ten_fwd | Entries tagged with sinthia schmidt

If Sinthia has been quiet, unobtrusive more than her usual for the last few days, there's an easy explanation: Q. She hadn't asked to go back, not in so many words, but nonetheless there's where she'd been sent. Fortunately--for a great many people who didn't know it yet--she was back, but back and changed in a very obvious way. Several very obvious ways.

The first was easy: she was adult now, far more so than even the precociousness she'd showed before; she stood after the flash of light had passed, stunned, body language tense. Her clothes are as usual, unrelieved black, though for more of a reason than it simply suits her. Black hides bloodstains well, and she's fairly covered in them at the moment.

She took a deep and faintly startled breath when the belated realization hit her that this place was utterly unrecognizable to her, eyes closed and reaching out mentally like a whisper through unprotected minds, an unspoken question rippling with who-what-where-when is this-am I?, all the questions blending into one confused feeling.

abyssum_invocat

Sinthia rarely leaves the ship, honestly; she's lived most of her life indoors, and in cold climes, and beaches with bright sun and no walls are a little uncomfortably odd to her. It helps to know this about the girl, because she's currently standing in the sun with her (lightest) gray denim trousers rolled up to her calves, staring at the water lapping over her ankles as if she's incredibly suspicious of its motives.

When a wavelet laps a little too high and gets the roll of her jeans wet, she frowns expressively and simply lifts herself out of the water, although she's wobbly in the unfamiliar atmosphere. It will last, toes dripping excess drops into the ocean, until she's startled.

At which point you may have a wet eight-year-old on your hands. Good luck with that.

fallaces_sunt

Natasha had only been a little flip when she'd told Stark she was treating being here as a vacation. Relaxing, or rather, burying herself in linguistic study, has been...

Nice.

Fun.

She wouldn't go so far as to say good for her, but buried underneath the intelligence officer is a thwarted academic who is still bitter the NKVD never let her finish her post-graduate linguistic studies.

And yet, the agent is what she is, and she needs to keep her edge - both for her work, and for her own peace and mind and paranoia.

So today, Natasha is in the holodeck, firing guns. She'd started with targets in a mock indoor firing range, and then moved to an 'outside' one. Handguns, then rifles. And if anyone walks in, that's where they'll find her: lying on her stomach on the dirt, shooting quick moving targets.

She's wearing ear-protection, so if anyone wants to talk to her, maybe wait until she's finished her round.

blind_devil

Matt stood at Ben Urich's grave trying to feel anything, but rage. First Elena and now Ben had gotten caught in the web of Wilson Fisk and suffered for it. He wanted to go after Fisk right at this moment and rip the man apart for everything he'd done, but that had gone so well the last time that Matt was still healing from the wounds he'd gotten from that clash. It didn't stop Matt from wanting to kill in the name of those he lost and his fists clench inside his gloves even as Karen walks up to comfort him. He doesn't feel her gentle hand on his arm and doesn't react when she steps close.

He doesn't want comfort right now, he wants justice. Comfort feels like nothing, but empty words and empty gestures. Justice though is hot and fast and would settle his mind and save his city. He's ready to go and burn down everything Fisk has ever made before Fisk can get his fingers in more of Hell's Kitchen's pies. He turns to head back to the office and that's when everything changes.

Suddenly Matt is surrounded by heartbeats too strange to be real. Some have double the sound and others skip and still others have a deepness that cannot be human. He takes a step forward and is now overwhelmed with voices and smells he's never encountered before. His normal steady gait falters and he falls to the ground with a soft grunt. Where there had been firm ground there was now carpet. What the hell had just happened to him?

He tries to push himself up, but the noise and smell continue to over whelm him and he can't figure out how to center himself. Never one to ask for help if he doesn't need it, Matt calls out into the noise. "Please someone help me? Where am I?"

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

Plenty of people have, by now, seen Finnick tying knots with either the rope Katniss and Guinan gave him or the hair ribbon that was a gift from Sinthia. On his bad days, that's still what he does: find a quiet spot somewhere and sit and tie knots, his whole being focused on the length of rope in his hand.

Today, he's also tying knots, but this isn't like that. Today, Finnick's sitting at a table that's scattered with gleaming golden things. One of them looks like it might be some sort of circlet or headpiece made of complicated knots. Others look like little figures: a turtle, a dragonfly, lots of different little flowers.

He's got a chair pulled out next to him, a skein of golden thread wound around its back, and he's cut a length off it that he's concentrating on weaving in and out and around. When it's done, though, he still doesn't look entirely happy with it, and he gets up to go to the replicator for a cup of coffee.

When he sits back down, he doesn't pick up his knots again, immediately, but studies them for a while. It's possible he could use some distraction. Or some advice.

Current Location: Deck Ten, Forward: Lounge

abyssum_invocat

Sinthia is being quiet. And unobtrusive.

This is not unusual.

She has a PADD, also not unusual, set to viewing videos showcasing how a variety of things are produced; everything from Thai rice boxes to ceramic pottery to baseballs to leather shoes.

She's pretty fascinated by it, and the ever-present ball of clay she's taken to carrying around to mess with (telekinetically, of course) is hanging suspended, frozen motionless and spinning.

Please do come bother her. Maybe even drag her somewhere else! Read her poetry. Anything.

stark_spangled

( Late last night, in Room #0914 )

When he works up the nerve to ask the computer the time, it responds with 4:45am. A little early for his routine morning workout, but after that dream he doesn't think he'll be getting any more sleep tonight. He dresses efficiently and is out of his room by 4:52am, heading straight for the gym. Today's workout will end up being more punishing than normal.

By the afternoon, he's a little more settled but still restless. Holodeck 5, the one closest to Ten Forward, happens to be free for once. He loads the usual program and steps inside, standing at the outskirts of the bleachers in Ebbets Field as the crowd goes wild. Eyes closed, he listens to the stamping of feet and the crack of wood sending the ball home, the tinny voice of the announcer calling the plays, and the cheers of everyone around him, until he feels like he can breathe again. "Computer? Can we get rid of the crowd?"

With a hum, the stadium empties in a second. Ebbets Field is quiet, chalk lines fresh and undisturbed. Steve smiles softly, and moves down the steps to get to the field, leaving his sweatshirt on the rails. It's been a while since the last time he played ball.

[ooc: Practice game! It's going up a tad late because my weekend exploded, sorry Ten Forward you're gonna get more Steve in a few days. It's terrible of me, I know. Steve's just tossing the ball around tonight, anyone is welcome to join in and practice with him and ICly get invited to play on Wednesday. Wednesday's post will be organized into teams. If you have any questionnns, hit me over here and I'll try to have the teams posted in the OOC comm by Tuesday evening! :D Oh, and if you want to catch Steve before he hits the field just for a chat, you're welcome to do so!]

Current Mood: pensive
Current Location: catch him anywhere between decks 8 and 12!

abyssum_invocat

"Ich will nach hause gehen. Je veux rentrer à la maison. Voglio andare a casa. Я хочу домой. Yo quiero ir a casa. I want to go home."

The repeated phrase is coming from the young girl of perhaps eight, perhaps younger, it's difficult to tell given the way she's folded up in front of one of the wide windows in the Ten Forward Lounge. Sinthia is pointedly not looking out at the amazing vista past the glass with stars spread out in every direction like a spangled carpet, and instead is concentrating on the tablet sitting on her knees, running through every translation language it will give her, at least the ones pronounceable to humans.

She has her chin and mouth half-buried in the synthetic stuffed hide of a plush wolf toy--to the optimist or those unfamiliar with her it might, possibly, be a dog--around which is wound an equally stuffed and soft snake, mouth gaping and showing cotton-covered foam fangs. The toys are a poor substitute for what she thinks the real things look like, but since she's not come across any half-frost-giant monstrous children in her life, they'll have to do.

It might be good if someone bothered her.

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.

Current Location: DECK 10; SECTION 1: TEN FORWARD

littleredspider

Room 0718 - Genesis

Natasha doesn't often get sick, but she knows what to do when she does: go the hell to bed and try and sleep it off. She'd had dinner with her roommate (it's not as if treating the woman like a stranger is going to work, and why not) and then done exactly that.

What wakes her is Velikan jumping on her, the puppy bored and hungry. Natasha yelps, but manages not to hit him. Then she freezes.

Very, very carefully, she runs her hands over her body, taking stock. Very, very carefully, she sits up, slides out of bed, walks out of her bedroom across the living area to Genesis' door, and knocks.

If Natasha has to go to medical, the least she can do is ask Genesis to mind the dog.

She's not flipping out. At least.

Not yet.

Ten Forward Lounge - OTA

Not that a sudden influx of children are new to the lounge, but they've gained another one. A girl with dark red curly hair, dressed in otherwise unremarkable dark pants and a pale blue sweater, who is very carefully nursing a cup of tea.

And scowling.

There is definitely a degree of scowling going on.

caelus

It's been a hell of a few weeks. Month? Little over? You know, he's not even really sure. Jim has had a hell of a time since getting here. His suddenly very much alive sort of girlfriend (ex?) being here, which he's cool with, but---wow he's already had that breakdown thanks. Admiral Pike is here---that breakdown is still forthcoming. Let's not even bring up the fight with Khan that ended with both of them brigged for a while. Then there was Q dicking around with everyone with his brand of practical jokes that had Jim letting Khan out of the brig of his own volition, and putting a few crewman into Sickbay. But he's gonna just pretend feelings aren't real things that you, you know, feel.

Spock would be proud, if it didn't mean his method of coping with his not!feelings were to find something to drink that isn't that synthehol crap.

So, he heads into the lounge, and over to the replicator. He's tapping away at the controls, trying to avoid speaking to it directly cause he doesn't want to announce what he's doing to the entire lounge. Kind of defeats the purpose of stealth. He gets an angry sounding noise from it when he tries something, raises a brow, and shakes his head.

"Okay, fine." They can do this hard way. Jim is totally okay with that. "You're gonna give me what I want, or I'm going to rewrite every subroutine you have."

[as promised: jim is hacking the replicator for real alcohol. feel free to help out by way of lookout or whatnot. gaila will be helping him out, so if you would like her to be involved when you tag in, just tag in on their top-level comment. from then the tagging order will go jim + gaila + your character = SHENANIGANS. if not, just tag in for jim, and we'll have ourselves some wacky fun. cool either way.

also, as a note: ash will be scarce because of rl/homework type things, so please bear with a bit of slow/delay on tags.]

abyssum_invocat

It's late--very late, almost early--and while the lounge is never entirely empty, the occupants are few and quiet at this hour. But one of them is somewhat noticeable from the rest; a young girl, still in pajamas, with a watchful, careful expression as she sits in the curve of that wide windowsill with the bottom half of her face buried in a pillow.

It's not any pillow, being a squishily soft purple and gold thing technically borrowed from her absent roommate, but it works for right now. Sinthia's gripping it tightly and being careful to keep it clean despite the sluggish still-trickling nosebleed. If you come close, you may be able to hear her murmuring a litany to herself; "It's not real and he's not here", over and over again.

thepowerofthor

Thor was standing stock still. He had felt the shift, the disconnection. It was like being hurled through the rainbow bridge, backward, powerless. His teeth were clenched and his arms bunched, his hands fists, and Mjolnir in one hand as if to ward off the bad old memories that rushed to his mind. But his eyes opened to see the place he was in and he knew this was not like the nightmares about being cast down and no longer being himself. He felt the reassuring heft of Mjolnir in his hand and the rush of power in his body and mind, and knew he was still himself. But where was he? And how had he gotten there?

Thor held out a hand casually, and a man in a uniform bumped into it, turned to angrily say something, and stopped, then looked up, and up, at Thor, staring. "Excuse me, good sir. Where am I? Is this Midgard?"

He hoped it was, because if it was not, he knew he was in very deep trouble. The next minute, fear faded and a grin fell into his face. Trouble could be fun, right?

Right.

The man stammered, shook his head, and fled before something odder and above his paygrade. Thor sighed but shrugged. Time to find some answers.

writes_with_digital_ink

PL:

In which Gaila betIlley and Sinthia Schmidt discuss quarantines, biology, experimental ethics, trigger words, and Project Skipping Rope.

And as of her last EP, Gaila's in quarantine for a week! She'll be back once it's over.

stark_spangled

Keeping track of the seasons isn't always easy, but Steve knows the date here is for the end of March, and even if the calendar back home says "April" that still means one thing.

Baseball season.

He hasn't used the holodecks in a while. Akito has been taking up a lot of his free time, and while he's fine with that the kid has started getting on his case about brooding too much. Peggy's been gone for a month now. She's probably not walking through his door again, and that's a good thing -- for her. It just reminds him of what he's missing.

To stave off any ill-conceived attempts to set him up on dates or push him around to other people, Steve has left Akito to his own devices for a few hours. He didn't really have a goal in mind when he ended up at the holodeck. He thought maybe he'd stop in Ten Forward for something to eat, but his feet just kept going after he reached the lounge, and didn't stop until he was standing in front of the computer panel currently telling him the holodeck was vacant. He frowns for a few minutes.

"Computer, um. Are there any baseball fields on file?" he asks. The computer gives him an affirmative answer, and starts listing off more baseball fields than he knows what to do with. "Whoa, wait. Uh, sorry. How about Ebbets Field?" Another affirmative, and another long list of options. Steve rubs the back of his neck. "OK. Ebbets Field, Flatbush, New York, Earth, around the year..."

He thinks back over some of the games he's seen, but he doesn't feel up to taking a walk down memory lane tonight. He's tempted to ask about the 1920 World Series, but as he's forming the words another thought occurs to him. "April 15, 1947. Jackie Robinson's first game with the Dodgers."

There is another affirmative chirp, and at last the Computer says, "You may enter when ready." Steve pockets his hands and steps inside the holodeck doors, and with such shocking clarity it almost knocks the wind out of him he finds himself in the bleachers at Ebbets Field, just as he remembers it.

Current Location: Deck 10, Holodeck 5

abyssum_invocat

In the time Sinthia has been on this ship, she's gotten fairly used to the idea of having so many people that will talk to her; she's still very much in the position of needing privacy, and time alone, though. To that end, she's dragged a sheet of drawing paper and a board big enough to support all of it to the lounge during one of the quieter periods.

She's no prodigiously great artist, but she's working rather diligently on what can only be a map, though not technically of her world. She seems very concerned with getting it right and neat, all the shading properly placed as she adds in the details of scales and branches, fur and feathers and water.

Feel free--seriously--to ask her what it is she's composing there.

frostedoverland

It was so boring now that festivities were all over. No parties, no holidays (yet), nothing. What was a winter sprite to do? There was no real winter on the ship, so Jack couldn't even keep his mind off the boredom with his actual job. Being invisible to almost everyone on the ship didn't help matters either, not that he was convinced it would this time since he wasn't really one to strike up long conversations either. The solution was easy enough.

Make something happen. Obviously, with being in a starship, he still had to be careful but hey, it wasn't his idea to have a holodeck on bored that was used pretty regularly. Or a gym, for that matter.

So, if any one entered either one, they would not only find it rather chilly but also... icy? Maybe a few snow piles here and there? Clearly, whoever made it snow in Ten Forward was at it again! But this time, Jack Frost was the one to start any and all snowball fights. Because who else would start them? Also, he just liked seeing people slip and fall on the slick floor. And yes, he did remove any potentially dangerous furniture out of the gym while the Holodeck looked like Antarctica because it was just no fun with people got hurt.

Also, lots and lots of fresh snow. Because soft snow that easily exploded on your face was just the best kind of snow. Duh.

magicsprice

[Lounge; Ten Forward]

After having made a mental note about where his room was, Gold headed back toward the room he'd originally arrived in for another look around it now that most of his pressing questions had been answered by his son. He's still dressed in his wedding clothes because he's not really given much thought yet into changing out of them. Likely once he goes to visit his room and investigate it, he'll look into seeing if it has clothes he can change into or if he needs to conjure himself a fresh change of clothes.

For now he's mostly wandering the room, checking the place out and hoping perhaps he might see another familiar face.

[Room #0732; Personal quarters]

Some time after his visit to the lounge he's finally made it back to the personal guest quarters he was made aware of thanks to Henry and he's interested to note some of the items to be found within it. Namely the compact spinning wheel, the leathers, the replica of Pandora's Box, a particular straw doll and an excessive amount of golden thread. They just went to prove what his son had told him about that 'other' Gold, though the Box had worried him for a moment until he'd made certain it was simply a replica and not the real thing. The amount of thread also supported the length of time the man was supposed to have been here. Though given how much of it there was, there must have been a considerable amount on the man's mind that he felt the need to do that much spinning.

Well, at least there was changes of clothes to be had beyond those leathers, so his first order of business in his room now that he had explored its contents was to get out of the wedding clothes he's worn all day and into a different more casual suit.

{ooc: Ten Forward is open to anyone! Personal Quarters is locked to those who would have a reason to be visiting that room, namely Jonas, Henry, or Sinthia.}

abyssum_invocat

Sinthia is discovering something: she does not like whatever holiday this is. Everyone she sees is in green, gold, purple--colors she doesn't mind at all. They're bright for her, but she likes them well enough. What she finds herself put in--that's a different story. Her clothes are not only skintight and never something she'd put on, but black and white. Those she's okay with, they're normal. The red ruffle around her neck to go with that mask is...not. Pointedly not. She hates red, especially on her face, and so she's standing stiff, eyes closed, and trying steadily to claw it off. There may be glasses in the vicinity rattling around her.

Noriko, on the other hand, has clothes more or less untouched (from when she saw what she'd been put in, and promptly got the hell out of it) but she's keeping those beads around her neck. Sure, they don't go with the pink dress she's wearing, but they're fun. And she's getting a great kick out of watching everyone go by in them.

goldencobra

Early on the morning of the 14th, Henry and Sinthia were sneaking around. Rooms 0732 and 0771 both received a knock on the door and when opened, there was a note written on pink card and addressed to Mr Gold and Emma Swan respectively.

The note read as follows: Happy Valentine's Day from your Secret Admirer. To meet me, come to the holodeck at 22:00 hours tonight.

Afterwards, Henry moved to reserve the holodeck and set up a romantic setting for the two of them. He'd already remade his Storybrooke program so that he could use Granny's as the place to eat. Fingers crossed, these two could fall in love in more than one universe.

(OOC: Henry's trying to set Gold and Emma up on a date as they were dating back home. So this post is closed to the four of us. Thanks.)

savagemind

At this hour, Ten Forward is surprisingly quiet. It's never Khan's first choice of locales - the patrons are ever-suspicious of him, and he has little interest in alcohol - but a part of him is feeling rather vindictive. The constant, unflagging security detail dogging his steps is exhausting, and he's taken to little acts of defiance, pushing at the boundaries of what he's permitted to do before he's thrown back into the brig.

Like this. Sprawled across his corner table is a number of PADDs, some displaying calculations, some text. The majority seem to be plans and schematics for various weapons; some are clearly intended for personal use, others to be mounted on starships.

Ships like the one currently rotating above a holoemitter.

The Vengeance is the Enterprise's darker sibling, hulking and brutal and beautiful. Angular where the Enterprise is sleek, armored where her sibling is bereft, the Dreadnought is a ship that is clearly built for war, not peaceful exploration. Despite this, however, there's a stark beauty in her hard lines, and as her architect and creator, Khan can't help but love her.

Which is why, at this moment, he is reviewing her armament, tweaking parameters for a deadlier weapons array. Every once in a while, he glances up to meet the watchful gaze of his security detail and offers them just a hint of challenge in the curve of his lips.

Try and stop him.

fishermansweater

[ cw: depression, violent death ]

( He's been trying. He really has. )

He doesn't remember coming into the lounge, doesn't remember taking the seat with its back to the wall in the habit of a victor. He doesn't know how long he's been here or even if there was a reason he left his room and wandered here.

It's as unreal as a nightmare, a nightmare he's had over and over since he came here, but that no longer clears when he opens his eyes, leaves him drifting in the unreal world between sleep and waking.

Physically, Finnick is back to his usual self, the marks of the burns and the cut on his leg flawlessly healed by Doctor Bashir. He's still stunningly beautiful, his face cast into profile as his gaze drifts towards the starry window, but the beauty has an ice chill to it, like it's frozen in a statue.

The green eyes that are so startlingly light and clear in his deeply tanned face are distant, looking not at the stars, nor the window, nor anything immediately apparent.

They're focused on District 4.

The hands that rest on the table in front of him are fidgeting, endlessly, over and over, running through the same repetitive motions. Someone watching closely might see a pattern in the way his fingers weave among each other. But they'd need to know Finnick, or to have seen the things he can do with a vine in the arena, to recognize what those skilled fingers are doing: tying knots in a rope that isn't there.

They'd need to be from the fisheries of District 4 to read the movements, to see he's tying and untying the same knot in thin air over and over and over again.

It's a good luck knot.

[ OOC note: Those of you familiar with canon will recognize Finnick as he appeared early in Mockingjay. Those of you not familiar with canon: feel free to approach him, but don't expect him to be a good conversationalist. ]

Current Location: Deck Ten, Forward: Lounge

abyssum_invocat

It's been a long time since Sinthia's been outside her room.

To be fair, it takes a while to really sink in for an eight-year-old that they're probably never going home, and she doesn't really haveto go out. She can hear plenty without wanting to on a good day, and there haven't been a whole lot of good days for her lately. But there's also only so long she can stay cooped up, which is why she's sitting in Ten Forward (it counts as getting out, even if it's still on the ship) with her little tellurion: there's an arrow carved into the wood support for the crank that dictates it should be turned towards the operator.

Sinthia is turning it backwards, away from her, absently as if she's not really watching the planet spin around the central wooden star even though she's been staring at it for a good few minutes. There's also a tiny trickle of blood coming out of one ear and her nose. She doesn't appear to have noticed it yet.

She's busy listening.

[ ooc: So for everyone who hasn't interacted with Sinthia, there's a warnings and permissions post here, if anyone is so inclined to take a gander. She probably will be listening actively to anyone who gets close enough, so please include something for me to go on? ]

abyssum_invocat

It is not a normal day for Sinthia; she's seen the costume change on other people, and considers herself lucky that it hasn't affected her yet.

That is, until she's a bite or two into eating a candy apple on her way back to the lounge--because that's what the replicator in her room gave her instead of what she asked for--when she trips on a skirt that is suddenly much longer than it had been. The apple falls from her hand, sticky from the traditional red shell. The picture might have looked reminiscent of a scene in a classic film, but only for a minute as Sinthia pushes herself up to her elbows, the ribbon bow now tied into her hair sliding over to one side.

The look on her face very clearly is wondering what the hell the costume is, and that's when she discovers the cap attached to her shoulders. "How does anyone walk in this?"

magicsprice

After the fiasco in the Holodeck with Henry, Gold had briefly kept himself to his rooms himself, but since he's getting tired once more of seeing the same walls day in and out there he's decided to once again haunt the lounge.

He ignores the chess boards today, instead he finds himself an empty table and sits down at it, laying what looks like a couple of pretty sizable skeins of solid gold chain from a distance, though upon closer inspection it's actually thread. The man keeps an ear open to listen to the random gossip that might happen around him, one never knows when something dropped in gossip might actually end up useful later on, but the majority of his attention is on actually weaving the gold into various pieces of jewelry.

It's far from easy, fortunately he has tools to help him with the manipulating of gold into the form he desires it to take. He could do this far easier with magic, but he needs something to occupy his time and hands with and thus seems as good a task as any. Perhaps it might help him think of just what else he's to do with himself here aboard this ship, beyond haunt the small area he's allowed to move around in.

The lack of any business to take part in, to distract himself with is taking its toll. Maybe he can turn his creations here into a form of business, though without currency, he'll need to think of just what sort of barter system he'll put into place for payment.

As the time passes, soon the table is decorated with golden bracelets, necklaces, armbands as well as a few rings. He might add ornament to his pieces eventually, but for now they're rather simplistic in that they're merely woven gold and nothing else.

akito

While Akito is more accustomed to sudden, unexpected dimensional shifts than the average person, he is having a surprising amount of difficultly adjusting to his new high-tech environment. Years spent in a dimension where reliable electricity was unthinkable, running water was a luxury, and food came in the form of whatever you could manage to forage or kill has caused him to grow unaccustomed to the standard luxuries he was used to back home. Add in the fact that the occasional rare luxury usually came with an unpleasant cost and you get one teenager who is distrustful of nearly everything he comes into contact with.

Being quarantined is an understandable precaution, yet comes with the assumption that he'll be forced to undergo medical examination, which causes him such anxiety that not even cuddling with Shark can relieve it completely. He'll ask Jack to accompany him when he has to, because even if this Jack isn't his Jack, and even if he is no longer a child, Jack is still Jack, and therefore someone he can trust to keep him safe. Which is why if he isn't trailing after Jack, Akito can almost certainly be found in his temporary private room, or - if the quarantine quarters are empty, in the shared common room.

Of course his plan of hiding out in a room doesn't exactly work out all the time, since Shark is used to having free run of a large range of territory and will often kick up a fuss to be let out. Akito knows the pain of being kept locked up all too well, and so every now and then can be seen following a perky-tailed fluff of a cat around the quarantined-accessible hallways, clearly uncomfortable with his surroundings but at least trying to seem like he isn't. Plume pats his neck in a comforting gesture from where she's hiding in his hair.

"Shark, let's go back," he whines quietly, once he's had quite enough of wandering around.

((ooc: so Akito comes with previous-game history from Adstringéndum, a post-apocalyptic setting where most things are out to kill you and beings like to pull mean pranks and cruel tricks on a regular basis. he's tiny in the sense that he's visibly underweight, 4'8", and the too-big sweater he's wearing doesn't help make him look any more menacing. and he's not used to the ambient sound of technology after over two years of going without. Shark is super friendly he just wants to be friends and get cuddles +u+ ))

frostedoverland

Jack Frost was on the Enterprise.

But what is a shepherd of winter to do when in a space ship? He couldn't feel the Planet, he couldn't feel any Planet, really. His chest felt hollow, empty. It almost hurt. But never as much as the multitude of people walking through him, no matter how hard he tried to keep out of the way. It felt like his soul was being ripped from him, over and over. A cold and burning sensation.

Jack Frost was on a starship.

Clutching his staff in a white-knuckled grip, he couldn't fly like he wanted, not without Wind. But he was already very light, to ease Wind's burden when carrying a human child like him, but that was mostly because he was no longer human but a sprite. He was still quite strong and fast, however, so with a few practiced jumps and flips, he vaulted over the many unseeing adults and onto a small ledge next to the window. He crouched in it, pulling his hood up and leaning against the wall as he held his staff like a life line. A small fairy chirped at him worryingly, flitting about.

Frost was beginning to creep from around him, the beautiful fern like tendrils crawling over the windows.

magicsprice

For the most part Gold has been keeping to his room, occasionally reading actual books, occasionally finally deigning to poke at the PADD to figure out how it worked and learning what he could from it. When he wasn't reading, he would spin on the wheel. Of course, the latter activity typically left him with a byproduct that he should perhaps looking into a means of using. Unfortunately, given the confined area and the lack of any obvious need of wealth, he was at a small loss at how to go about bartering the gold away.

When he wasn't in his room, he could likely be found either wandering the limited area of halls he was allowed to roam, debating on if he should even bother continuing the program he'd begun crafting within the Holodeck, or seated within Ten Forward (more for the chance to see his son, or failing that, to observe the 'natives', than any desire for other company).

During one of his trips to the lounge, he'd discovered what had first seemed to bear some relationship to a chess set. How one actually played on the strange board was something he was still working on fully figuring out. When he's not paying much mind to the crowd around him in the lounge, he's studying the set up and trying to figure out its rules and strategies. His first few attempts at actually playing versus the computer had ended in abject failure, perhaps if he had someone who knew the game to play against and question, he might actually learn how to at least give the damn computer a decent challenge the next time he bothered to play against it.

(ooc: feel free to talk with the man anywhere in the areas mentioned, just tell me where either in subject header or your tag!)

aehallh

There is only so much time Irian can spend in her quarters, doing what amounts to nothing. For several days now, she's been wasting time on a little amateur programming — getting a Rihannsu tricorder to interface with a Federation database, even a publicly accessible one, has been a little more work than she expected. If she wants to be able to access the Federation public database remotely, given she is likely to be trapped in Federation space for the foreseeable future and may someday be in need of information not stored in her own tricorder's database, then she would prefer to be able to use her own equipment to do it. But it's stubborn, and Starfleet remote-access protocols seem more byzantine than she remembers.

Eventually, she gets frustrated and puts it aside. Truth be told, she's bored — and a bored Romulan is never good. With the restrictions put in place on all of the involuntary passengers on board Enterprise, there are only so many places she can go. She considers the gym, where she could at least let off a bit of tension; there's the arboretum, which is no doubt a peaceful setting but which probably, in the end, would not provide her much benefit.

( And then there's the holodeck. )

[ ooc: Open to anyone who wants to stumble on Irian reminiscing over her home. Hope you're not afraid of heights. ]

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Ten Forward Social Lounge

[re-entrance - mission 001]

[pacifica - beach - ota]

Holodeck - OTA

The Man without Fear learns what fear is: OTA Arrival

(no subject)

Ten Forward -- OTA

(no subject)

[Quarters & Holodeck 5] All Hallow's Baseball

(no subject)

DECK 10; SECTION 1: TEN FORWARD

Room 0718 (Closed) | Ten Forward (OTA)

life hacks (aka jim, no) • open

nightmares

Thunder rolls

PL: Gaila & Sinthia, backdated to forever ago

[Holodeck 5:] Buy me some peanuts and crackerjacks... [for whathemademe but OTA]

mapmaking 101

Holodeck Shenanigans

1st Contract; Arrival [Ten Forward; Personal Quarters]

Mardi Gras!

Gold-Schmidt Matchmaking Services | Closed

two \\ open

Ten Forward Lounge: Open to All

(no subject)

(no subject)

4th Contract [Ten-Forward]

001 ✤ introduction

For What is a Sprite Without Nature?

3rd Contract [Wandering from room, holodeck, ten-forward, halls]

(no subject)

Ten Forward

Important Links

Tags

March 2016

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