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visible_sarielIt's roughly twelve hours, all spent off duty, from the time Sariel's door back to the Enterprise responds to when her closet again opens on the bar.
I'm for getting out of here.
No need to shout, my dear--
She hasn't actively gone looking for a door, though the idea, she admits, has been in the back of her mind since she returned to the ship. She's been preoccupied, though not to the point of constant distraction, sleep cycle and free time or no; she's made certain of that, harsh reaction though it's seemed at times. Thoughts of Milliways have been there, not waiting to leap on her - they're too obvious to catch her by surprise. Just undeniably plain.
As it works out, the multiverse all but forces her hand. it's the door, not the idea of finding one, that surprises her. The realization that she hasn't got a single object given to her at Milliways on her person is secondary as she stands on the threshhold of what would have been her closet.
There goes the sun,
here comes the night,
somebody turn on the light...
It's there. It's still there.
Somebody tell me that fate has been kind.
She hesitates, for a second. This world needs her, and she it. Denying either truth, though especially the latter, would require a lie to herself so colossal that she's unwilling even to contemplate formulating it.
She is a part, however small, of her world, and it of her. No question. Losing her universe will not be happening if she has any say in the matter at all.
clickclick clickclick clickclickclick click
At. all.
But Milliways needs help, and if she's able to give it, she will. The idea of walking into--good lord, it looks worse in there, and was that a visible tremor?--leaves her honestly frightened, and she'll no sooner deny that as deny her place in her own reality. But she can't, she won't, just stand by. The Prime Directive is not in play, and she's grateful and ashamed of that gratitude all at once. Will is in there. Yrael is probably in there. Who knows who else is in there. And oh, but she owes that unbelievable, logic-defying bar at the multiverse's end. Saying otherwise would constitute yet another lie she refuses to tell herself.
Teller. Leela. River. Lucy. Seymour. Doc Scurlock. Sameth. Ben. Tanya. Captain Kirk. Desire. Demeter. Harding. Yrael. Will. Gene.
bad nights - good nights - celebrations - wakes - chess games - prayers - songs
You can't go out, you are out of your mind!
There must be Milliways.
She tucks three separate notes securely in one pocket before she goes anywhere. When she steps through the door--and she does step through, say thankya--she's wearing a pendant in the shape of a Sherwood oak around her neck and carrying a scant few improvized supplies under one arm. Who knows what might happen? Who knows what's happening now?
It's like a movie. It's a B-movie show...
The bar's floor trembles seconds after her feet hit it. There's a joke there, ready-made for someone more inclined to breaking tension with humor, but though it's in the back of Sariel's mind, she doesn't voice it. She turns.
The door stays.
The floor quakes again, rattling the dishes on a nearby table. The door--
Hiss.
Stays. And opens on her quarters exactly as she'd left them, up to and including the chronometer frozen on the second she'd left.
She can leave. She has a door, if she needs - wants - has to use it. She's not cut off. The way out helps for that reason alone, and it's a large reason, say true.
Emergency escape procedures are in place.
Saying it isn't a relief would again be a lie, and there's no room for blatently lying to herself, Sariel feels, on a good day.
And from the - rattlerattle rumble roar - looks of things, this isn't one.
It's like a movie...
She's not a healer, or a warrior, or a commander. She's just a kid born needing to fly. But she'll do what she can. She'll help. She's Starfleet.
It's a B-movie show. It's like a movie...
And tell God merci, she's herself, too.
I'm for getting out of here.
No need to shout, my dear--
She hasn't actively gone looking for a door, though the idea, she admits, has been in the back of her mind since she returned to the ship. She's been preoccupied, though not to the point of constant distraction, sleep cycle and free time or no; she's made certain of that, harsh reaction though it's seemed at times. Thoughts of Milliways have been there, not waiting to leap on her - they're too obvious to catch her by surprise. Just undeniably plain.
As it works out, the multiverse all but forces her hand. it's the door, not the idea of finding one, that surprises her. The realization that she hasn't got a single object given to her at Milliways on her person is secondary as she stands on the threshhold of what would have been her closet.
There goes the sun,
here comes the night,
somebody turn on the light...
It's there. It's still there.
Somebody tell me that fate has been kind.
She hesitates, for a second. This world needs her, and she it. Denying either truth, though especially the latter, would require a lie to herself so colossal that she's unwilling even to contemplate formulating it.
She is a part, however small, of her world, and it of her. No question. Losing her universe will not be happening if she has any say in the matter at all.
clickclick clickclick clickclickclick click
At. all.
But Milliways needs help, and if she's able to give it, she will. The idea of walking into--good lord, it looks worse in there, and was that a visible tremor?--leaves her honestly frightened, and she'll no sooner deny that as deny her place in her own reality. But she can't, she won't, just stand by. The Prime Directive is not in play, and she's grateful and ashamed of that gratitude all at once. Will is in there. Yrael is probably in there. Who knows who else is in there. And oh, but she owes that unbelievable, logic-defying bar at the multiverse's end. Saying otherwise would constitute yet another lie she refuses to tell herself.
Teller. Leela. River. Lucy. Seymour. Doc Scurlock. Sameth. Ben. Tanya. Captain Kirk. Desire. Demeter. Harding. Yrael. Will. Gene.
bad nights - good nights - celebrations - wakes - chess games - prayers - songs
You can't go out, you are out of your mind!
There must be Milliways.
She tucks three separate notes securely in one pocket before she goes anywhere. When she steps through the door--and she does step through, say thankya--she's wearing a pendant in the shape of a Sherwood oak around her neck and carrying a scant few improvized supplies under one arm. Who knows what might happen? Who knows what's happening now?
It's like a movie. It's a B-movie show...
The bar's floor trembles seconds after her feet hit it. There's a joke there, ready-made for someone more inclined to breaking tension with humor, but though it's in the back of Sariel's mind, she doesn't voice it. She turns.
The door stays.
The floor quakes again, rattling the dishes on a nearby table. The door--
Hiss.
Stays. And opens on her quarters exactly as she'd left them, up to and including the chronometer frozen on the second she'd left.
She can leave. She has a door, if she needs - wants - has to use it. She's not cut off. The way out helps for that reason alone, and it's a large reason, say true.
Emergency escape procedures are in place.
Saying it isn't a relief would again be a lie, and there's no room for blatently lying to herself, Sariel feels, on a good day.
And from the - rattlerattle rumble roar - looks of things, this isn't one.
It's like a movie...
She's not a healer, or a warrior, or a commander. She's just a kid born needing to fly. But she'll do what she can. She'll help. She's Starfleet.
It's a B-movie show. It's like a movie...
And tell God merci, she's herself, too.
