You've got to change the world
Who: Uhura, T'Pol
Where: The Dining Hall/kitchen, during the riot
When: Thursday evening, riot!
Warnings: Dddeath. Possibly messy death. Fighting lead to death. That whole deal.
T'Pol's primary concern during this riot was to stay safe. Secondary to that was protecting those that did not belong. No matter how capable they were, they were not of this reality, and she didn't trust that they could manage in it. T'Pol had reviewed the Defiant's database several times; most of it had been memorized. The Federation, the equality between planets, the axiom that all races were created equal - those were things she would never forget. In order to obtain the moderate safety of a life within Starfleet, she'd been forced to hide her Romulan background, cut ties with her mother, denounce her for joining the rebellion.
Now T'Pol found herself on a very different track, more than ready to betray the Empire again - even if they were outside the Empire's grasp. There were certainly enough members from the Empire aboard - even if McCoy's information was right, and Kirk's plans involved overthrowing the Emperor of his time. So long as a Terran Empire existed, Vulcan would suffocate in its fist.j
Perhaps it was a slip in emotional control - maybe it was happenstance. But in the thick of the riot, T'Pol made her way to its edges, where she'd glimpsed a uniform similar to the one she wore, but far brighter. She couldn't imagine what the Emperor - or the Empress, if what she'd learned since coming here was true - had in mine when the uniforms had changed. Red was a much easier target.
Knife in hand, T'Pol made her way toward Uhura, hoping to catch her off guard. A nerve pinch would leave her unconscious for hours. Be slow to take a life, Surak (supposedly) said. For you cannot return to life what you kill. Life and death made little difference here, but it was a lesson T'Pol had not easily forgotten.
Where: The Dining Hall/kitchen, during the riot
When: Thursday evening, riot!
Warnings: Dddeath. Possibly messy death. Fighting lead to death. That whole deal.
T'Pol's primary concern during this riot was to stay safe. Secondary to that was protecting those that did not belong. No matter how capable they were, they were not of this reality, and she didn't trust that they could manage in it. T'Pol had reviewed the Defiant's database several times; most of it had been memorized. The Federation, the equality between planets, the axiom that all races were created equal - those were things she would never forget. In order to obtain the moderate safety of a life within Starfleet, she'd been forced to hide her Romulan background, cut ties with her mother, denounce her for joining the rebellion.
Now T'Pol found herself on a very different track, more than ready to betray the Empire again - even if they were outside the Empire's grasp. There were certainly enough members from the Empire aboard - even if McCoy's information was right, and Kirk's plans involved overthrowing the Emperor of his time. So long as a Terran Empire existed, Vulcan would suffocate in its fist.j
Perhaps it was a slip in emotional control - maybe it was happenstance. But in the thick of the riot, T'Pol made her way to its edges, where she'd glimpsed a uniform similar to the one she wore, but far brighter. She couldn't imagine what the Emperor - or the Empress, if what she'd learned since coming here was true - had in mine when the uniforms had changed. Red was a much easier target.
Knife in hand, T'Pol made her way toward Uhura, hoping to catch her off guard. A nerve pinch would leave her unconscious for hours. Be slow to take a life, Surak (supposedly) said. For you cannot return to life what you kill. Life and death made little difference here, but it was a lesson T'Pol had not easily forgotten.