(no subject)

[daughterofthefifth]

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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[shepard]

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?"

[optimisticnarcissistic]

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!

[lastchanceforhonor]

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?"

[highfunctioning]

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.