ten_fwd | Entries tagged with lacey harwood

Katniss isn't the face of a revolution. She just gets people killed.

So now she's been in 13 for what feels like an eternity, blithely getting a schedule printed on her arm every morning and ignoring it just so she can go sit in a closet and hide for hours and hours until someone notices she's missing. It's not the best system, but it's one that works for her, and she hopes that someday she'll be able to get the sound of Peeta's voice and the smell of his skin out of her head. She thinks about being in the hotel, too, and wonders if that's just something she dreamed up when she was pumped full of drugs after being rescued.

She hopes not.

They want her to be the face of this thing, the symbol that inspires everyone to fight. Katniss thinks that Finnick would be better at it, or Beetee, or anyone but her. Everything she touches dies, more or less, except those goddamned roses of Snow's. She doesn't want to be responsible for the rebellion dying too and she thinks they need someone less damaged than she is to lead them. Much less damaged. She's not a Victor anymore. She's just a survivor.

So instead of facing her fears and doing what's asked of her, Katniss flees to the closet again. She'll nestle up next to boxes of graphite pencils and cleaning supplies and try to ignore the screaming in her head for a little while in hopes that one day it'll actually all go quiet.

She sits with her back toward the wall and closes her eyes and gains her bearing again. In and out. In and out. Eventually, she feels like she might be able to stand on two legs and gets to her feet, shaky but only a little worse for the wear. She tugs open the door and when she sees a room full of people she doesn't recognize, she wonders what happened and, more importantly, how she can get the hell out of there.

She tries to speak but her voice is gone, stolen from fear.

[[Katniss has just been winked aboard - she is either in Ten Forward or just outside, feel free to find her both places.]]

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.

startedtheflamewar

Cold is devouring its way through his fingers, his arms, his chest. It seems to travel through his scars — all of them fresh — and then grow further, like icicles under his skin. When his sleep isn’t interrupted by visions of dark hands over his face or the sound of a gun being fired at his face, he wakes up freezing in the middle of the night and tries to pour a tiny bit more of his sluggish magic into warming himself. What he has left, he uses to heal others rather than himself. His own bites, scratches and blade marks are simply closed, nothing more. It’s fine, he tells himself. The rest of the group is more important. What other thoughts he has are doused in the bottles of alcohol — moonshine, really — that remain, which is easier than processing them.

And then everything is bright and warm, and Cash Gillingwater, fearing the worst, opens his eyes. He’s sure that he can't trust what meets them. The corridor is clean and quiet, and his group is nowhere to be seen. Is this some trick? Is the ancient creature finally moving on from cold and going into outright hallucinations?

Cash looks as though he’s gone through a blender at some recent time, strong jaw covered in a thick layer of stubble and his dark hair hanging just below his ears. He hasn’t bothered to cut it in quite some time. His grey slacks and white button shirt are in varied states of distress, though intact. The grey vest is just barely intact, some of the bloodstains on it fake and some of them real. His bared hands and forearms are covered in fresh scars, though they don’t look nearly as distressing as the wide slash mark which nearly severed the front of the vest. It’s the newest of any of his wounds, and the mark on his skin — like someone cut him with a blade, though the reality was far worse — is only just barely closed.

Nothing on him is particularly insulating, and he shivers as he tries to decide if he’s going to stand up and move. The warm air has yet to sink in past the layer of cold which has been a constant in his skin. His magic has had to work hard to keep him from hypothermia. The sniper rifle strapped to his back stays there, as does the pistol in his shoulder strap. Is he somewhere new, somewhere controlled by the ancients, or somewhere deep under the frozen hell that the town has become in the past month?

“Well. 'Least there’s no snow here,” he remarks to himself, with a faint Virginian twang, his low voice scratchy from how little it’s been used lately. His words aren’t slurred at all, which is rather impressive considering how much moonshine is still rattling around in his system.

( Locked to Luke Skywalker. )

treadswater

The wedding is on a beach, one of those lovely Pacifica beaches with white, soft sand and gentle waves. It's the kind of setting begging for bare feet, which is what the guests are encouraged to have (although sandals, if wanted, wouldn't be amiss, either). In the middle of the day, the sand might be harshly light, but it's sliding into sunset and the light is softer, tinted with reds and oranges.

The chairs are arranged to face the nearby sea, and decorated with white and turquoise fabric. White and turquoise fabric is also draped over the canopy where the couple and officiant will stand, and it flutters gently in the breeze.

Around and through the area are small candles – nestled in the sand, hanging from stands around the edges of the temporary stage, and bobbing in the water on tiny boats also decorated with Pacifican sea hibiscus and other flowers.

Off to the side, and just as close to the water, are the tables and chairs and coloured lanterns that will be used for the reception – but for now, attention is on the wedding itself.

OOC: Ceremony itself is OTA if anyone wants to drop by and watch, but reception is closed to invite only. Party is here! And absolutely OTA.

dressmaking

To say Lacey is getting a little stir-crazy would be an understatement.

It's true that she'd much rather be on this ship than in Panem; she'd rather be anywhere but Panem. No one who's been through what she has would have any special love for their home world, either. But Enterprise still feels claustrophobic, and it's not as if there's anywhere she can go that's not the ship. Out there is only stars.

So she's taken to a few small projects in order to distract herself from the way her mind gets when there's nothing to do. She'd gotten an embroidery hoop, some linen, a few yards of silk ribbon, thread and needles from the replicator, and started on a simple piece. She's done more difficult work than this before, but it's been a long time and she wants to be sure she still remembers how.

Yesterday she'd spent working on this in her room, but that had started to feel too cramped, and as much as she would rather isolate herself here (because she can, because here she can be anonymous and no one's watching her or expecting her to do anything), the lounge gives her a little more space to spread out.

She can be found at a table in one corner of the lounge, currently in the process of stitching some green ribbon leaves onto the linen set in the hoop. Periodically, she glances up, assessing the room, before returning to her work.

It's not only distracting, it's calming, and she feels something like herself for the first time in a long while.

fishermansweater

It's not really his business. He has no responsibilities here to anyone other than Annie. But despite appearances, Finnick isn't one to turn his back on someone if he could help. Not by nature. The Games and the Capitol have made him do it plenty of times, when it was survival or revenge or protection at stake, but here ... it's none of those. Here, his concerns, and fears, are insignificant in the scheme of life. Panem, the Capitol, don't control him, except in his thoughts.

Lacey is one of the few people here who know that world. Who know him, not for what he is here, but for the man everyone wants to flirt with, be seen with, take to bed. Who's so easy to have and to lose. She knows him as a ruthless Career victor enjoying the spoils of his victory, deep in the Capitol's sway. But she's here, and she's another victor, and he doesn't know any ill against her save that forced on them all by victory.

So he's been watching out for Lacey, in the public areas of the ship, looking for her with her back to the wall in the lounge, or among the people working out in the gymnasium.

On the day his instinctual check of corners and shadows and crowds in the lounge sees Lacey already there, he saunters over in her direction. He's still the image of sensual, powerful grace as he moves, though his makeup is more subtle and his clothing substantially less attention-grabbing than she'd be used to seeing him from functions in the Capitol.

He smiles as he approaches.

"Lacey."

[ This post is plot-locked to Lacey Harwood (satinstitch). ]

treadswater

Each victor is expected to have a talent, something that they now have the freedom to do - and something to talk to the journalists. Annie had picked glass-making. Nothing to do with anything in her previous life, and something it'd take time to learn. Time being something she had all too much of.

She'd wound up actually being good at it. She'd wound up loving it. She'd make things, sell them to the Capitol and to the merchants in District Four. There are better glassmakers in District One, but madness does lend itself to artistic allure, it seems.

She misses it. The running her own tiny business, yes, but mostly the making things. The execution of a craft she's earned burns from. The ability to create.

Finally, she's missed it enough to go to the holodeck and try and create a studio. Not hers, that'd confuse her too much and anyway, this is a chance to have the kind of kilns she never could. But a studio. Fully equipped, nicely lit, manuals for the kilns and furnaces. Space. Space to move. No teacher.

She's not quite up to actually trying to make a cup again, but if anyone walks in, they'll find her either arguing with the computer over technology-levels, working out how this particular equipment works, or inspecting the supplies.

Or, possibly, twirling the poles to get used to the movement again.

ten_fwd_npcs

Now that Dr. Crusher's medical team has cleared a sizable number of new passengers for ship-wide access comes a big day for them: the day they receive their official introduction to the Enterprise. It starts with a tour of the ship and some background to the situation, delivered by Chief O'Brien.

The tour covers the main areas of the ship, and a history of recent events, Q-inspired and otherwise.

Once the tour has wrapped up, it normally falls on Worf's shoulders to assign the new arrivals quarters and instruct them on the correct behavior and protocols needed for life aboard the Enterprise. They have been gathered together in Ten Forward, and are awaiting further instructions on how to proceed. Unfortunately, Worf is still unavailable, and so instead it falls on Lt. Junior Grade Baldwin’s shoulders to do so, just as it did last month.

As he has done this before, Baldwin has a speech prepared:

"The computer will instruct you on where all cleared-for-access decks are. You only have to ask where the area you are trying to get to is located, and it will give you clear directions. Do not visit any restricted areas. The bridge, engine rooms, transporter rooms, and all command centers are off-limits.

"With that in mind, there are a few rules you must obey before I give you your new assignments. One, do not discharge any weapon while on the Enterprise. Two, do not assault any other passenger aboard in any way; that includes injury, death, or violating their personal rights. Three, do not tamper with the operational procedures of the ship. Four, do not steal items or technology from the ship. Five, do not interrupt any official areas of the ship without proper authorization, and do not invade the privacy of other guest or crew quarters.

"Copies of the Prime Directive will be made available to all of you, and placed in each room. As you are not Starfleet officers, you are not obligated to abide by this rule; however, it is important you understand why we do.

Looking down at the safety of his PADD, he says, "Room assignments are as follows," before reading off the list of quarters, their location, and the guests who will be sharing them.

Deck 7, Section 4

Room # 0717 - Mara Jade and Cridhe
Room # 0756 - Elim Garak
Room # 0759 - Ayesh
Room # 0761 - Hokuto Shijima and Felicity Smoak
Room # 0763 - Oliver Queen and Reinette
Room # 0771 - Quark and Amanda Graystone
Room # 0774 - Tasha Yar and Agatha Heterodyne

Deck 8

Section 1A - Subject Theta
Room # 0143 - Shadow and Willard Decker
Room # 0148 - Lacey Harwood and Charles Tucker III

Deck 9, Section 4

Room # 0911 - Ishka and Jim Shannon
Room # 0916 - Alex Summers and Emma Frost
Room # 0918 - Siri Tachi and Obi-Wan Kenobi
Room # 0919 - Luna Lovegood and Chris Halliwell
Room # 0924 - Padmé Amidala and Jadzia Dax

"I will remain here to answer questions," Baldwin says, managing to keep the reluctance out of his voice. "And the rest of the Security team will be standing by to escort you where you need to be."

The list is also displayed on a PADD, where people can refer to it if they need to.

[ooc: Open log for building CR with new roommates and meeting neighbors, "party post" style! Rooms are aligned the way they would be in a typical hotel: odd numbers on the left, even numbers on the right (so 0711 and 0713 will be next door neighbors, while 0712 is directly across the hall). There is a post in the OOC comm where players can connect with questions and find more details about the rooms themselves, so check in over there. If you need to ask security questions, or need them to swing by another thread, just put "Security officer, please!" in the subject line of your tag, and the mods will send someone to you ASAP. The tour given by Chief O'Brien is not open for tagging; you can assume your character had any basic questions answered. ]

ten_fwd_npcs

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 — even the more unusual aliens.

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. There is a post up in the OOC comm with more details about Sickbay and which doctors are on deck this month, if you have any questions.]

the_tailor_spy

He had spent some time on this. After being assigned quarters - mercifully free of a roommate - the only thing to do was rearrange them to his liking. Easier said than done, certainly. Asking the replicator for anything Cardassian had prompted some impertinent questions from security, so he had made do with paint. Toning down the Federation colours into something more pleasing to the Cardassian eye.

But that had been his quarters. The question remained...what do with the other half? He had almost sighed, inwardly, when the answer came. There really was only one thing. At least he was good at it.

He had partially walled off one side of the quarters halfway with what construction materials he could get from the replicator, and the rest was behind some rather nice red curtains. A little touch of bright theatricality, but since his clientele here would be overwhelmingly human by the look of things, it never hurt to play to their sensibilities. On the bit of wall, well. He had reached into the hidden pouch in his bag and past the disassembled phaser components to bring out the rolled canvas he had carefully put there. Lovingly framed, he hung the art on the bit of wall. Not too obtrusively, really, not even noticeably. But it was there.

For a long time, after that, he had just stared at it. The last piece of Tora Ziyal he had.

But, to work. The other half was beginning to fill with reams of fabric. He'd brought some with him, others were replicated. Still more he was making himself from replicated materials. Hand-made had such a special cachet, after all.

Bit by bit, the tailoring shop was filling. The advertisements he had been putting up around the ship, well. Those would help, too.

He stood, brushing lint from a jacket on display. A simple grey, true, but in a somewhat modern cut. Business-like, but with that hint of...fun.

He really was a very good tailor.

dressmaking

( locked to fishermansweater and treadswater )

It's the middle of the 72nd Hunger Games, and Lacey, as a District 8 victor, is at one of those interminable Capitol soirees. Not the overdone galas that mark the start and end of the Games, but a less ostentatious affair — if anything in the Capitol can be referred to with any word other than ostentatious. She's not mentoring this year, but she makes herself go anyway, because otherwise, people will talk. People notice if she's absent, as much as she wishes they wouldn't, and then they gossip. Then word gets back to other people, people who shouldn't hear that she's not behaving, not falling in line like a good victor ought to. So she's there, hating every second of it but resolved not to let that show on her face. She's dressed to fit in — iridescent turquoise jacket with a few rhinestones speckled across the shoulders, silk trousers, high heels, painted nails, unmistakably Capitol makeup. Not as ridiculous as some of the people here, but just enough that she doesn't stand out any more than the rest.

She turns away from the conversation she's been having with some Capitol socialite to fetch herself a drink, and between that moment and the next she's abruptly somewhere she wasn't. Lacey freezes, at first too startled to move, eyes darting around the room she's suddenly found herself in: all neutrals and drab colors, tables and chairs and people, talking, eating, drinking. There's a bar. And the windows—

Lacey knows enough about what the Capitol can do that she doesn't quite believe that what she's seeing is actually space, real stars. Anyone who's been in the arena knows how easy it is to make illusions that seem perfectly real, to make something out of nothing. But to go from the party to this, whatever this is, is overwhelming, and immediately she's in full fight-or-flight mode, breath quickening, pulse speeding up. She wonders how quickly she can get to the door without anyone stopping her. Her eyes flicker over the unoccupied tables — nothing she can use as a weapon, no bottles, not even a stray fork. She'll just have to improvise. One hand grabs the back of the closest chair; if nothing else, she can throw it, maybe trip someone if they try to go for her.

If she were thinking clearly, she might be surprised at how fast she falls back into that mindset, the mindset of the tribute just trying to stay alive. Or maybe she wouldn't be.

( a few hours later, open to all )

Later on, after she's had a few things explained to her, Lacey is back in Ten Forward. If she still looks overwhelmed, maybe it's understandable. She can't quite believe this isn't Panem, that this isn't the Capitol — no matter that Finnick and Annie have told her otherwise. But she's not panicking, and her first reaction on being approached is not going to be lashing out; it's an improvement, if nothing else.

She's got her "temporary quarters" from one of the people in the colored uniforms (uniforms still feel Capitol to her, because she sees uniforms and thinks Peacekeepers and that doesn't exactly help), and she's washed off the makeup and changed into different clothes — a fitted sweater, a knee-length box-pleated skirt, sensible shoes with barely an inch of heel. The closest thing she could get to what she'd normally wear back home in Eight. If nothing else, it's a hundred times more comfortable than what she was wearing when she got here.

She has a glass of water, and is sitting in a corner of the room, back to the wall, alternating between sipping from her glass, watching the lounge warily, and taking glances at that view out the windows. Maybe it's not real (is it?), but at least it's beautiful. More than anything else, she just looks tired.

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Ten Forward Social Lounge

fire is catching

hello from the other side ( open )

And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem... | ota + locked

I'm gonna marry you some day [Cresta-Odair wedding]

(no subject)

Looking for Lacey ...

Holodeck - OTA

[Ten Forward]: Rooming Assignments | Round #13

[Sickbay]: Round Fifteen - Scans and Vaccinations

Not precisely Portabello Road, but...(OTA - Garak opens a shop!)

one. (still playing the game)

Ten Forward

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March 2016

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