs of hostility. In fact, most barely even showed much interest in her presence. Whether they were aware of the situation or not, though, it was unacceptable. Resting a hand on her sidearm, but not drawing it, she kept her eyes peeled for any sign of someone who might be in charge. No explicit threats--yet--but she couldn't make any assumptions under such circumstances.

"What the hell's going on, here?"

Gym - OTA

2015-Jul-05, Sunday 09:58 pm
treadswater: (trident at the ready)
[personal profile] treadswater
There was a time when Annie was in a gym at least six days out of seven. Ages eleven to sixteen, during her time at the Career Academy (a slightly grandiose name for quite a glorified school club, but it wasn't until Annie was a victor herself that she recognized the self-depreciating humour in the name). Before school and after school, training and training and training. After that, when she was washed out, no gyms, but she kept up the physical activity - and exceeded it, fishing being what it is. As a victor, she ran most mornings, or swum. Worked out. Sparred with Finnick. She'd noticed if she didn't, her mind got worse, her fits of hysteria (anxiety attacks, Beverly had called them) more frequent.

But it's been six months since she's done anything properly physical regularly. When her mood's been stable, she's turned the holodeck into a running track, but that hasn't been nearly anything like five or six days out of seven.

She's twitchy, which goes a way to explain how she winds up in the gymnasium, trailing her fingers over the bo staffs in their rack. She'd been good at spears in the Academy, and although the idea of stabbing now makes her uneasy, she's still good at wielding a staff. She can get her fiancé (tall, built, twice her size and lethal) on his back.

Annie picks up one of the staffs and hefts it, giving it an experimental twirl. It's well-balanced, and she smiles, quiet and shy and delighted.

But despite that delight, and how practically she's already dressed (boots, trousers, simple blouse under her loose jacket, hair braided), she doesn't make any further movements towards any of the practice mats.
ships_counselor: (Default)
[personal profile] ships_counselor


The look of Deanna Troi's table is worrying.

Maybe not to the untrained eye, of course. There is no screaming. There is no bleeding. There is no fighting, or crying, or deep distress. In fact, Deanna Troi, herself, is currently sitting at a table, one forearm resting on the table, the other balanced on an elbow, so her chin can rest in the palm of her hand, while she studies a PADD flat on the table in front of her.

Next to it, though, is a small bowl of chocolate ice cream.

That looks to have melted a while ago without her noticing.
onlyheremains: (Sorrow)
[personal profile] onlyheremains
He'd not slept well, fitfully, really. And woken up worse. Tangled in his sheets and very cold, which wasn't normal for him. He reached up to rub his face and look around, trying to figure out what was wrong, when he realized he couldn't see.

It was dark and he couldn't see.

He couldn't see anything in the darkness. No outlines of metal, no heat signatures, no anything that he'd been able to see that night when he'd closed his eyes. And he couldn't feel the ship.

Jumping out bed was a mistake, he was still tangled in bedclothes and hit the floor with a thump, fighting his way out of the fabric. He'd gone to sleep in a pair of pants - those still fit, but the shirt he'd laid near-by hung on him much too large, nearly a foot too long, the neck opening fitting his shoulders at an awkward angle, the sleeves not above his elbows but far down his forearms.

He had to boost himself up to look into the mirror, his eyes focusing on his hair, black, before anything else.

He could have gotten a shirt from the replicator. He didn't. Instead he just cursed quietly and ran, out the door and through corridors, headed to the medical bay. At barely forty-two inches, even with other children popping up, he was much smaller than them. And not inclined to stop unless someone made him.

-----

After being checked out in the medical bay, and having some time to calm down, Magneto wanders to the nearest replicator, having it make him a better fitting set of clothing, which he'll wear some variation of until he's returned to normal - red button down, black trousers, black vest.

But once it's known the virus is spread by physical contact, he won't allow those who appear noninfected to touch him.

Night Terror

2015-Jun-06, Saturday 09:27 pm
tasha_yar: (Dress Uniform/Feeling Small)
[personal profile] tasha_yar
Tasha Yar had been dreaming. There'd been stars. She had touched the stars.

She coughed, but it didn't wake her fully.

The food had been laced with something again. Something that made you less hungry, but never fed you. Maybe she should be more content with it. She had, after all, dreamed of the stars. But now she was drenched in sweat while shivering. Her eyes played tricks on her. She still half perceived she was wrapped up tight in sheets. The room was neat and clean and had a bed in it. The other half was coming into focus. Her legs were dangled in debris from the Spring runoff. Her legs were coated in water and some kind of black, evil-smelling pitch or tar that was making her ill just to breathe.

"Have to get out," she mutters. But in her muddled state she can't break free. She's too small and she swears she hears the dark, dank water laugh.

She rips off the tangles and leaps for the...Is it a door?

Whatever it is - "Open, damn you!"

It obliges, sending her tumbling out into another room; a room she doesn't bother to examine before continuing to run.
tea_earlgrey_hot: (Picard has a Captain America mug y'all)
[personal profile] tea_earlgrey_hot
The Enterprise arrived at Starbase 4077 not long ago. Not much has been revealed to Picard on the rank or status of his guests other than that they will be beamed aboard within the hour. He still does not like the circumstances, but he is prepared to meet them with dignity.

Which is why he has chosen to wear his dress uniform.

(And before anyone decides to quip with "emphasis on dress!" he'll have you know the latest incarnation has been shortened by several inches and is now worn with standard-issue uniform pants. Players pls.)

While he waits for Transporter Room 1 to call him once his guests are ready to board, he settles in his ready room. His usual cup of earl grey tea is ordered from a replicator with specific instructions on temperature, and once he has gathered the cup in hand he sits and sips it quietly — and then, quickly and with rather less decorum, he spits the tea back out. "What?"

He glares at his cup as though it has betrayed him, and in a way it has. The tea is undrinkable. He fussily orders another, and it too is the same. Bitter, sour, frankly revolting. "What is the matter with this thing?"

It tastes like ... ah, yes. Leola bark tea. Whatever cruel fate would replace his earl grey with this is — no, not fate. Person.

"Kirk," Picard mutters, setting the new cup down and storming out of his ready room. It was not that long ago, fresh from his second stint in the brig, that Kirk had been caught tampering with the replicators in Ten Forward trying to override their programming to provide real alcoholic beverages. A completely childish stunt, when he could have received alcohol from Guinan. But it was the principle of the thing, wasn't it? Buck the rules, cause trouble, a stir, once more challenge his command — well, he will see a stop to this if it is the last thing he does.

Which is how Picard ends up in Ten Forward in his dress uniform, face tight with frustration, gazing about to locate the renegade captain.

"Whomever is responsible for reprogramming the replicators to produce Leola bark tea, I expect you to come forth immediately," he calls into the crowd. "Or anyone who can give me the location of Captain Kirk."

Funday Sundaes!

2015-May-18, Monday 01:11 pm
goofytastic: (If we listen to each other's heart)
[personal profile] goofytastic
Now, Goofy liked to figure that he was good with electronics. He tended to, somehow, fix anything that broken in his home after all! Or he called for help. Either way, he loved to tinker if he could. But this replicator thing... this was definitely something new! And strange. Very, very strange.

Where was Max when you needed him? Or even, Sylvia! She would figure this out no problem. He missed the both of them, but he had to stay strong. He would see them again. He knew he would. So, for now, food. After a moment of scratching his chin, humming as he looked at the machine quite sternly, a lightbulb went off and he had an idea!

Goofy pressed all the buttons, because why not? It was the best way to figure anything out, he always thought.

It was about five minutes later that Goofy had a problem.

"...uh-oh."

That was a lot of hot fudge sundaes! He couldn't eat them all. Again, Goofy scratched his chin and hummed in thought. Lightbulb!!

Ten Forward would find a table full of hot fudge sundaes all neatly placed on about two tables pulled together. There was a sign, clearly written in marker, that said "HOT FUDGE SUNDAES. 25 cents FREE!"

Goofy realized shortly after writing the sign that no one would have a quarter handy. They were in a spaceship with aliens, after all! Besides, ice cream was always good, no use in charging them. He said behind the two tables, eating one of them already. "A-hyuk! Just as tasty as back home, oh boy!"

(no subject)

2015-May-17, Sunday 12:51 pm
southernreaper: (cautious)
[personal profile] southernreaper
Arrival (Locked to Magneto):

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” The scream echoes down the hallway, shrill in the way that only a teenage boy can reach. One who is terrified. He’s not sure what is going on, but he wants to not be touched. There are too many people, too close to him.

Kevin tries the calming techniques that Miss Frost had taught him. Nothing is working. His mind swirls around a morass of terror and the need to strike out. But if he strikes out, if he reaches, then his power wins and he’s going to be lost again.

His most recent home has been an FBI holding cell. Now, he’s… he doesn’t know where he is. There’s a starfield outside the windows opposite him. To either side, cool grey hallways go on to infinity. Or maybe that’s the panic talking.

He stares at the people surrounding him. Some are wearing uniforms that he doesn’t understand and doesn’t recognize. Others are wearing clothes that he doesn’t know either. Had the Shi’ar captured him? Skrulls? Who else is supposed to be their extraterrestrial allies and foes? He’d missed that class, probably. What with being arrested by the FBI.

His hand creaks inside of his glove. “Stay back. Don’t touch me.” He orders, much less shrill, but no less panicked. If they touch him… he doesn’t want to think of the consequences. He’s seen them too much already.

Kevin has many questions. Like where is he? Who are these people? But he can’t ask. He wants them to stay back, because his power… his touch… it’ll all go wrong. “Please, just stay back.” The last is almost pleading. The roaring inside his mind is getting worse. He wants to touch. All it would take is an inch of skin showing at the edge of his glove. It’d be so simple.

“I said stay back. Can’t you listen?” He knows that this will probably get very bad, very quickly. Kevin raises scared green eyes to the person approaching him. “What’s going on?” The panic is receding, the coldness of the want of his power beginning to take its place.

After Med Bay (OTA):

Kevin finally slips his minder and goes exploring himself. He ends up in Ten Forward, looking out the windows at the starfield. He can't believe that this is actually happening to him. He's in a starship, in space, and he's no longer in that FBI cell. He cannot believe it.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he takes a deep breath then looks around. Well, at least, he can see people again. He hears a noise behind him and turns to look, taking an instinctive step back. He doesn't want to hurt anyone. Not now, not ever.
ethnobotany: oh sorry captain didn't see you there }{ first contact ({ eliminate the ball that i'm chained to)
[personal profile] ethnobotany
Arrival
The last week was very literal hell for everyone in Zelien. Between the Eldritch horror, the rain of COMPASS monsters, and the cultists, survival was difficult for seven days. Well, survival in Zelien was always difficult, but it seemed much more so now. The days passed by so quickly and yet so slowly, to the point where each hour bled into the next, each day bled forward and Beverly fully lost all track of time. Nothing was safe and after living even a short time like that, even the most stalwart of people couldn't take it forever. So when the frantic man with white hair came through the mess advertising a serum that would take them through to COMPASS' realm where they could, theoretically, defeat the organization and get everyone to safety, if not home... to say she had jumped at the chance would be an understatement. At least, after she had ascertained that the serum wouldn't do any damage to anyone. While she couldn't be absolutely certain, she was sure enough and it would be better than their current options. With the serum in her system, she had followed the frantic man.

One side of the portal was Zelien. On the other, she found herself being tossed a good few feet and then dropped, landing on her back with a whoosh of air. With the breath knocked out of her, she takes a few seconds to recover and in that time, security is called to Ten Forward. Her phaser rifle sure does stand out. The altercation when she tries to stand is short, her surprise and a touch of fear being the largest reasons she resists so hard at first. Eventually, she relinquishes the weapon, snapping, "Okay, okay! Take it!" They like that better, leaving her to get reacquainted with the middle of Ten Forward and the stares of whoever happened to witness the scene.


Later
Once she's gotten the idea of what's going on, has dealt with something else, and has managed to accept the idea that this might not be a hallucination from the serum or COMPASS using one of her most important memories against her, she heads for the replicator and a cup of Earl Grey tea. She hasn't honestly had anything that wasn't canned pears, coffee, or creamed corn in so long. This might be overdoing it, but at this point, she's given up caring. After a moment's thought, she replicates a croissant to go with it. Both she'll take up to a table in the corner where she can, hopefully, sit in peace and get her head on straight. Looks like she can finally have a cup of coffee and a croissant tomorrow. For the first time in weeks.

For anyone who might want to approach, she doesn't look entirely unapproachable. She is tense, though, extremely so and she's noticeably facing towards the room at large with her back to the wall, watching people with the gaze of someone who has learned not to let her guard down too much. It'll pass and in time she'll be back to herself. Right now, she's just on the edge of a breakdown. Good thing she has that medical training to separate her emotions from a situation, right?


Closed
After getting more food and drink in her than she usually gets in a day in Zelien, she finally takes a deep breath and decides to go ahead with something that needs doing. This... will be difficult, but she needs to do it. For both of their sakes.

"Crusher to Picard." Pause. "Do you have a minute, Jean-Luc?"

She uses his first name in her request to show that she's coming to him not as his Chief Medical Officer, but as his friend, as a friend who needs him. Because she does. If there's anything in this universe that she needs right now, it's as many friendly faces and people as she can gather, people she can be sure of. That and she does have a lot to tell him.
reincarnshaman: (Hands together praying like)
[personal profile] reincarnshaman
"Just because no one here qualifies as unicorn bait doesn't mean I'm..." the words trailed off as Trever suddenly realized that he wasn't where he was a moment ago. And then shock kicked in. The connection to his world's magical field, the connection to his world's ley lines - and being loosely land tied to Eire - had just been rather rudely cut. His mind and body didn't appreciate that very much and decided to shut down as a safety mechanism.

After taking a wobbly step forward he collapsed to the ground as if - to borrow the cliche - his strings were cut. Not quite in a faint but definitely not in any shape to do anything but fall.

The black cat on his shoulder tumbled down with him as she suffered the same effects - familiar and master no longer where they should be and no longer connected to what they had been.


After Sickbay funtimes

While he still felt a little woozy, Trever struck out to explore. Or at least find the closest place to get a drink ie; Ten-Forward. Because he needed a fucking drink. He hasn't realized that he's not going to be getting drunk from his beer yet and so he slouched in a chair watching Veena explore the area and absently rolling some dice. The black cat prowled around the room occasionally teleporting onto a chair or a table to examine things like cats do. She is very cat like except for the teleporting and thus doing all the annoying cat things that cats do.

Because cat.

Trever is also open to conversation. He does need a distraction.

Ten Forward: OTA

2015-Apr-18, Saturday 09:02 pm
dreams_dont_die: (Go)
[personal profile] dreams_dont_die
The Nietzscheans are gone, all of them. No Tyr, no Telemachus, no Gaheris.

Dylan's not sure what to think of that, and he hasn't been since it happened. It's complicated, in the way so many things are complicated. Now there's only Trance and Harper left. Trance and Harper out of what had once been almost his whole crew.

Some days, he misses them more than others. But he misses that world, the world Tyr and Telemachus were from, right alongside the world Gaheris had destroyed.

Because Gaheris is on his mind, Dylan's left his quarters and spent some time with one of the replicators, going through its commands until he managed to make it produce a Go board and pieces. He's set the board up on one of the tables in Ten Forward, near the windows, with the stones in a container set to one side.

He's created the board, but he's not actually playing yet. He has one of the black stones held between his fingers, and he's turning it over and over. It's a way he has of helping him think.

Soon enough, he'll set it on the board. Perhaps.
seekingcrocodile: (Default)
[personal profile] seekingcrocodile
He's had some time to get settled in, and learn about his new surroundings. He's seen the lounge, and the arboretum, and the concourse. He spends most of his time in the lounge, of course, even if the drinks he can get there aren't real drinks. He spends his time there because that's where he meets people.

He has noticed the boredom starting to creep in though, and the effects of having to stay in one place all the time, and he's in need of something to fill his time. When he first arrived, he heard about a place where it was possible to recreate his ship, after a fashion. He's done some asking around, and has made his way to the holodeck.

Which is completely confusing to him. It's unlike anything he's ever encountered before, and he has no idea how he's supposed to make anything with this. Maybe he should have brought someone with him to show him how.

He steps back over to the door and opens it. Maybe there's someone in the hallway who can help him figure this out.
captainproton: (Default)
[personal profile] captainproton
Tom was in front of one of the replicators in Ten Forward, doing a favor for the crew and guests of the Enterprise. He was programming in leola root stew. And then maybe if they were lucky he'd get to leola root casserole, tart, tea and leola root rice pilaf. Really, the alpha quadrant didn't know what they were missing, and Tom was determined to expose them to it. They needed to suffer every bit as the Voyager crew. Too bad Enteprise's replicators were working and no one was forced to eat it.  Maybe he could do something about that, it would be a learning experience for them. He'd be exposing them to other alien cultures! Wasn't that their mission?

"Computer, One cup of leola root stew, hot."

Picking it up and tasting it, Tom grimaced.

"I had forgotten how truly disgusting this stuff is. Might need more mildew though...."

And then Tom looked around for B'Elanna to have her taste it. Seven should be thrilled she always stuck to nutritional supplements on Voyager and as thus Tom couldn't subject her to his little experiment. 

Tom grabbed the nearest person he could find, offering the bowl. "Do me a favor. Taste this." And held the cup up to them.
ten_fwd_npcs: (beverly)
[personal profile] ten_fwd_npcs


Boy, is Beverly ever glad things are back to normal — or at least what passes for normal these days. Things got a little strange last month, but so far there haven't been any out-of-the-ordinary incidents. That should probably worry her, huh?

If this is your first trip to Sickbay, you may be surprised to see that it's a fairly ordinary-looking hospital. There are no terrifying devices or humming machines you might see in a sci-fi thriller. The biobeds along the walls are equipped with biofunction monitors, but look fairly standard. Instead of silver trays filled with metal tools and sawblades, there are an array of small devices that look as harmless as cell phones. As for the staff, they're all well-groomed and friendly. As a matter of fact, all personnel look harmless. Well, relatively harmless.

If you're new to the ship, no doubt you've been escorted here by the security team. Nothing to worry about, the doctors just want to make sure you aren't carrying any viruses or are vulnerable to terrible space disease. Once you've been checked over — a quick scan from a tricorder and any necessary vaccines — you'll be free to go. Lollipops are optional.

"All right, step on in," one of them calls out as you enter. "Don't be afraid. It's just a scan and a hypospray, nothing to worry about."


[ooc: Sickbay is, as always, OTA and open until the next one goes up for latecomers! For new characters: tagging isn't mandatory but IC going to sickbay is. If you'd prefer to skip threading with one of our doctors, you can handwave that your character got a clean bill of health and a shot and were sent on their merry way. For those who are tagging: if you have a preference which doctor sees your character, please specify in the subject line of your tag who you would like (Beverly Crusher, Trance Gemini, Julian Bashir, Simon Tam, Sam Wilson, Merlin, Meh Yewll, Bruce Banner, Todd, and the newly cleared Carson Beckett are definitely on deck, with possible appearances by others). There is a post up in the OOC comm with more details, if you have any questions.]
atadiscoverer: (worry)
[personal profile] atadiscoverer
A man gets thrown onto the floor of Ten Forward, instantly clearing the people in the small area between the bar and the seating area.

Carson, meanwhile, has no idea where he is, what just happened... All he can remember is feeling the heat on his back, and ending up... wherever here is.

Looking up, he blinks. Confused. He was in Atlantis a few moments ago, on the OR level, having just removed...

Yes. The exploding tumour. Had it exploded? Was this...?

No. He was still alive. His heart was beating ten to the dozen, and he could feel the sweat rolling off his brow. On instinct, he reaches behind him, feeling his back. No burns...

Definitely alive.

He then becomes aware of the people around him, some of them muttering concernedly. He smiles, nervously, slowly sitting up.

"Ah... Sorry... Can... Can anyone tell me where I am?"

This wasn't the weirdest thing that had happened, but it was still pretty up there. Who gets involved in an explosion and ends up in a bar?

((OOC: Apologies to everyone who left a top-level who I haven't tagged. I should have specified earlier that I'd prefer to not have a load of people encountering him "first" as it were.))

Ten Forward

 
Welcome to Ten Forward, a pan-galactic, pan-fandom social lounge for the weary intergalactic traveler. Set on the Enterprise (NCC-1701-D), any character from any established or original canon may appear at random. The fun is what happens next.

(This is a role playing community. Please visit the profile for more information.)
 

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