Log in

No account? Create an account

All By Myself - [open]

She'd always prided herself on being strong. On not needing anyone. Being here should have been no different from being back on her own ship, once she learned where everything was. She had the same job--if not entirely the same responsibilities--and it seemed to her she spent her days in much the same routine. She'd had some people she'd sometimes eaten dinner with, or met for recreation, but she hadn't exactly counted them as significant. Sometimes she'd counted them as interruptions of her life. Now that there was nothing, however, she longed for a quiet game of chess or a music recital or a racquetball partner.

It wasn't exactly that she wanted to be a hermit, or that she hated other beings. But she just hadn't realized how much connection she had had with her life on the other Enterprise until it was pulled away from her. And now, sitting in the mess, jogging in the gym, a lone figure despite the fact there were more than twice as many people on this ship, it was coming home to her. Her isolation, partly self-imposed, partly her nature, partly circumstantial.

She knew she couldn't blame everything on that one incident. For one thing, she'd been an introvert, focused on her work, before that. That was why she had a doctorate and a lieutenant commander before her name at age 30. For another, she knew she should be able to overcome it, and logically, what had happened had nothing to do with making friends or feeling lonely or why it was as hard for her to approach people in the rec rooms as it was for them to ask to sit next to her in the mess.

The dreams, though, had not stopped with the transfer to another universe. Most of the time she barely remembered them, but for the feeling of smothering violation when she woke up. But it made sleep difficult, and she spent more time in the lab, or on the track, because of them. It meant she was making some progress in her work--the data banks did have enough overlapping data with her own knowledge for her to be able to analyze that which was entirely new--but she was not sleeping well.

Which probably did not encourage those who generally left her alone to try any harder. She just wasn't sure how to change that, with knowing what made one person approachable and her not. And wasn't entirely comfortable with wanting to.

[I know she doesn't make it easy, but if anyone should wish to interact with her, feel free to presume she is in the mess/gym/rec room/lab, whatever your preference.]
Ann had a strong suspicion that Captain Kirk had been fatigued by her relentless questions. But he hadn't let on in any overt way, sitting patiently with her in one of the empty rec rooms--it was still early--and answering everything he could.

No, they didn't know how or why they'd come there. There were a few leads on getting back, but they had yet to harness whatever was forcing the transfer between universes. He filled her in on what was believed to be the point of departure for this world, what had set it apart from theirs. He informed her of who, of their crew, was on the ship.

She didn't know him very well. In fact, it was the longest they'd conversed since they'd been occupied by other entities, and the oddity was not lost on her. But she couldn't tell whether his forced cheer was due to the strangeness of their own history or something else he was hiding. She found it odd, that he had been here for months. It was hard to imagine him being content with the inactivity. He was either not content, and hiding it, or he was a different man from the one she'd pieced together from her experience and speculation.

Interesting. But personal, and she refrained from digging any deeper. After about an hour, she said she had no more questions at this time and he'd leaned forward, laying a hand on her arm and staring seriously into her eyes.

"You can come to me with anything," he said. "It's a difficult transition, and even temporary displacement can be very stressful." She wondered if he remembered who he was talking to. Displacement. At least she had her own mind.

"I'll keep that in mind," she said. "Until then, I'll keep busy."

He'd seemed satisfied with that, and she'd declined his help in navigating the ship or the computer system. She had a handle on that. And figuring anything else out would, at the very least, give her something to do until some place could be found for her. The captain arranged for quarters and bid goodbye, reminding her redundantly that if she needed anything, she should call.

Not dealing with it well, after all, she decided, and made her way to the mess. Waking up in a foreign universe hadn't made her any less hungry, after all. She sat alone at a table, a replicated fruit salad and tea in front of her, and tried to look less out of place than she felt.
While waiting for a message from the captain of this ship, I've been occupying myself by seeing to what use the ship's network is being put. And I am told that I am The Sonnet. Which, apparently, means:

Romantic, hopeful, and composed. You are the Sonnet. Get it? Composed?

Sonnets want Love and have high ideals about it. They’re conscientious people, caring & careful. You yourself have deep convictions, and you devote a lot of thought to romance and what it should be. This will frighten away most potential mates, but that’s okay, because you’re very choosy with your affections anyway. You’d absolutely refuse to date someone dumber than you, for instance.

Lovers who share your idealized perspective, or who are at least willing to totally throw themselves into a relationship, will be very, very happy with you. And you with them. You’re already selfless and compassionate, and with the right partner, there’s no doubt you can be sensual, even adventurously so.

You probably have lots of female friends, and they have a special soft spot for you. Babies do, too, at the tippy-top of their baby skulls.

I cannot comprehend how a few dozen poorly-worded questions can pretend to get to any truth about something so subjective and personal as romance. Understanding that it's "just for fun," the question remains: whose? And what is one supposed to do with the information that one should seek a "Loverboy"? I suspect it all leads back to an impulse for self-gratification; like a horoscope, you get a nearly-random answer which applies enough to you that you feel vindicated and satisfied in your self-knowledge.

[Personal Log] Supplemental Entry

I've often observed the value of getting my thoughts down before making any sort of decision. There haven't been many times in my life that's seemed more necessary than now.

Woke up from the dreams again. I hesitate to call them nightmares; the fear only comes when I awake, generally, and remember who I am and where I've been while asleep. Remember how close I came to not being here at all. Or should I say, not being me. This body might still be walking, talking with my voice. What would have happened to the rest of me? The part that was watching as my continued existence was being debated by my own mouth, these eyes looking into the mirror and seeing a stranger. A vessel. I don't want her memories. But I can't stop them when I close my eyes.

Like eating, I'm not sure why we haven't invented ways of doing without.

Awake, anyway, I thought I'd get to work on that paper about parallel evolution in the Ekosians and its possible contribution to their susceptibility to the influence of certain ancient human concepts, but I couldn't locate my notes. In fact, nothing about my quarters seems to be right. No, let me revise that. These aren't my quarters. My notes aren't here. Nor are my books, my clothes, my photographs--why list it all? There's nothing here. The layout's slightly off, the lighting is different, and even this terminal, on which I'm recording this log, has slightly different protocols. I'm only using it to organize my thoughts, which is why there's no coherent dating.

The computer tells me it's 2258. It also tells me I'm not on board, that we're nowhere near our previous location, and that it can't tell me much else, since I have no clearance.

The room has a food synthesizer, which was able to send me some Earl Gray, which the ones in the mess hadn't been before.

But all this is trivial--stupid that tea should make me feel better, but I'm going to see if I can get the computer to send a message to someone in charge, and procure myself something to wear other than my nightgown.

Communication to the Captain of this Vessel

I hope this message reaches you. I trust you'll forgive its incoherence. I am not altogether certain whom I am addressing, nor how I got here. My name is Dr. Ann Mulhall. I am a lieutenant commander and astrobiologist on the U.S.S. Enterprise. And I woke up 27 minutes ago in an unfamiliar room. I ascertained from your computer that this is the Enterprise, but beyond that I can scarce credit and I hesitate to make assumptions without more facts at my disposal.

I appear to be in room 4F-133, deck 6. I assure you, I mean neither you nor your vessel any harm. If I have been brought here intentionally, I ask that the purpose be revealed to me. Otherwise, I hope we can determine what's happened, and how to reverse it, together.

Lt. Commander Ann Mulhall

[[OOC - Yes, I'm aware that the TOS!Enterprise is in some sort of transdimensional stasis, but I'm ignoring it for the purposes of her introduction--perhaps this happened before that, for her. And yes, I'm someone you know.]]