edge_of_forever | (no subject)

Whenever Shepard needed to collect her thoughts, she went to the Observation Deck. Somehow, being surrounded by all the cosmos put everything into perspective for her. And right now, what she needed was perspective.

But when she steps into the Observation Deck, door whirring shut behind her, she notices someone else is already in the room: a face she doesn't recognize.

Another presence does little to deter Shepard; she continues forward without hesitation and doesn't stop until she's standing there, right next to the table.

"This is my favorite place on the station," she remarks, her hands on her waist. She inhales deeply as she looks up at the skies above, as if taking it all in. And after a moment, she turns her attention back to the newcomer. An arm is extended toward her. "Commander Shepard of the SSV Normandy," she says. "How are you holding up?"

Lwaxana was privately glad for the noise made by the station's doors; without it, she would probably have been surprised by the woman's entrance. She wasn't used to being surprised, but everyday something new showed her just how much she had relied on her telepathic abilities.

She turned, smiling and took the woman's hand gracefully. Not a full-on, human handshake, but close enough. "Lwaxana Troi, Daughter of the Fifth House of Betazed. It's situations like these that show us our true capacity for resilience," she said in reponse to the commander's question. "I've never heard of the 'SSV' designation; you must not be from Federation space."

"Federation?" Shepard repeats, her brows furrowing. Bashir had mentioned something like that the day before, hadn't he? "You're not talking about the United Federation of Planets, are you?" It's a long shot and Shepard knows it. Her Alliance and Zoe's Alliance ended up being two very different things despite sharing the same name. The same could probably be said for a word as common as Federation.

"I'm not from Federation Space," she confirms, letting her hand fall back down at her side. "I'm Alliance Military." Shepard had made a habit of knowing who was aboard the ship when ever since their first gathering almost a month ago; today would be no exception. "Are you nobility?" Lwaxana's title seemed to indicate as much, as strange and foreign as it sounded to Shepard's ears.

"I'm a Daughter of the Fifth House, Holder of the Sacred Chalice of Rixx and Heir to the Holy Rings of Betazed," she said in assent, inwardly pleased that Shepard had picked up that particular detail. "The Fifth House is one of the great houses of Betazed, which is itself a primary member of the United Federation of Planets.

"I also serve as ambassador from the Betazoid government to the Federation. We don't have much of a military on my planet," Lwaxana switched subjects without skipping a beat. "It must be terribly exciting."

The title really doesn't mean anything to Shepard, but whoever this woman is, she's probably important. "What should I call you?" she asks, finally. Normally, she defaulted to calling people by their surnames, but that might be a little impolite in this case.

"Exciting's one word for it," Shepard says, scratching the back of her head. "I'm still not entirely used to this place. It's pretty different where I come from."

In short, a lot more peaceful.

"There's at least one other person on this station from the Federation. You haven't run into him, have you?" she asks.

"Oh, please, Commander, call me Lwaxana." Years of diplomacy had shown that a friendly overture--such as a first name--could go light years toward establishing a solid alliance.

"There are two I know of," she said. "I am meeting Ambassador Spock shortly, but I haven't run into Captain Kirk yet. You would have received the message from him as well, I imagine. About the cyb-rats?" Lwaxana briefly relieved the thrill of excitement she had felt upon seeing the signature to that communication. She knew her UFP history well enough to know the stories of the famous Kirk, his conquests of the galaxy and the heart. She only hoped she would have her things back before finally meeting him.

"Lwaxana, then," Shepard says, with a nod of the head.

Spock and Kirk. Both men she had met briefly on their first days aboard the Prosperina. She didn't realize that either one of the men were from the Federation. Bashir'd probably want to hear about that. "I know both of them," she says. "The captain's a pretty sharp guy. Don't think I could have put something like that together if I wanted to."

But Kirk -- or Spock -- weren't who Shepard was talking about.

"Actually, I was talking about Julian Bashir. He's a doctor aboard Deep Space Nine. Have you heard of it?" She figures that if Bashir's galaxy is as large as hers is, it's more likely that the ambassador has heard of a space station than an individual living on it.

Lwaxana's pleasant expression blossomed into a grin. "Doctor Bashir is here? Oh, how delightful! I just left Deep Space Nine, myself. I was under his treatment for a slight malady--he said it was Zanthi fever, but that only affects older Betazoids." She paused, momentarily flustered. She hated to admit her age. It called into relief the very many people she had lost in her life.

"In any case, the medicine he prescribed for it seems to have cleared me right up! The quarantine let me keep that, at least."

Shepard looks happy herself -- if only because she knows that Bashir will be happy to know that at least one of his friends or acquaintances made their way onto the ship.

"I don't know if it's any consolation, but you certainly don't look old to me." Then again, in her reality, "old" for humans was 150.

"It's good that whatever brought us here made sure we were provided for." Though admittedly, a little strange. "Do you have an ample supply of medication?" She's not exactly sure if Bashir's knowledge of all things medical extends to pharmaceuticals. And she's not entirely sure he has what he needs onboard the station to even reproduce that medication in the first place.

"Oh, thank you, dear," Lwaxana replied. "You're very sweet.

"And, yes, I had the full regimen with me when I left the station, so that's what I had with me when I woke up here! You're probably worried it's contagious, but it can only affect Betazoids," she continued, matter of fact. "Zanthi fever projects any of the afflicted telepath's emotions outward onto anyone nearby, but other than that..."

Lwaxana trailed off. Her telepathy barely functioned here anyway. It was unlikely her malady would have gone unnoticed even if she hadn't had the pills.

If he were honest with himself, Julian might have acknowledged that he was returning to the observation deck as much out of a hope that he'd bump into Commander Shepard again as a desire to watch the stars. But as he was not being entirely so, he lingered in the doorway until his eyes adjusted, looking around the area curiously. There was someone sitting at the little table, though the benches were empty. His first thought-- to stay out of his fellow kidnappee's way and let him or her think in peace and quiet-- was quickly swept away by recognition.

He didn't mean, precisely, to blurt out "Lwaxana?" in such an incredulous tone. But, well. To be fair, he'd assumed he was unlikely to run into people he knew aboard the Proserpina. She's gone and proved him quite wrong!

A woman could get used to a lot of things in her life, Lwaxana thought, even having to appear in public under-coiffed. The strangers on the station had not known her in better times, and thus had no expectations as to her personal presentation.

This voice behind her, however--

"Doctor!" She stood up, startled to see someone so familiar. "Please, forgive my dull appearance. You'll be happy to know, of course, that I was able to finish all my medicine. The station may have taken all my belongings, but it didn't take that," she continued, with a kind of nervous energy fueling her ebullience. "Makes you wonder, doesn't it, Doctor, what it did with the rest of my trunk if it could fish out one little bottle of pills. I suppose it's in a cargo bay somewhere that we just haven't been able to explore yet, guarded by another hologram--or maybe even Mr. Homn! What do you think, Doctor?"

Startled as much by her appearance as by the ensuing torrent of greetings-- and unusual emphasis on his profession-- Julian smiled tentatively and answered hopefully, "I think I'm very glad to see you, Ambassador. And that you look well!" Regardless of what she might think of her own appearance, that was, he still found her to be great company. She'd always been charismatic in the utmost.

"I wasn't expecting to see a familiar face, but I'm honestly rather grateful." That much was patently true, and he gestured to the open chair opposite her at the table. "May I join you?"

"It would be my pleasure, Doctor!"

Lwaxana preened a little in light of his flattery, but couldn't help a protest. "I never refuse a compliment, but I think we can agree I have looked better. So have you!" She said frankly. "Are you not sleeping? After any time on your station, I always look forward to a return to more civilized bedding, and surprisingly, I have found this station to be a step up in comfort from Deep Space Nine."

The frank nature of conversation with Madame Troi was not new to Julian, but he still winced a little when she pointed out that he wasn't looking at his best. He certainly couldn't deny it; he'd been preoccupied for quite some time with worry over how or why he'd been abducted in the first place.

That quickly melted into laughter when she went on to point out the primary fault of Deep Space Nine. "That's very true!" Chuckling, he folded his hands together, twiddling his thumbs. "Cardassian architecture takes a few years of getting used to. And I only say that because I'm ruined for comfort, now. It's strange, thinking of a bed and going 'that's too soft! Where are my angles and sore back?'"

"You're young, Doctor, you'll bounce back in no time!

"Now," she leaned forward and placed a hand on his forearm. "What do you suppose this place is? The people here are a very odd assortment, and I have been party to many mixed gatherings in my time as a diplomat!"

"I'm honestly not certain." He tapped his left thumb against his right, trying to make sense of it not for the first time. "It's not like any war prison I've ever been in, and you're right about our fellow kidnappees coming from all walks of life. When I arrived, I was in quarantine with a young woman who seems to be a mirror to King Arthur of old Earth mythology, for example. I haven't been entirely convinced it isn't some elaborate holodeck simulation to test-- I don't know, mental response to stress, or something of the sort."

But, as they had not been denied sleep or food (though the food might not always be pleasant to taste), he couldn't help feeling like there was no point to keeping his guard up. "Since we're being kept in fairly acceptable living conditions, I can't figure out what they could possibly want from us. Aside from leaving, it seems as though we're free to do whatever we like."

"Free to interact with people from all walks of existence!" She crowed. "But why would it change the gender of your King Arthur? Earth kings are usually male, aren't they?"

Lwaxana shook her head over her empty mug. "It's more likely a test of our diplomatic and social skills while being deprived of the trappings of a civilized gathering. Plain clothes, unreliable food--how is anyone supposed to make the proper impression?"

The thought never even really occurred to Shepard until Lwaxana mentioned it. She had been hopeful that Quarantine process had rid the ship of any dangerous contagions. But it was entirely possible that wasn't the case.

Shepard does her best to shrug off her worry with a question. "You're a telepath?" she asks, brow raised.

"I am-- or was, anyway," Lwaxana frowned. "I don't know what it is about this place, but the best I can manage here is some strong empathy. My daughter is half-human. This must be what she feels like around non-Betazoids all the time! Poor little one. It's quite crippling! Like being surrounded by Ferengi."

"They are!" he agreed readily, leaning in for emphasis. Lwaxana, at least, understood why it seemed a little out of the ordinary to him-- and thus, fascinating, though he couldn't be certain she felt the same way about it. "Well, they are if they're from our universe, in any case. But it could be that Arturia is actually from some other, parallel universe. We already know of the mirror universe, back home; there are theories of infinite universes, all caused by the tiniest differences in how something went, one way or another. The more people I meet here, the more it seems that we're being pulled from entirely different universes altogether!"

As for making the proper impression-- he winces, shrugging. "I'm-- really not sure. But I'm certain you're handling yourself with more poise and grace than most of us, Ambassador." He genuinely respects Lwaxana's poise in most situations. Never mind that the last time they'd met had been...a little stranger than usual for everyone involved.

"Well," she opined, with plenty of emphasis. Lwaxana leaned back in her chair, lips pursed as she considered. "Of course, I know all about the mirror universe your Starfleet keeps running into--but why would this one place be able to touch so many different universes while ours only parallels the one?

"Our universe is beginning to seem quite inferior!" She laughed.

"I'm honestly not certain," he sighed, looking a little put out that he couldn't figure it; but just as soon, he shrugged it away, laughing at her observation. "Well, at least this station isn't Cardassian, that's true!"

"At least with a Cardassian station, you would know what to expect from the replicators!" she sighed. "I suppose we are meant to be grateful there are replicators at all."

It wasn't that Lwaxana Troi could not cook, it was just that she so rarely did these days. It was substantially less satisfying when you weren't doing so to impress the love of one's life.

Sansa's identity was shredding around her, but she had gathered the rags of Alayne Stone around her and still hid behind them. The name was wrong, and she knew that she was not alone here - it was a matter of time before either this technology they spoke of or Sandor Clegane announced that she had been lying from the start, until they knew her to be a liar and could not possibly understand the why of it.

She had not been Sansa Stark for such a long time, she didn't even know who she really was. Not in this place. Not where her name had no meaning, no weight, and no responsibility - or, at least it had not those things until she was found again by those from her home. She had one place that she found some sort of peace, staring at the stars - used to quietly sitting and staring out at the glittering lights that made up (she had been told) other worlds, other suns.

She smiled at the woman who was already there, and then she realised she did not know her. A smile ghosted across her lips, and she nodded her head once. "Good morning, m'lady." Alayne was polite - so was Sansa, but Alayne assumed all had better claim to titles than she. She sat next to her, her auburn braid thick and heavy, the roots of her hair clearly redder than the faded, grown-out dye. She did not speak again yet, because this was a quiet place-- until, after a moment. "Are you new?"

"Relatively new, I would say," Lwaxana replied, trying but not quite succeeding to match the girl's quiet tones. She studied the girl as she gazed out at the stars. Even with the limits on her telepathic powers, she could sense the thin undercurrent of displacement the girl felt. It triggered a kind of protective maternal feeling in her. "My name is Lwaxana."

Gesturing out at the window, she asked, "You're not at home here, are you?"

Her brow furrowed the smallest bit at the strange name, but she smiled. "Alayne Stone," she said obediently; at this point the answer was rote, and there were no hesitations. It was like it had been at the Vale, when she had been Alayne, when Sansa was put on the shelf to only be pulled down if needed. When Alayne's father decided it was time.

It was easier, that way - but now, Sansa didn't know if Alayne was the easiest path or not, especially now that it was all falling apart- but she could hardly start telling the truth now, without people knowing she was a liar, without exposing who she was. At Lwaxana's second question, she shook her head slightly. "No, m'lady. This is not my home, I'm from Westeros." She paused. "Only one of the people here even knows of it's existence," she said, knowing that Lwaxana was likely not one of them, either - only the crazy man who had started yelling when she spoke to him knew of where she was from, and since he'd greeted her with her name - her actual name, she was staying as far from Abed as possible. "Are you home, here? I mean - the stars, not... here. I don't think anyone's from here, exactly."

"I do live among the stars, dear," Lwaxana said grandly. "I'm an ambassador and I spend most of my time traveling between them.

"But you said you are from Westeros? You must be referring to that handsome young man I arrived here with. He seemed very dashing. I could tell he was of noble birth." She cast about a moment for his name. She hadn't seen him since they'd been released from their quarantine chamber.

Her eyes widened as Lwaxana said she did live out there - she was nothing like Zoe, she was poised and well spoken and although her voice was odd, she would have been at home in any court. "But this place is not normal for you, is it?"

Her teeth dug into the meat of her lower lip until she realised what she was doing and how rude it was. Her stomach had dropped to her knees, but she smiled politely. "I'm sorry, m'lady, but who are you talking about? I have met no one from my home." And, she knew full well that no one ever in their right mind would call Sandor a handsome young man - and while Lwaxana seemed a bit flighty, she hardly seemed mad. She hoped, for one insane moment, that it would be someone that she knew - but then she realised that there was no one that she knew who fit that description - handsome young man who would be safe to see - or who would be alive. For one moment, she had thought of her brother, Robb, but the reality of it made her jaw tighten even though she continued to smile prettily.

Lwaxana shook her head gently, "No, I am as much a stranger to these stars at the rest of us."

The young woman was clearly well-practiced at hiding her fidgets, but Lwaxana could sense her anxiety. She thought to herself that there were probably a great many wrong answers to the question of the man's identity, many more wrong than right. Carefully, with a watchful eye on the girl's reaction, Lwaxana added, "He was one-handed. Blonde. His name began with 'J', I think..."

Sansa stared at her for a moment, and she could not stop the spike of fear that dug through her, but her face was still kind and genial, her eyes widening just a tad. "Ser Jaime Lannister? I heard tales of him, from my father." She bit the inside of her lip for a moment, and pulled in a breath. "I have not met him yet," she said demurely, her lips still in that same soft smile. "Although I am looking forward to it, now! It is good to know I am not the only one from my home."

Every word that fell out of Alayne's mouth made Sansa curl closer, into a smaller and smaller ball. The words scrabbled at her heart, that Jaime Lannister was here, and she did not know what she expected him to do - if he would take her home, if he would take her head - they said she killed his son. She did, in a sort, and his sister wished her head on a spike.

But Alayne smiled, and talked of how exciting it was, after all - Ser Jaime was a knight, and even if he was the Kingslayer, even if he was hardly Arthur Dayne, it was still exciting. Even though it made Sansa feel as if she was going to be sick.

Lwaxana raised an incredulous eyebrow at the girl. There was no getting around it. "You have met him, and, if you haven't, you certainly are not looking forward to it."

If Lwaxana had had access to her full range of telepathic abilities, it would have been much easier to separate out the truths, but sensing only the emotions behind them, she was forced to guess. Her guess was that there were many things the young lady had been lying about for a very long time.

Her smile sort of... fell.

"Jaime Lannister is- He is a dishonorable man. I'm happy to see someone from home, but he is the Kingslayer. It is not- It is not for me to spread the tail amongst those who are not from our world, but he is..." She trailed off, trying to cover the trail of her words. "I should not be afraid of him, but he stabbed the Mad King in the back when he was his guard."

"Oh, my," Lwaxana sat back. "He did seem rather rough, I suppose, but I thought perhaps it was the shock of displacement. He stabbed a king? How very dramatic."

Sherlock had awoken from a particularly long think to find himself alone in the lab and rather famished. Also in total darkness, as the lights were motion triggered. He'd eaten in the lab before, of course, but the rats were particularly hostile today and he'd hit a wall in the research hours ago -hence the retreat to his M.P.

He stalked to the observation deck and barked a command at the vending machine. The pastry it offered was a sad replacement for the full English he wanted -and for the cigarette he would gladly have taken instead.

As he sat down to his breakfast he noticed the older woman who'd been there all along.

Another one? Whoever's curating this collection certainly has an odd sensibility...

He gave her a tight grin and hoped that would be enough.

"Not pleased with the replicators, either?" Lwaxana asked. It didn't take a telepath to read his facial expression as he'd looked down at his plate, but of course he also just dripped with waves of irritation. "I have found that if you ask for something that is exactly not entirely like what you are looking for, you occasionally get an approximation of its substitute." She smiled broadly to show she was joking.

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so sorry for the delay!

(I forgive if you do!)

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