edge_of_forever | (no subject)

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In her capacity as diplomatic envoy for the Betazoid government, Lwaxana Troi had travelled from one end of the Alpha Quadrant to the other. The sight of an unfamiliar starfield outside the nearest viewport was not unsettling to her. But here on this station, if she thought about it for too long, the knowledge that she might be seeing constellations that were completely uncharted by any entity she had ever come in contact with—

Well, that was worth glossing over.

So as she sat at the small table on the observation deck, she gazed out at the stars with only a passing interest. It had taken a bit of concentration not to concentrate on finding familiar star patterns, but once attained, maintaining a detached view of things was not too difficult. Since she was simultaneously attempting to ignore her discomfort at having to present herself in these rags--with her own hair!-- Lwaxana began to regret arriving so early to meet the young Vulcan, and started wishing for someone else to distract her.

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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.

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so sorry for the delay!

(I forgive if you do!)