// EVENT: STATION-WARMING PARTY

[aqdidit]

It's like a long, long blink, and then, pop - the uncomfortable feeling of squeezing the very last stubborn little bit of toothpaste out of the tube, but you're the toothpaste.

And then you're sitting in a chair in a strange bar, with several people you've never seen before in your life. The light is low, the sort of comfortable level reserved for comradely conversations around some nachos and beers. The architecture of the bar itself looks industrial - someone might be forgiven for thinking it's located in a reclaimed warehouse or something of the like.

It's not. (Not unless you want to call a repurposed mining space station a warehouse.)

There's food on the tables, and drinks - much of it looks like staple bar food (is that deep-fried mac and cheese???), but some of it is a little unfamiliar (is that a bowl of worms? are they moving???????????).

After you have a moment to look around in sheer bewilderment, a man in what seems to be a uniform stands on the dais in front of a stained-glass mural and raises a glass. "A toast. To the new crew of Deep Space Nine. By which I mean, of course, all of you!" He chuckles. "You hardly look like a crew, though. Why, you're all out of uniform!" He snaps, and you suddenly find yourself wearing a uniform like his. "Where are my manners. You don't even have your marching orders." A handheld tablet appears on the table in front of you, between a glass of something blue and what's definitely a basket of loaded potato skins. And it's definitely yours, because it has your name on it. "There! Now you all have your PADDs. Read them at your leisure."

He takes a sip of what's in his glass and makes a face. "Ugh! Kanar. Terrible stuff, don't know how the Cardassians drink it." There's a small flash of light, and it's replaced with something bright teal. "Much better. Now, the Romulans, they know how to make a spirit."

Then he sits down in the chair up on the dais and leans back so it's only on two legs, looking down his nose at everyone. "Now. I imagine that all of you have some questions for me. So to avoid any blah-blah boring repetition, I am Q, and this is Federation Starbase Deep Space Nine - your home for the foreseeable future. Don't ask me any boring questions like 'ohhh why am I here ohhh', you can find most of what you need to know on your PADD. You're here because the station needed a crew and I thought you'd be a good fit."¹ Q twirls his wrist and a pocketwatch appears in his hand. "Yes, I can dilly-dally long enough to answer some questions. At my discretion." He snaps it shut, an oddly final sound.

Once Q is done holding court, he grins. "Oh, you're going to have such fun, mes amis," he says, and vanishes in a flash of light, leaving everyone to mix and mingle. The bar is unattended if anyone is interested in trying some amateur mixology, and Q has thoughtfully taped up instructions on how to use the replicators.

THIS IS NOT MY SLEEP NUMBER
When the party is starting to wind down, information for your quarters flashes on your PADD - including the location in the Habitat Ring and how to get there. They're spartan and lacking creature comforts, but your original clothes are there, neatly folded on the bed, along with anything else you may have had with you upon arrival. The PADD periodically chimes with information that you need to know, like how to work the sonic shower, or that the station runs on the 26-hour Bajoran day. It's almost like the PADD knows what's going on...? Eh, it's about as creepily invasive as Alexa, anyway. And speaking of Alexa, the PADD also provides a crash course in how to interact with the station's computer! Which is essentially plain-language audio querying. Ask Ms. Majel Barret Roddenberry the computer anything you like and she will help you.

A message appears from Q later on everyone's PADDs, unable to be replied to:

It'll take about a week before they finally figure out how to get transmissions through the chroniton field.

You've got that much time to get a handle on things.

:)

-Q

---

¹ This is a lie. He picked you just for shits and giggles.

Comments

HOLDING COURT

[aqdidit]

Q is changing the drink in his hand to something else each time he sips it. A can of Surge from the 1980s, something that could be hoisin sauce but smells strongly of isopropyl alcohol, a refined blend of Earl Grey...ask a question, and if he's in a good mood, he'll answer. It may even be true.

Hiya

[flashedglass]

Clarissa, perhaps unlike some of her kidnapped comrades, brightly wanders around the bar, peeking at each person, telling a joke or two before moving on, until she finds herself next to the...person, who had brought them all here. He certainly had some sort of interesting power seeing as he had snapped his fingers and brought them all here, but also changed his drink every two seconds like he couldn't make up his mind.

"The sisters didn't let us party like this back home," she quipped, plopping down next to him. "You a god or something?"

He wasn't, but best to make friends right?

[aqdidit]

Q looks at her with an almost indulgent smile. "Mortals like you have called me that, yes. But I'd be a terrible host if I didn't welcome you all properly, wouldn't I?"

I had to do this.

[unfavorableinstigation]

Look. In her defense, Q's kind of humor is familiar to her.

She doesn't like it, but then she doesn't necessarily have to like it.

That, and this kind of reminds her of an old joke.

In an attempt to sound casual, she opens with, "So, what's the meaning of life?"

good attempt, neets, but he's not chao! :P

[aqdidit]

"Very cute that you think your life has a meaning," Q says, and he sounds very sincere about it, but with that same spark of humor at the same time. Laughing at Nita, not with her.

Sorry, you got the guy who once got kicked out of the Q Continuum for being too much of a jerk for all the other Q to deal with him.

Re: HOLDING COURT

[wearethespark]

Q might have been in a good mood, however, unlike Q, Poe is not in a good mood. He hadn't been when he was grabbed from the millennium falcon surrounded by the remainder of the Resistance - tired, dirty, surprised he wasn't dead, and riding off the residual anger that had led to a mutiny in his part of the universe, before whiplashing into confused, lost, and struggling to figure out what was going on. Then, after ending up at whatever this was and being subjected to what was obviously someone getting off of jerking everyone around (down to being shoved into clothing without warning, though he will admit that it was nice not feeling grains of salt all over, especially a uniform for something he never agreed to be a part of) - he had more enough of it. His mind goes to the people he disappeared from. What if something happens or happened. He needed to be there. They needed all the hands they could get. Even if he knew they were in that situation because of him. All the more reason to demand to be sent back. He needed to take responsibility and help rebuild what he nearly destroyed for good.

In fact, he's downright pissed off especially upon seeing the man, being sitting there changing the drink in his hand again and again. Based on the snippets of conversations he's overheard, and the magic trick happening in front of his eyes, he has reason to believe that this is the person responsible for kidnapping all of them. He can almost hear the General warning him to keep his cool, count to ten, take a breath, but no... he certainly will not.

"You Q?" Poe finds himself asking, his voice rising slightly as the words come out."Because I have a problem."

[aqdidit]

"I would say 'the one and only', but that's not true. I am Q, though, yes."

He looks Poe up and down, appraising the rebel, and seeming to dismiss him as a person. "I'm not customer service."

Open

[redlightgreenlight]

Coming from death to this place was quite the jarring revival, she stared into her glass, aware of this Q, but too frazzled to fully evaluate the situation. Valdis didn't like being frazzled, it was unbecoming. She growled softly, an inhuman sound, so soft that someone would have to have good hearing to notice. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, centering herself and finding...silence? No slithering, no hissing, empty. She didn't expect it to stay that way.

She glanced over at Q, still unable to analyze him further than recognizing he was a pompous individual who seemed very sure of himself. She supposed she had time, if this false god was to be believed, and she had little interest in going home at this time. Picking up the drink in front of her, the same teal as Qs, she took a sip. Strong, but it faded quickly, a mortal might be knocked flat if they drank enough. Valdis didn't like gods, even the real ones, this fake one couldn't control her forever, but until she had a better plan...She turned to the person next to her and raised the glass.

"Well, here's to being trapped on a space station."

[bostonhowler]

Brigid can smell the power surrounding this "Q". She can also tell that her tablemate is somewhat... not human. Beyond the growl, there was something different about her scent, her heartbeat.

She ignores the alcohol in front of her, wishing nothing more than tea to calm her nerves. Her fingers toy with her crucifix and she closes her eyes in prayer for just a moment, asking for strength and dignity.

"Are you nonchalant because this has happened to you before or because you don't want anyone to know you're panicking?" Brigid asks. For her, it's definitely the latter. She isn't sure how to take this.

This... being or whatever "Q" is, trapped them here. Wherever here is! And she's not so sure of that, but the words "Deep Space Nine" fill her with more than a little dread.

[redlightgreenlight]

Just as Brigid can tell she isn't human, so can Valdis tell that this woman next to her smells off, yet the shyness and the clutching of the crucifix fills her with a sort of amusement. She hides it perfectly, contemplating the question.

"I wouldn't call it panic, but considering where I was just before I came here, well, I'm a little off."

Nothing wrong with a bit of truth after all. She tries to analyze the woman more closely, she's clearly anxious, quick prayers to some likely worthless god, and ignoring her drink. Or maybe she just didn't drink. In response to that though, Valdis downed her entire glass...feeling nothing, as usual. How frustrating.

"My name is Valdis," she says, no reason to hide her real name here at least.

A Wanderer (This Is Not My Sleep Number)

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita's... not feeling particularly social. Possibly because of when she was taken, possibly because (once she sees that text) she's not going to be able to send word home for a week (provided - A - that her Manual is on the same restrictions due to chroniton field as everything else and - B - that the people on the 'other side' of it are people that'll have anything like their well being in mind), possibly because she's still got her heightened power levels and no good way to really use them just yet.

(Bobo, meanwhile, is being very quiet. Maybe that's also the chroniton field at work, but she bets not.)

So Nita's not very talkative, though she makes sure to take a headcount of everyone stuck here with here, and a general sense of what they look like, before heading off with her Manual, PADD, and surprise costume change to find whatever her room's supposed to be. She's not exactly old enough to drink, anyway. Or necessarily fond of alcohol.

She does put an effort in to be polite to the computers, for some reason (much as it's more her sister's fare). So if it's not her methodical manner of inspecting everything that draws your eye, perhaps she's instead just asking her device on system status or wider world information or the like.

For Poe?

[sensitiveapple]

She doesn't like this place. She doesn't like this place at all. She's not been in space since she was a toddler on the trader, and then she had been given over a Togruta that had taken care of her until the auction.

She doesn't like space. Especially space that has taken her from Freema and Jocko and might have put her in the sights of the Inquisitorius that had been destroying the market. (Despite Jocko's best efforts, sometimes, she saw things she wasn't supposed to.)

She's put in the uniform by this "Q" and doesn't like that either. It's cheap fabric compared to the silk she'd been wearing. Her false eyelashes flutter as she stands, unused to such short heels. She picks at the uniform, wrinkling her nose. It's gross.

Her sniff of the drink in front of her makes her grimace. "Too bad it's not riscor tea." She says, sighing. She goes to turn away and bumps straight into someone. She looks up and spies the handsome man. "My apologies, sir." She says, automatically curtseying to him. The make up makes her look older, but she's still only thirteen. The eyelashes flutter at him as she blinks. Does he know the look of a courtesan-to-be?

Re: For Poe?

[wearethespark]

Only one thought was in Poe's mind right at this particular moment - Why in the hell was there a freaking social and why in the hell was everyone going along with it? They were Force only knows where on a floating space station - and boy the idea of being on a weird space station in a galaxy he never even knew existed and where it was placed compared to his own home isn't particularly pleasant considering the circumstances. Sure, it was floating empty, and that in itself was a bad thing, but there were more pressing matters on his mind, people at stake, worlds on the edge of destruction or enslavement or what have you. He couldn't stay here. Why would anyone even someone who fancied themself or wanted to act as if they fancied themself a god would pull his ass into a weird social experiment?

Poe couldn't help but try tugging at the collar - was that even a collar - as he scanned the room. He couldn't believe all of these people were in the same situation as he was and all of them seemed just as lost and confused as he was.

He supposes that collar notwithstanding, this beats wearing the battered and filthy clothing he had arrived in. He was sure that he would be pouring salt out of his boots until the end of the time and he couldn't be sure that there was enough time to even attempt getting those even close to clean. That still doesn't mean that Poe was thrilled them. In fact, he felt they, despite the bright colors, made him feel like he was a part of something that... wasn't good? His mind went to the First Order. The perfectly starched dress uniforms that the officers wore as they looked like they had a stick covered in dung attached to their faces and positioned to be under their noses. He'd never say it, but he missed the laxer dress code of the Resistance - where it was be dressed within reason and everyone attached patches and other accessories to their clothes - hell, he missed the orange pilot uniform. At least that never made me feel like he was choking.

Then his thoughts were interrupted by the individual who had been standing only a short distance away and now had bumped into him suddenly. Then she curtseys and he can only stare at her in some shock and a slightly raised eyebrow. She looks young, a girl, and feels a surge of anger. So even this Q person was depraved enough to kidnap teenagers. He thinks there's another one, a boy, standing around across the room too. Q couldn't even manage to meet a bar that was lower than Poe's own shadow.

"It's alright. No harm done. Are you alright?" He manages, trying to give her a smile as he speaks then he eyes her cup, it looks like some sort of tea and he feels worried that she may have burned herself, "You didn't spill any of your drink?"

[sensitiveapple]

Misa looks up at him. "I didn't, no." She says, softly. "It is not proper tea, anyway." She's a food snob. Having to eat the replicated food will be difficult enough for her. But, now, she doesn't have her white dress, or her proper heels.

"And I am not alright." She says, softly. "The Mistress will be quite cross, and Jocko and Freema will be missing me." She admits. "This... man." She waves at Q. "Has no concept of what he's done." She doesn't want to have the Mistress's rage turned on her. That's happened a few times, but she manages to not have it turned on her.

"Would you, perhaps, know how to return to Canto Bight?" She asks.

Open

[whereitends]

Her mind had been.. cloudy since arriving. It has like coming out of a very vivid, weird dream. Everything felt different. Cold was colder for example. She didn't feel particularly fussed about being there, not for the reasons everyone else had to be, the attachments of their own lives. Yeah, her husband and kids would probably be annoying the police at every opportunity, well okay, Chad would be doing that. The pompous asshole. Not because of any care. But because she handled everything, kept things going, and that meant he would have to step up beyond driving them in the mornings and letting his mother snipe at her through calls made over speakerphone. The annoying man who tried to (with a loud voice, ugh, he had no sense of volume control or how to talk like someone who wasn't constantly hooked up into a chat room, or social media, chat rooms had gone by the wayside, huh?) hook her up with his friend - who at least seemed caught just as off guard as she had been and seemed sincere, um, nice. She couldn't place her finger on it. But she felt bad when her family had gotten involved in the chat. No one had paid her much mind but she also hadn't gone out of her way to pay them much mind either.

The woman's eyes fell onto the uniform she was wearing. It was certainly...a choice. At least in the design. It was far from something she would willingly wear, but desperate times call for desperate measures she supposes. It was at least clothing. She had arrived here mostly naked, wearing a tank and shorts, and it had been much too chilly for such an outfit, and once she had been able to find the clothing she had decided to deal with looking ridiculous. Like someone out of one of the old TV shows that people still sometimes talked about but had long mostly disappeared from the public minus occasional references.

Her eyes move away from the still-hot cup of coffee in her hands. She supposes she should count her blessings. Then she quickly scoffs at herself and moves her gaze around to the others milling around. What kind of blessing was the fact these replicators (a sour taste comes into her mouth when the word pops into her head) could give her coffee or whatever it claimed was coffee. It tasted enough like what it claimed to be. But, coffee? That was... it was a low bar. Admittedly. Though, she had the nagging feeling that it could be much worse. At least the food and drinks looked and mostly tasted right. And the temperature was at least comfortable enough. But, everything else? Well, she wondered where she could even begin. The weird plugs on her arms, in the back of her head? That might be a good place. But she had the feeling those weren't Q's doing. No one else had them. She wondered if she could even ask if that person, being, whatever, came up to her and admitted who they were.

Probably for the best, she might hit them. Hard. Or as hard as her noodles of arms would allow for the time being. Chad would have had a field day with that thought.

She would have to ask about that as well. Why was her body thin, sickly, lacking strength? And they expected her to be security? Like this? Not that she couldn't have handled it in the past. That kind of role, while not entirely natural, felt... well, she knew she could handle it.

The woman then shut her eyes. How could such a short amount of time on her feet be so exhausting? That was as good of a place to start. Even the short walk to this... she supposes it was a bar of some sort, maybe a canteen had been enough to take it out of her. She, at least, found a place to rest that was near the replicator so it was easy enough to help herself to what was her one (acceptable) vice, her one comfort back home. Then her mind went to her family. This had been the first time in a while where she had been able to grab a cup of coffee without having someone browbeating her or tugging on her, without being worried about being late to something, without being forced to get it to go. It was nice not having to toss dollar bills at the counter too. It wasn't particularly quiet here with the sounds of others talking and the humming of the things that kept the ship running, nothing out of the ordinary - she paused at that thought, how was this ordinary? Maybe it was just bad wording but there was something comforting about metal corridors. Even if she had... huh, she had never seen such a place before, but...

She shut her eyes and started to count to ten - something she warned the kids to do before tantrums more than once, not that they ever listened or anyone really. It bothered her at first. When she realized that she might as well be a wall for all the good her words did with them. But she thought that was normal? But now that she was here? And had been for a few, how long was it already, not long but long enough and the first time she was alone for at least a day and away from the city she resided in, for a while then she wondered if it wasn't. Or if she even wanted that.

To any outsider, she looked tired and ready to crash and maybe she did but she was going to sit there, in one of the empty chairs, for as long as she could. Staring into the coffee in her hands.

Even with looking like a character in one of those old shows, this was... alright. Weird. But alright.

Was that horrible of her?

It felt weird to think about home.

Who was she kidding? She had so many questions. Her head started to throb.

Open

[toughbutsticky]

Peter looked down into the cooling drink (he had been thinking about MJ's coffee) in his hands and felt the urge to sigh. It wasn't like having access to as much food and drinks was a bad thing. On the contrary, he never felt better when it came to the state of his stomach. He felt full for the first time in ages, properly full, not "well, I ate something" full. The replicators were more than willing to give anything his heart desired and they had helped himself to more than a few replicated Delmar's-style sandwiches (okay, they weren't even close, but the replicator at least smooshed it down nice like how he liked them) and plates of Thai food. Then he moved on to sampling drinks. He wondered if the coffee would be burnt a little like when MJ made it at her job. The jury was in - it wasn't burnt. He sighed and then struggled to take another sip. Maybe he should have asked for a little sugar or something. It was stronger than it looked.

He then looked at the uniform he had been shoved into, not literally, but he knew that he wasn't going to be able to get away keeping on his spider suit for long. It currently sat hidden under his blankets. It wasn't... well, it was the first new article of clothing he had managed to get since... well, before his school trip, before his life was ruined by the media, by a crazed ex-Stark Enterprises employee, and then his own stupidity and a questionable magic spell which merged multiverses. It was a bit big for him, loose like someone was anticipating him putting on the weight he had been missing when he arrived. But he felt like a little kid dressed like this.

Peter found himself looking around and wondering if this Q even existed. Or if they were someone like Strange or maybe just taking advantage of magic gone amok? Maybe they were posing as someone stuck on the station like him? He would probably lie too. He could only imagine what some of the others were feeling. He was a little upset, shocked, himself. But, he felt surprisingly okay with the situation. Minus the pangs of guilt from not being, well, in his own world, his universe, whatever. He was alone here, but so was everyone else. It was a little easier to be alone when there weren't memories everywhere in eyesight. And the tech? It was amazing. He had so far spent a good few hours just exploring the different systems, getting what info he could, but he hadn't really gotten close to the others. He wondered if people would be willing to talk to him. They weren't so much back home. But, he also knew that if he got close, the people back home would pay the price. Maybe they wouldn't get hurt or as hurt here? He did want to at least be casual acquaintances with someone and the other Peters he had met would want him to try. Peter finds himself wondering if they might have gotten here too if this had anything to do with the spell he had a hand in? Or if he was hoping for them because talking to them would be easier than anyone else right now. Because he didn't have to explain as much, they just knew. Like the back of their hands.

The kid sighed and then took another drink making a face at the liquid. He wonders if he should just give up and dump the cooling coffee now. It tasted worse once it got cold.

[flashedglass]

Clarissa flitted around the room, chatting and talking with everyone, quickly observing each reaction, each person, each word and analyzing it. One particular young man caught her eye, probably because he was her age and seemed to be deep in thought even as he ate and stared into a cup of something. She walked over with her own plate of food, pizza, not quite like the one place in New York she liked to go, but decent enough for a 'replicator'. She'd have to perfect her recipe, but this certainly made cooking much easier.

"Hey," she plopped down next to him, "You look like you could use some company."

She set the pizza on the table, pepperoni with black olives and onions. Maybe she should have gone with something else, but at the time this has sounded good.

"Care for a piece?"

[legacyoftheforce]

No. This couldn't be happening. She had just gotten her brother Jacen back, just ended a war. She was supposed to be home, with her family, mourning Anakin properly and celebrating the liberation of the galaxy from their Jedi hating enemies. This Q had taken her, and likely these other people, from their homes against their will. How did that even work? How was he that powerful? Was this a game of the Dark side?

No. She could still feel the Force surrounding her and those around her, moving through this station and the air. At least the Force was still with her, untouched and uncorrupted. She took a deep breath, centering herself. Things would be ok as long as she had the Force. It connected her to her family and her uncle and the others.

Now to find out how to get back....

[wearethespark]

Poe was... for a lack of a better word, though he would argue that he was not, sulking. He had tried to confront Q. And he was, to put it politely, brushed off like a fly. He was now wandering towards the exit, wondering if there was a good place to wander off to and regroup for a moment, to think about how to proceed. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting there. A person, being capable and willing to abduct so many people, like that would never be reasonable and Poe wonders if he was acting rashly, out of anger or annoyance again. He sighs. Leia had been and always was right. Holdo too and that realization left a sour taste in his mouth. Holdo had definitely had his number.

Okay, so he needed to calm down and think. That shouldn't be hard, well, finding a place to do that where Poe wouldn't have to see him, Q, in the corner of his eye, would be, maybe, anyway.

Then he bumped into a woman.

"Oh, sorry. I wasn't paying attention..." then upon getting a good look at her face he just as quickly adds, "Are you okay?" each word coming out tentatively as if trying to judge her reaction.

Deon Wilson | open

[craftlife]

a. and you may ask yourself, how did i get here

For a long, long moment, Deon thinks he's dreaming. Then it all hits him at once. The air tastes different to his manticore senses; no more hint of the Fog that was almost ever-present, everywhere but the Arcade...and this wasn't the Arcade. Well, it might be, if Elias had opted to remodel into a Dave and Buster's, anyway.

What really strikes him the most, though, is the hunger, or more accurately, the lack of it. There was almost always that gnawing feeling in his stomach, in the back of his brain, that grew stronger as the Fog approached, and it had been approaching.

And now it was gone. There was just normal hunger, and boy did those potato skins look like just the ticket. He picks one up and eats it in two bites. There's sour cream getting on his mustache, but he doesn't care. Food, real food, is going to satisfy him fully for the first time in ages.

b. this is not my beautiful house

Experiment time. Deon still has his keycard for the Arcade, which is supposed to work on any door - any door, which should mean the ones here, too. Problem: they all open automatically.

Have you ever seen a catboy with wings try to sneak up on an automatic door? Now you have.

c. letting the days go by
[wildcard!]

b! I can finally tag this boy now; I am Pleased.

[unfavorableinstigation]

Nita's... honestly, she's not sure what this guy's game is.

But it's been more amusing to watch than she's expected by far; she's probably been leaning on this wall for at least the past five minutes.

"I think the only doors that don't just open are those that have to keep things sealed. Like the atmosphere, or whatever it is we've got on-station," she observes, trying to go through her head as to whether she's missing anything without checking her PADD just yet.

So far, she's managed to keep her smile to herself.

Jackie Ma | open

[jinzhong]

a. a man who never eats pork bun is never a whole man

Jackie knows he's dead, so he's at least 95% sure this is Hell. He's also pretty sure that Hell doesn't have drinks flowing like water, though, or sci-fi stuff. The bowl full of worms is pretty much what he'd expected, though.

He surreptitiously pats his stomach. No wound. And at least his clothes had been clean before he'd been forced into this dork-ass pajama set.

"We better get some yum cha here," he mutters, spearing what's probably a piece of fried shrimp, "or else this really is Hell."

b. people judge you by how you look

Jackie flat-out refuses to wear the dork-ass pajamas. His sole concession is the communicator bling, but there he is, wandering around the station in a hoodie, his hands shoved into his pockets mutinously.

"Try and conscript me into a military...no fuckin' thanks."

c. we can't keep track of all your bullshit friends, jackie!
[wildcard!]

B!

[bostonhowler]

Jackie isn't the only one who has changed. While she wouldn't have minded some things, the clothes were uncomfortable. So, she'd changed back into jeans and a sweatshirt, once she had found her room. The Chronicle is hidden as much as possible.

This place smells weird and she doesn't like it.

Sighing, she's following a scent. Someone might be hurt. It smells like blood and other things she doesn't want to think about. If this turns into a murder mystery kidnapping, she's... not going to be very happy and may just let that Irish Werewolf temper out.

Imagine her surprise when she finds someone upright, smelling like blood and viscera, walking around muttering to himself. "Um, hi?" She says, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

A.

[toughbutsticky]

"I don't know if it can make everything and anything, but those replicator things might be able to make that for you. Just have to ask it?"

Peter was eying the food that was sitting out and holding an iced tea in his hand, looking a bit tired and put out that he wasn't old enough for more than that. Not that he would have drunk any of that anyway, but he was tired and overwhelmed and would really like to have a choice for once in his life.

The kid then glances down a little sheepishly. Jackie probably wasn't talking to anyone in particular least of all him.

"I haven't tried to use them yet, but I kind of want to now... but I mean, you don't have to. It's just an idea. Since this Q guy didn't or doesn't really seem to think about what we might want."

B.

[wearethespark]

Poe has to wonder if the uniforms were optional when he stumbles upon Jackie. It wasn't like he was going to be going out and flying any one-maned fighters and would need the warmth that his flight suit would provide him.

Besides, the collars were a bitch and a half...

Poe sighs at the words that came out of the other man's mouth. He supposes that the other man has a point. They were all volun-forced into this mess.

"I don't really think any of us have a choice right this second," Poe finds himself saying, more under his breath than anything else, "But, I doubt anyone would blame you if you opted out... or would blame you much."

Poe then sighs. That was a bit harsh. He then shakes his head and leans back against the cold wall and then asks, "What are you going to do then if not take part in the work that needs to be done around here? Try to help everyone find a way off this scrap heap, maybe?"