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WHO: Jean-Luc Picard
WHERE: throughout the village; House 20
WHEN: various points throughout the month
OPEN TO: First part OTA; others locked as marked
WARNINGS: None at the moment

More Trick than Treat {Oct. 23; ota}

For all that the recent cold snap had come on unexpectedly, with the worst of it past Jean-Luc has decided that it's a good time to make certain that everything is ready for winter proper. Whether that be making sure there's wood for fires, getting the last of the harvest in, or simply making certain that everyone knows what to expect out of a long, cold, winter. And if he figures that he might as well stop to see if he can find a few decent winter hats besides, he figures that's not unreasonable, given that he doesn't exactly have any hair to serve as insulation.

Finding a pumpkin sitting almost dead in his path comes as something of a surprise - especially when there isn't a pumpkin patch to be seen nearby. But regardless of its origins, it certainly can't hurt to bring to the Inn to be added to whatever happens to be planned for the next communal meal. Or perhaps turned into a pie, but he's hardly aware of what the people who actually cook the meals in question happen to be willing to do, cooking-wise. Still, a windfall is a windfall, and he reaches down to pick up the pumpkin without a second thought.

...Only for it to vanish in a puff of smoke, leaving him empty-handed and blinking.

Anyone who happens to be passing by just at that moment will catch him muttering something that sounds suspiciously like 'Q', but that's the only outburst he offers, and once he recovers from his surprise he heads off to see if he can find anything else he can help with, and preferably something that will remain solid, entirely unaware of the fact that he's acquired a spectral follower.

Roasting Chestnuts On an Open Fire {Oct. 19; closed to House 20}

The arrival of snow is, all things consider, not entirely surprising. Not when there'd already been a brief dusting of it earlier in the month, at any rate. What is surprising is how suddenly it arrives - and how much of it there happens to be. And while he's not unused to winter, he's not entirely used to the idea of houses that don't at least have some modicum of heating. Still, he's managed to get a fire going at the very least, and between that and a blanket - and a cup of tea to help keep his hands warm - it's at least not too bad.

A little lonely, perhaps, with no one to talk to, but it would hardly be the first time that he's sat alone and it's unlikely to be the last either. Plus he imagines that sooner or later someone else will come to enjoy the fire, if nothing else.

Of Ships and Shoes and Sealing Wax {Oct. 15; closed to Sam}

With things settling into what at least seems to be something closer to a normal pattern - here mostly read one where things don't appear to be particularly inconvenient - Picard figures it's time that he had a conversation that's fairly well overdue at this point. Not that there hadn't been good reason for him to not bring it up the last time that he and Sam had spoken, but even so, it's been on his mind for quite some time.

Admittedly, he's not particularly certain about where he might happen to find Sam, but he figures that if he sets about making the rounds through the village, he ought to manage sooner or later. Especially if he looks up every now and again. The weather might be getting colder overall, but there's not yet been any significant snowfall. Not to a point where trees might become somewhat less than appealing as perches, anyway. And if it should happen to take him a while to find her, he's not in any real hurry either.

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The weather was not to Sam's liking. While she was of hearty Midwestern upbringing, she'd grown used to the milder winters of California. They'd made her a little weak. Which was probably why she was spending more time outdoors than was necessarily healthy. Just one more way to stick it to the man. There was plenty that could take her down. She wasn't going to let the weather be one of them.

Which, of course, meant that she was fucking freezing.

As it happened, though, she was sitting in a tree. She had an old, ratty blanket around her shoulders and was leaning against the trunk, watching her breath form little clouds in front of her. It was a small thing. But definitely not one to be taken for granted. It was kind of cool having body heat again.

Even if she was kind of putting that body heat in jeopardy right now.

She was just contemplating giving up on being a jackass and climbing down when she spotted Baldy's bald head walking down the path. With a bit of a smile, she pursed her lips and whistled. "Why is it I always spot you from trees?"

For all that he's not unwilling to make the most of the weather (to the best of his ability to do so), Picard is in a similar boat to Sam. He might certainly have been born on Earth, and France has no shortage of winter weather, yes. But the majority of his life has been spent on a carefully climate-controlled spaceship and even when he's been on away missions they've never been so long as to leave him growing accustomed to the weather of that specific planet. Still, he figures he should be able to tolerate whatever this particular winter should happen to throw at them.

It's Sam's whistle that catches his attention, and he looks up without a second thought, stopping short as he does so.

"Perhaps it's something to do with vantage points?"

There's a shrug to go with his words, as if to suggest that while it's certainly his best guess, he could be perfectly wrong. Indeed, it could be nothing more than mere coincidence, and short of asking how often she finds herself up a tree he has no way of knowing whether it's simply chance or not.

Edited 2017-10-25 02:07 (UTC)

The idea of a vantage point suggested an intentionality that Sam was dangerously close to losing. Her life here was so monotonous and pointless that she sometimes felt even her strongest logic slipping between her fingers like some from a snuffed out candle.

But she'd take it as a compliment.

Swinging her legs over the branch, she dropped down to the ground, landing in a soft crouch that jarred her joints in a way it never would have, if she'd still been a vampire. Or even a dhampir, for that matter.

It was the little things that were weird.

"Not much to see today," she said, shrugging one shoulder.

"I suspect the recent weather is to blame for that."

It might not be full winter yet. But that doesn't mean that there hasn't been a distinct chill in the air of late. One that suggest that all too soon it'll be time to make certain that everything's ready for the months to come. Including whatever should happen to go into communal meals, assuming those will still be a thing that happens. But he hasn't really wanted to ask, either. Mostly because he'll find out soon enough.

At which point it seems almost counterproductive to bother asking.

"And I imagine even people watching gets old, when the population is as small as it is here."

She smiled a little bit. "You guys are definitely tamer than the people I used to run around with." No back-stabbing. No betrayal. And very little sex, or at least sex that Sam was in on, in any capacity. Definitely tame, all other things being equal. And she kind of loved it. After everything she'd been through, it was cool to see people living their lives.

Even if she could have stood to see someone throw a drink in someone else's face, every once in awhile.

Or a good slapping. That would be awesome.

At least she'd gotten to see Major without a shirt. Even if only for a few minutes. They were minutes she would treasure forever.

"You on your way somewhere?"

It's certainly true that there don't seem to be too many animosities in the village. Not that it's particularly surprising, given the comparative difficulty of getting away from someone you particularly dislike in a village this size. But even so, it's not impossible that the Observers could have chosen even a small handful of people who might provide some quantity of friction. Assuming, of course, that happens to be the sort of thing they're looking for with regards to this experiment. But that's not something he imagines anyone would be able to say with any certainty.

Not yet anyway. But he's not about to completely rule out the possibility that they will one day.

"Actually, I was looking for you."

Which could count as having been on his way somewhere, but only on a technicality as far as he's concerned.

Sam's ginger eyebrows disappeared under the synthetic fringe of her wig. "Me?" she asked, in no small amount of genuine surprise. "Why?"

It wasn't that she minded. Far from it. But Sam had more or less resigned herself to her unimportance. There was something refreshing about it. It was an honest state of being, at least. And she wasn't the type of millennial who needed participation trophies.

Of course, that wasn't to say she enjoyed obscurity...

But still.

"What's up?" she asked, hooking her thumbs through her back beltloops and rocking on the balls of her feet.

There's a brief moment of silence before Jean-Luc answers, mostly so he can get his thoughts in proper order. Admittedly, it also imparts a slightly awkward air to the proceedings, but there's not much that he can do about that.

"Do you remember when we first spoke? When I... mentioned that the organization I work for has a strict policy of non-interference?"

With good reason, yes, but for all that the words are coming out slowly, the air of mild embarrassment suggests that there's more to the story that's yet to come. Even if it does mean that he has to eat crow a little in the process. Still, the part he's just finished is the most awkward part, and while he's looks a little embarrassed, his words start to come a bit easier.

"In light of... recent events, I've decided that no longer applies to the situation at hand."

The Admiralty might still try to chastise him for it, of course. But given the things that he and Beverly had both said while they were less than lucid on account of the plague, there's hardly any sense in trying to put the genie back in the bottle; he gives Sam a brief moment to wrap her head around his slightly disjointed comments, and then he jumps straight to the point he's been trying to make.

"We do have flying cars in the 24th century."

An unexpected thing happened. Sam's eyes lit up. It was like someone told her it was her birthday and Hanukkah and Halloween combined. And in that brief moment, for maybe the first time ever, she actually looked her age. She actually looked like a young girl, instead of some kind of bitter, old hermit.

It wouldn't last, of course. But for the moment, it was there.

A million, billion, trillion questions started rattling around in her brain, like ping-pong balls in a lottery machine. They were all competing for her attention. She was ready to explode!

She settled on the easiest one. "How fast do they go?"

For all that it's a moment that might not last, it's a relief to see that her reaction is something closer to joy rather to ask what's changed. Not that he wouldn't have been in the least bit unwilling to answer if she had asked, but all things considered, it's probably for the best to hold off on that for at least a little while longer.

"It depends a little on the model. Although none of them would be likely to break the land speed record any time soon. They are still cars, for all that they don't travel on the ground." A pause. "I know some models can get up to 160 kilometers per hour, if you were looking for actual numbers."

Which isn't fast, or at least not fast compared to, say, a starship. But it's nothing to sneeze at either, especially when aircars are significantly more mobile than their ground-bound counterparts would have been.

"Up to 160 kilometers per hour," she repeated, making absolutely no attempt to hide her awe. She wasn't an engineer by any stretch of the imagination, but that didn't mean she couldn't be impressed with technological innovation.

Kind of the opposite, really.

And then the second part of that hit her.

"Wait a minute. Wait just a fucking minute. Kilometers per hour? Did we finally switch to the metric system?" Maybe she was geeking out in the wrong way, but who the fuck cared?

That much, at least is something Jean-Luc can understand. True, he might find exploration to be more appealing over all, but innovation is just as important. And just as interesting, taken as a whole. Even if what he's describing is something that he might personally find commonplace.

"Ah, yes, actually. Some time ago, in fact, although I wouldn't be surprised if there are few places that still prefer to not use it."

After all, whatever else the Enterprise might be, she is technically a military vessel. Even if it's not something that Picard is likely to admit. (And not something that's looking particularly likely to come up just at the moment in any case.)

Sam leaned her head back, her eyes rolling up into their sockets. She spread her arms and spun around in a circle, like Maria at the beginning of The Sound of Music. "it's a miracle," she sighed. One that was far overdue, even in her own time and place. Already, she liked the future more than her own time.

But really, that wasn't a fucking surprise.

A part of her wondered if she should ask about the Rain. What if his world was hers? Only farther along? It didn't feel all that likely. No one else from the future had indicated anything of the sort.

It was nice to dream, though.

She straightened herself out again, folding her arms. "Sorry," she said. "I have Opinions when it comes to science."

Sadly, Picard isn't terribly familiar with The Sound of Music. But even without knowing that she's mimicking something from a movie, it's clear enough that the news is good news to Sam. And it's not really any surprise either. He might not be the greatest at knowing what it was like before the Earth as a whole got behind using the metric system, but from what little he can recall of his history classes it had been quite the mess. Or at least highly inconvenient, and he can't imagine what it would have been like to need to remember the conversation ratios on a regular basis.

"There's nothing wrong with that."

Science is definitely important, even simply in general, and he's hardly about to say that she can't have opinions about whatever should happen to matter to her. Or even about things that don't particularly matter to her, but he has a feeling that science is more likely to be the former, in this case.

She laughed a little. "Hang around with me long enough and you'll start to change your mind about that." Even Sam's scientifically-minded friends eventually puffed up their cheeks and rolled their eyes in frustration at what Samantha Moon: Girl Genius had to say.

Eventually.

But all the same, she wasn't feeling terribly sad or sentimental right now.

On on the contrary. This was the most happiness she'd felt in...fuck knew how long...

"Hey," she said, looking up at him again. "In the future, has someone finally figured out acute intermittent porphyria?"

There's a raised eyebrow at Sam's comment - it doesn't precisely speak well of he people she usually speaks to on a regular basis - but he refrains from passing judgment on them. It's not really his place to, when he doesn't even know them, but he can't help but wonder all the same. Still, the gesture is a brief one, and by the easy shrug that follows shortly thereafter it's fairly clear that he doesn't necessarily think along similar lines.

"Perhaps. But I prefer to take things as they come. And for now, I'm more than glad to listen."

Besides, being able to listen to people is part of his job. If that means encouraging people to follow their passions, there's no hardship in that, especially when he did exactly that himself.

"I'm afraid medicine - and the history of various diseases - isn't one of my specialties. However, there have been significant advances in that field, and it's certainly possible someone might have. Beverly Crusher would know more, if you're familiar with her?"

Sam shook her head. She wasn't exactly the most sociable of creatures right now, but she made a point to remember the name. "I'm a geneticist," she offered, by way of explanation. "At least...I was going to be." A pause. "Well. I was. Before this place...happened."

Actually, dropping out of college had really launched her genetic science career.

It was just that she wouldn't be able to publish her findings. Ever. Anywhere.

Ah, the complicated and fucked up life of a Kindred.

She shrugged. "I don't know. It's a nice thought. That someone figured out a way to cure it somehow. And any future that has the metric system in place must have its shit together, at least a little."

"I can see how this place might not be the most conducive to that sort of career."

Or most careers, to be perfectly honest. Admittedly, it's the first time that he's actually heard of someone having been about to start a career just prior to arriving in the village, but he figures that's most likely due to the fact that the average age seems to skew towards the older end of the spectrum.

Which makes for a few very interesting questions with regards to the way the Observers select people, assuming it's something in their conscious control. But that's something he can look into later, he figures.

"I can't say that things are perfect, but we try our best, at least. And it sounds like something people would have wanted to look into curing, at least."

Admittedly, he's basing this on the name alone, but it doesn't strike him as unreasonable at the very least.

Sam smiled in her sardonic, little way, playing with a loose thread on her shirt. On any other human being (fuck, that was still weird to think about), it might have been a shy or bashful look. But Sam didn't do shy or bashful. You couldn't really justify it with blue hair.

She was going through a catalog of questions, trying to figure out which was the most important to ask. The problem was, common sense was at war with her curiosity.

So she settled on a happy medium.

"What about...non-human lifeforms? How do those fit in with your world?"

Even despite the blue hair, Picard reads the gesture as one that's at least potentially bashful. After all, it's not anything he would consider to be something that needs justification, and even if it were, the color of someone's hair doesn't mean that the person in question shouldn't be allowed to feel whatever they should choose to, as far as he's concerned.

Still, it's not precisely a topic that he's even so much as aware that she happens to be thinking about. And given the question she does eventually ask, there are other things to do besides.

"Quite well, actually. The Federation is made up of representatives from multiple worlds, and most people are at least familiar with the idea of non-human lifeforms." A pause and then he continues on. "And whether someone is human or not makes no difference to career options, either; the ranking officers on the Enterprise include a Klingon, a Betazoid, and an android, with several more races represented in the crew besides."

Edited 2017-12-21 02:40 (UTC)

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October 15

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