sixthiterationlogs | [MINGLE] One-Man Show

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[MINGLE] One-Man Show

WHERE: Inari Shrine and elsewhere
WHEN: 25 January 2019 through ?
OPEN TO: All opted in characters
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Opening her eyes to a new environment and with a group of people, some she wasn't familiar with at all and certainly wasn't around previously, should be more alarming than it is. Unfortunately, this isn't her first brush with being transported against her will and probably won't be her last. Fortunately, that does give her the experience and presence of mind to start looking around for clue as to where she is and how she can escape.

At least, until the image starts playing around her, blocking out everything else. The scene isn't anything she recognizes, though she does immediately recognize several of the faces around, Jean-Luc in particular. They're obviously at some formal event, though she can't immediately tell what. Then she sidles up to him, or an image of herself a few years older does, settling herself right up next to him.

"Sort of like losing a son and gaining an empath," she comments jokingly.

"You're being a big help," Jean-Luc comments dryly in return, making her laugh. The two of them talk as they always do, though as usual he is slightly less likely to be as free with his emotions than she is. Watching the video makes her smile outside of it, especially when she catches a glimpse of Deanna and Will off in the distance. Given Deanna's dress and some of the other clues, she figures this must be their wedding. It's really about time. They've been perfect for each other for so long.

But then someone else steps into view, making the holographic Jean-Luc put some obvious distance between himself and the holographic Beverly, making the real Beverly gasp in shock. Wesley, her son, is there. The sight of him and sound of his voice nearly make her heart stop, squeezing painfully as she watches him. This, if it really is the future, confirms so much for her. For the last three years, she has kept an ear out for any news of him, any sign that he came back, all while believing very firmly that he was fine, and still is. If this is real, it means he really is fine and not only that, but also that he returns to her. That's all she could ever have wished for.

Tears prick her eyes, even as she smiles at the holographic projections. This is the best thing she could ever have been given.

Edited 2019-01-25 19:23 (UTC)

The entire experience is disorienting, because no amount of chatting about the things that happen here being even crazier than just the act of being kidnapped across worlds could have prepared Pepper for standing in the forge one minute, cold hands seeking warmth from steaming tea made of local edible flora, and then suddenly not being there. It's dark by contrast for a moment, and then everything around her lights up with the image of strangers.

She has no idea why she's seeing what she suddenly is, and she's trying to puzzle that out as well as absorb details (names and clues to where or what this is), but despite that, she can't help but smile at the uniformed young man and his distraction by a pretty girl. It's so normal when what's happening to her is absolutely not.

[ooc: 0:45-end] And then it's not these strangers anymore, it's a time ripped right out of her head, but all around her. There's a few seconds of her remembered perspective of the back of a glowing man and then it abruptly shifts focus and she's watching these moments from the other side. In this moment, this is not something she wants to relive, because she spent so much money on therapy after it, just to not be a walking hot mess forever in a mental and emotional sense and unable to handle such a personal violation of her body and the consequences of it.

There's no view of having crawled from the wreckage, having effortlessly honed in on Tony and that psychotic monster Killian, having picked up a massive pole like it was a twig, just-

BAM. She's still seeing this like she's outside herself, but it's so much clearer and sharper for not being her memory of events. Destroying a suit. Blowing up Killian with calculated efficiency. Turning away from glowing rage to see Tony, battered but not dead, and she finds herself speaking along with one moment, "Oh, my god, that was really violent", because it really, truly still is, but it's suddenly, shockingly satisfying in an entirely new way, because she did that. Superhumanly drugged against her will, yes, but she saved Tony, and got the bad guy directly this time.

The next thing she speaks in mimic is voiced in a whisper, "You know, I think I understand why you don't want to give up the suits." And that floors her, because she remembers saying it, but it's become distant between that moment and the right now, bogged down by future-past frustrations and setbacks and trying yet again to find moderation and failing and succeeding and accepting. The feeling, though, of being able to protect the most important person in her life because of technology and science (and it had been enough, but what if it hadn't? What if she had needed something more and lost him because of it?) - that she had let grow dim, and maybe she shouldn't have.

She's not shellshocked enough by this viewing experience to miss taking in everything after the violence, though, from a perspective she should have never been granted bringing stark clarity to remembered emotions, and it affords her, well, perspective. Her fear and his promise to fix her, his showy but deeply emotional sacrifice, her socked-in-the-heart, I-love-this-man-to-the-limits reaction, his slight but gut-wrenching (to her) body language communicating the relief of having her not be dead (suddenly, painfully, she hopes he's not watching this too, because right now he doesn't need a full-color and surround sound reminder of Pepper Presumably Dying moments), and she's gripped by the ridiculous desire to rewind just this part and watch it again.

But a new vision or memory or virtual reality experience plays before Pepper can even ponder how.

It takes them all some time to get around to each other, to digest what they're each seeing and how those sights affect not only the person directly involved, but also everyone else. By the end, Beverly is beginning to think that her vision is one of the only good ones. Although one of the unfamiliar ones doesn't seem quite as awful as it probably could have been. Once things have calmed down a little, Beverly makes her way over.

"Well, this sure is one way to meet people," she jokes lightly, offering a hand to the other woman. "Beverly Crusher and I really should be used to sudden, unwilling transportation by now. Odd holographic videos... not so much."

Edited 2019-01-26 15:33 (UTC)

Pepper immediately takes the proffered hand with a smile that, although strained, does have friendly truth to it. She may look visibly rattled still, she isn't sure, but it's not entirely or even mostly about what she saw. It's about the other visual projections with shocking impact, especially for the man who appeared in two separate ones in physical and mental states worlds apart.

But not this woman's video/VR/hologram, and Pepper's actually grateful one of them had a seemingly good memory and that the memory was the one to greet their shock at the abrupt change in location and circumstance.

"Pepper Potts. I can't say that I'm used to either, but I can say that I'm very grateful you were the one to go first." She smiles, less strained. "I'm assuming that was a happy memory. I hope it was."

Beverly offers a light laugh, soft but amused in spite of everything, though there's a wry tinge to it all the same. "So am I, though it could have been a good finisher, too." Either as a sweet introduction or a pick-me-up at the end would have been good.

Still, the thought of what it is brings back the multitude of questions that she herself has about it. She can name most of the important faces in that minute-long hologram, but not the why. Or where. So her smile turns a little bit wry and she shrugs in response. "Well, if it's a memory, it's one I've forgotten and given how much I've missed Wesley, I doubt I could have ever forgotten that. So, either it's completely fake and meant to give me false hope or it's something from the future." She pauses, her lips twisting a little, wry amusement showing through now. "If it's all the same to you, I think I'll hedge my bets on it being something from the future. I like that option much better."

Something from the future. Pepper hadn't considered that option as a possibility prior to this moment, as hers was a new look at a past event, but she considers it now. Given what the future at home holds, she's suddenly very glad her past was chosen, because the last thing she would have wanted was to subject others, or herself, to a hellish stretch of galactic fighting and heartbreaking loss.

It's far better to focus on Beverly and the bits of information the woman is revealing, enough to catch Pepper's genuine interest. She smiles a little wider, a little softer.

"How long has it been since you've seen him?"

Beverly has to think about that one, only because her sense of time in this place is a little off still. They didn't always have the wristbands and accompanying watches, so for a while it was a bit of a guessing game.

"Five years?" she guesses. "Three years at home and at least a year and a half here. Closer to two by now. It's hard for those of us who have been here a long time to really tell. We haven't had the clocks on our wrists the entire time, so a lot of the early timekeeping was estimation and guesswork based on the seasons." They can't even say they relied on the sun. At one point, the sun didn't set and they don't really know how long that lasted.

She does smile at the memory of her son. "He looked so grown up. He'd be about 27 by now and he really looks so much like his father."

Her lips twist a little sadly at that. She and Jean-Luc might be doing their best to move past the skeleton of Jack's passing, they both know that the subject always has a chance of coming up. They are prepared, at this point, to work through each situation that brings up that past together, which is certainly better than they had been doing.

As surprising as it is to be pulled somewhere unexpectedly, and despite the swirl of emotions both of the previous visions prompt, there's no time to dwell on it before they're all pulled into another vision. And this one he remembers knows intimately, and for all that he's watching it as if he's only an outside observer there's no mistaking where this is. What this is, and his heart sinks, as he watches Gul Madred approach him, knife in hand.

"From this point on," the Cardassian begins as he starts to cut Picard's uniform from his body, "you will enjoy no privilege of rank, no privileges of person. From now on, I will refer to you only as human. You have no other identity."

He doesn't struggle. Can't, really, with his hands bound and Cardassian guards on either side of him; when Gul Madred steps back they pull the rest of his clothes off and then raise the manacles to a metal construction hanging above his head. A moment later, at the push of a button, the whole construction rises until Picard's feet leave the floor entirely; his whole weight hanging from his wrists. A pause, and Gul Madred and his attendants exit the room, leaving Picard naked and alone.

A pause, and then video skips. It's hard to tell how long it's been, though Picard is still naked. Still hanging from the ceiling although he seems to have nodded off, though he startles awake at the sound of the door opening, as Gul Madred and his two flunkies enter. For a while, things are even polite - pleasantries are exchanged - largely on Madred's side, and his assistants pull Picard's arms free from both the contraption and the manacles. Not that this helps much. Even freed, Picard seems to be unable to fully lower his arms; instead they rest half-raised at his sides, bent and the elbows. More worrying, perhap, there's what appears to be a partially healed incision on his chest - one that wasn't there previously.

"Thirsty?" Gul Madred asks, and there's a slow, painful nod in return. "I would imagine so." A flicker of pause, just long enough for to bloom and then die when Madred speaks again. "Well, It's time to move on."
"I've told you all that I know," Picard insists, his voice sounding...tired, for lack of a better word. Like however long he'd been hanging from the ceiling has taken its toll. Madred, however, simply brushes off the comment with a 'Yes, I'm sure', before turning on a set of four spotlights; after the near-dark of the room the sudden light is too much for Picard, and he flinches away from it.
"How many lights do you see there?" Madred's voice is calm. Unhurried. He has all day, it says, and is perfectly willing to patient. It's a lie, and from where he's watching, Picard can't help but feel his heart sink as he watches himself warily eye the lights, as if the simple act of counting is an effort. Can't help but brace against what he knows what will be coming when he answers.
"I see four lights."
"No," Madrid corrects, his voice soft but stern, "there are five. Are you quite sure?"
Even now, Picard can't help but flinch a little at the gentle correction; he only barely catches his own insistence that there are four lights. He does not, however, miss Madred's explanation afterwards. The way Madred gently calls his attention to the incision on his chest, explains that while he was under the effect of 'their drugs' he'd been implanted with a small device capable of producing pain at any level of severity. Doesn't miss the lie - and he knows it for that now, where he hadn't before - that Madred doesn't enjoy having to demonstrate. (But of course, he must, or so he claims.)

A button is pressed, and Picard collapses against the edge of the desk, gasping in pain.

Another skip forward. Picard is sprawled, limply, over a chair. A thin piece of fabric fashioned into loose tunic covers him and his wrists are chafed from having been in the manacles. He looks, in a word, wretched, like he doesn't even have the energy left to sit up properly. As usual, Gul Madred is sitting opposite him. Again, the brights lights, again he flinches at the brightness, but this time he answers differently.

"What lights?" His voice sounds, if possible, worse than he looks, barely above a croak and bone-dead tired besides. Again, the button is pushed, Picard contorting in pain, writhing until he falls from the chair and collapses to the floor, still twitching.

The video flickers again, then, one last time, before opening onto what looks for all the world like a lucky break for Picard. It isn't, Madred coming in once again, this time offering news - false news of Enterprise's destruction. And while Picard knows, in hindsight, that this too was nothing more than an attempt to break him for good it still hurts to see himself fail to react to something that should have brought now end of sorrow. To see himself very nearly consider taking Madred up on the offer of having a decent life, of being given the sort of life he would have once have taken for granted, to see the longer than usual pause when he's asked again how many lights there. A pause that's only worse when he knows very well that he'd been very nearly about to admit to seeing five before the guards interrupted, and when the vision finally fades after his last defiant insistence that there were four lights he looks very nearly ready to collapse himself.

Only there's barely any time to catch his breath before he's once again hurtled into yet another vision. One that is, at least, not his.

They've never talked about it, what happened to him after he was captured by the Cardassians. Beverly always suspected that Jean-Luc had told Troi everything that had happened and she never faulted him for not also telling her. Deanna was their counselor; listening to stories like this and helping people through the trauma was her job. At the time, Beverly would never have pushed about it, either. Admittedly, she's hesitant to do so now and the only real reason she thinks she might now is to help him deal with reliving the trauma.

So she approaches, sorrow written plainly across her face. For all that she knows this is more about him and his comfort than hers, she can't help but feel at least partly responsible for him having been left in the Cardassians' care. Worf had wanted to go back for him, but she'd told him that they couldn't help him if they were captured as well. The words were absolutely true, of course, and Beverly knows that well; still the guilt wraps around her, even as she stops in front of him now.

"Jean-Luc," she says softly, her voice full of emotions that she can't quite put words to. For the first time in a long time, she doesn't quite know what to say. A dozen options flash through her mind, each more outlandish than the last. Eventually, she settles on the part that's eating at her more than the rest. "I told Worf not to go back for you, that we couldn't help you if we got captured, too. Maybe he was right. Maybe we could've saved you from that experience if we'd just tried."

None of this is about her and she isn't even remotely trying to insert her own importance into anything about it. This is about her captain, her best friend, and a slim chance that she and Worf could have saved him from torture at the hands of the Cardassians.

It's not an easy thing, seeing what he's just seen. And less so, too, for the fact that there are other people who have seen it. It is, perhaps, not a deeply personal memory, in the sense of being something that he wouldn't wanted to have shared, but even so it's ... difficult to have it out in the open like this. To have it have been displayed so openly, and that's not something he's quite able to put out of his mind. Still, there's no time to dwell on it. No time to even begin to start processing the memories anew, and while he's still visibly off-kilter emotionally when Beverly asks her question his voice is... relatively even. As much so as can be expected, anyway.

"It was a trap from the beginning. They wanted me, specifically." A pause. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, but I suspect all that would have happened is they'd have had three prisoners instead of just the one."

Worf, he suspects, wouldn't have been easy to break. But Beverly... the fate he'd suffered at the hands of the Cardassians is one that he would have gladly given himself to if it would have meant sparing her from the same.

Were they back in the house, back on the Enterprise in his ready room or her office, she would likely be more open with her affection and comfort than out here. She knows he isn't the type to engage in any open and public displays of affection. That just isn't his way. The dance and kiss on New Year's Eve had been something of tradition and the furthest they would go where anyone could see them. This makes things a little more difficult now, navigating the waters of their still fairly new relationship in regard to things like this.

So she does the first thing that comes naturally to her, reaching for his hand and wrapping both of hers around it. "You never told me about any of this." And for good reason. She doesn't blame him at all, her tone of voice more one of empathy without an ounce of accusation. But she still aches for what he went through and the sight of him reliving it now. "I always wished that we'd gotten to you sooner. I knew that they wouldn't have been giving you tea and a trip to Risa-" It's a very weak attempt at a joke and the small smile accompanying it echoes that. "-but I didn't know... what exactly they'd put you through."

Part of her wonders if he ever would have told her, if he'd had the chance to do so under his own power. There are things they're both still working through, things neither of them have really dealt with or considered fully explaining to the other, even before they agreed to try a relationship. So she wouldn't blame him at all if he had locked this event away into the box of things he didn't want to tell her. At the same time, she appreciates that there's one less thing between them. Working through Jack's skeleton is more than enough for the two of them.

Even without it being what she might have offered were they not very much in public, he's still grateful for what she does offer. It's a small thing, yes. But even with it being something so small, she can tell that she means it. That she would have been more open about both her affection and comfort besides. Not to mention that after having had to relieve some of the worst moments of his life, even the small touch she offers is more than enough.

"I'm not sure I could have," he answers after a moment of silence. "Not that I wouldn't have wanted to? But it was if speaking of it too much would make it too real. More difficult to bear than it already was."

He'd spoken to Deanna, of course. But even that had been hard to face for too long, and if it hadn't been for the fact that it had so deeply affected him - to say nothing of the fact that it had been her job to ask him about it - he's not entirely sure he would have managed that much. Still, if there's one good thing, it's that he's gotten through once before. He can do it again, if he has to, and for all that he would have preferred to not have those moments shown to even a small group of people, there's nothing that can be done about that. All that's left is to make do as best he can.

"And I'm not sure I would have entirely enjoyed it if they had offered a trip to Risa."

It would, hopefully, have involved significantly less torture, but even so it would have felt oddly disingenuous, especially given the trouble they'd gone to to infiltrate the Cardassian base in the first place.

Admittedly, she is tempted to give him a hug anyway. For all that she wouldn't add anything particularly intimate like a kiss while there are witnesses around, they might both do well with a hug. So after another minute of debate, where her lips quiver a bit with barely contained emotion, she gives in, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close. The simple embrace won't erase everything from either of them, but with any luck, it should help.

"I know," she says with emotion. "But I'm still sorry we couldn't get to you sooner."

The whole crew was feeling it by the end. No one was happy with the captain who had temporarily replaced him and everyone was on edge. Add to it the fear that their real captain was dead and nobody was dealing well with the stress. Now that she knows the truth, she wishes all the harder that they had gotten to him sooner.

It definitely helps. And while they are still in public, he allows himself to lean into the hug just a little bit more than he might have otherwise. Other than her, there's no one here who might expect him to still be the captain of the Enterprise, and without that need to stand quite so much on ceremony he figures there's no harm in letting him show a little bit more softness than he might otherwise. Even if he still isn't terribly inclined to show much intimacy, outside of the privacy of their own home.

"You couldn't have known." That it was a trap from the start, that it was as bad as it was... he's not entirely sure which he means. Perhaps it's both. But the sentiment is genuine even so. "And for what it's worth... I'm glad you didn't have to live through it too. Even if I didn't know you hadn't been captured, at the time."

But he knows now, and in light of what he'd had to suffer, that means the world to him. One of them having been tortured is more than enough.

More than likely, they will have more time to really dive into the meat of those memories, when they aren't surrounded by people. For all that their two companions have had their own memories shared, they are still strangers and there are some things the two Starfleet officers won't say or do in front of strangers. For now, though, Beverly gives one last squeeze before releasing Jean-Luc from the hug, pulling back only enough to offer him a tight-lipped smile. No matter what he says, and how right he is, she will always feel a bit guilty for leaving him.

"You really didn't know, did you?" she says softly. "We couldn't even tell you that much. And then... they made you think I was still there." And of course, being the noble man he is, he had chosen to continue his own suffering if they would do no harm to her. "I guess the good part is that we got you back before too long." Even if she will always wish they had managed it sooner.

As much as he might like to simply bury the memories once again, he suspects that they likely will end up going over those particular events again. Not until they're well and truly alone, of course, but even so, he's already mentally bracing himself for that particular conversation. True, Beverly might be more inclined to accept the fact that he may not want to speak of all the finer details. But that doesn't mean that it's going to be any easier to face, even so.

"Both you and Worf, yes."

Although they'd also claimed to have killed Worf outright, and while that had certainly seemed understandable at the time, although he's perhaps understandable reluctant to mention that much. Not without being directly prompted on that regard, at the least.

By now, Tenel Ka knew what was coming — she just didn't know what she would see. An important moment from their lives — would it be the loss of her arm, or something... something she had never seen before? In a way she had never realized before, Tenel Ka realized she dreaded the idea of seeing the future. That would make it immovable, unchangeable. And the idea that her future was immutable was unbearable.

Luckily, perhaps, it was neither. Instead the image that appeared before her was during the Yuuzhan Vong War — her preventing her father's assassination.

She remembers this as clearly as yesterday. Her father, the target of an assassination attempt, and she arrived just in time to thwart it. Here, in this new world, she had never said the word Jedi — no one knew of the power she had once been able to harness. No one knew of her lightsaber, her duty as one of the sworn protectorates of the galaxy who had served for a millennia. Since arriving she had been a person, one who contributed to the society they were in, but it was not the same as her role protecting the peace and order of the galaxy.

Now they saw her — dressed fully in Dathomiri lizard skin, her lightsaber quickly taking out two attackers, the way she switched it off in order to face the next foes bare-handed. They saw the way she moved with the Force, avoiding the blows of the assassins, kicking one down and avoiding the blows of the next until she tumbled head over heel and then quickly recovered to end up with her foot square in his chest, the man flying against the wall. Then they saw the last attack, and the way her lightsaber snapped to her hand and ended up at his neck in the blink of an eye, foe defeated.

And they saw how she did it all without losing her breath.

The vision ended, Tenel Ka looking at it stonily. What it did not show was more important— how she left the chamber, leaving those she knew (Jaina, Alema, Tahiri), and was soon alone with another woman. Teneniel Djo strongly resembled Tenel Ka, but at that point it was clear the other woman was dying. How she knew her grandmother was killing her mother.

For that omission, at least, she was grateful.

As Beverly watches, something twinges with familiarity. The idea of the Jedi isn't familiar to her, but how the woman fights, the strength and determination she wields like weapons, definitely is. For a while, Beverly remains silent, but once she has a moment to wrap her head around it, she turns to find the woman who was in the vision, a stranger up until now.

"That was impressive," she offers. "Reminds me a little of Starfleet's training, though your weapon is a bit different from ours." Still, the more important fact is how the woman is taking the reminder. "Are you all right?"

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[MINGLE] One-Man Show

GROUP: Jean-Luc Picard, Beverly Crusher, Pepper Potts, Tenel Ka.

beverly's future vision

Pepper's past - WARNINGS for Marvel-style violence & Science Consent issues.

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Picard's past - cw: torture, gaslighting, nudity, references to drugging and surgical procedures

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Tenel Ka's past

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