realityshifted | 002 ☤ Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

Entry tags:

star trek xi (d2) christine chapel

002 ☤ Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

Christine enters the Plane, but it's not the Christine people are used to. Her skin is paler and she's dressed in thigh high black boots, a miniskirt with a gold sash, and a midriff top.

Taking in her surroundings, she crosses her arms and presses a fingertip to her lip. "Hmm, interesting, I'll admit."

She doesn't seem terribly phased by the stars and galaxies surrounding her, or the buildings nearby, but that's because where she's from, she's seen worse things.

As anyone familiar with the Astral Plane knows, there are many universes out there, and some are called parallel universes. This is where this Christine is from. She made the same decision as the first Christine, to enter the shop, and now she's here. But her personality and history are much different from the Christine others might know. She serves the Empire, and Imperial Starfleet, in a much harsher universe that the first Christine comes from.

The Christine now on the Plane brushes her finger against her bottom lip, running in into the corner and stopping, pulling her hand back to stare at the drying blood there. Oops. She really should clean up after herself after a meal. She sucks her finger clean and licks at the corners of her mouth. She likes to keep a low profile regarding her... condition.

Despite the differences between her universe, what some might call the Mirror Universe, and the original Christine's universe, the women are alike in some small ways. For example, this Christine marches over to the information booth and learns what she can about this place, the same as the original Christine did, though their reactions are slightly different. While the original Christine's thoughts were to study the Plane to see if it could benefit the Federation, this Christine ponders how easily the Plane could be conquered and brought under Empire rule. Imagine how many universes the Empire would control then! Too bad she doesn't bother much with things that don't directly affect her. Well, too bad for the Empire. The Plane and its inhabitants are most likely safe, thanks to Christine's lack of interest in aiding the Empire.

Yet there is something enticing about exploring a new place where universes collide. She turns away from the booth, fingering the handle of the dagger stashed in her boot and smirking.

[ooc: This is Christine from Star Trek's Mirror Verse. Aaaaand she's a vampire, just 'cause. No worries though, she won't bite ~~hard~~ because she just ate. Here's a short bio and list of her abilities so you know what your characters are up against, but I won't have her attack yours or anything, promise. :)]

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Christine sizes up this man who approaches her, curious if the smile is genuine. But he seems to know her, even though she's never been to this place before. Could it be that she has been to this place, but the memories of it were erased? Well that's a dirty trick, if it's the truth.

She gives him a faked uncomfortable smile back. There are few situations where she's truly uncomfortable, after all. "I think I am. Just... feeling a little odd, is all." Maybe she could fish some information out of him and play the amnesia card.

"Really?" Braxiatel speaks with a softness that is not weakness and a calmness that is not placidity. "How unfortunate. If you tell me the matter, I may be able to help." He steps over the stars, towards her, eyes fixed on her face. Nothing to be suspicious of, of course. But all sorts of unusual things have been happening of late.

"Decent of you." She watches him as closely as he watches her when he steps closer. There hasn't been a humanoid alien species she's come across yet that has had strength to match her own, but it didn't do to get cocky and assume. He looked average, and the suit meant it was probable he wasn't a fighter, but she wasn't taking any chances. Of course, all the extra caution might not even be necessary. He might have the upper hand on knowing her, but that didn't mean she was in any danger either.

"I'm not sure you can. You see, sir, I seem to have lost my memory. You know me, but I don't know you, or this place."

"Don't you?" He does not wear an expression of surprise. "Well, there is some possibility that we have not met. There's a tendency towards alternate universes here, and repeated variations. You may not be the Nurse Christine Chapel I am familiar with. But amnesia is not unheard of either."

It is habit, not calculation, that compels Brax to only reveal little bits of information, to prefer to ask for it than give it. You should never tell anyone they can't find out for themselves; you should never tell anyone anything they can prove false. Two simple tenets for navigating politics. "Perhaps, if you tell me what you can remember, we can work out which of the two it is?"

"So the information booth told me." She couldn't help but think briefly of this possible other Christine. How alike were their histories? Did vampires even exist where she was from? In any case, it hardly mattered. She was more concerned with herself and her place here.

"There was a shop. I went in and was here, but there were only three people here. A woman and twin children. I left, but felt like coming back. I did, and I saw the info booth. Then you turned up. I don't have any memories of being here before that."

"Well then." His smile spreads, quietly. "It seems it's not a matter of amnesia. That's the standard introduction. We simply haven't met."

Braxiatel offers her his hand as a practised politician, trusting in the ritual and not the meaning, the faithlessness and not the pledge. It's how you survive out here in the universe.

The hand is stared at for a moment before she extends her own. A handshake isn't a foreign concept to her, she is just used to the Empire salute.

"Then let's meet. You know my name already."

He is used to the hesitation from non-humans, from his own kind. He recalls a particular incident (and the memory evokes some anger that he quickly slips away) where Narvin faltered, unable to understand the gesture. "Irving Braxiatel," he says, "A collector. The other Nurse Chapel and I get on rather well, I like to think. I hope we'll be able to do the same."

A collector of what, she thinks. Stamps, coins, enemies' severed heads?

"Irving," she inclines her head slightly. "So the other Christine is also a nurse. We must be a lot alike."

"Not necessarily," he says. His hand returns to his side, and he turns a ring around his finger, missing a mark that once covered his hand. "It's remarkable what can change when a few core facts remain the same. Not that we've too many examples of doubles here, fortunately."

"Hmm. If she would show up, we could compare notes." This was just mindless chit chat, of course. She doubted this other Christine possessed any information worth knowing. What good would it do this Christine on the Plane right now?

"This Plane is rather mysterious. Those three I met before, are they in charge, or merely emissaries?"

"They're in control in some capacity. Others also want a hold on the Place." None of it is information she couldn't find out for herself, with a little bit of asking around. He is careful with his words in that way always.

Christine is used to people who guard their words, but it's a little annoying to come to this place from the Empire and not meet someone more open. It would have been a break from the ordinary.

"I see. I suppose there is much to be learned from this place, if one takes the time for it. I can't say that I'm that patient, however."

It's a joke, in a way. Being as old as she is, she can wait a long time for what she wants, but with things that hold little value or interest, she is quick to be rid of them. She's undecided as to where the Plane falls in the spectrum however. At least for the time being.

"It may not be a choice." Here are his first real words of warning. "The Plane has a habit of playing with those it would choose to keep. If it wants you, I'm afraid you may have no option but to learn patience."

"Ah, so now we come to it. The silly little 'Just think of home and you'll return,' doesn't work if you're someone of value. Typical."

"Oh, it works. You just end up drawn back." Hands in his pockets, expression neutral. "And when you are drawn back, they give you hallucinations. Body swaps. De-ageing, loss of sight, mental distortions, death matches, et cetera. They seem to have a lot of fun with it."

His voice lifts, just a little, as if them having fun was in any way a redeeming feature.

Her expression changes subtly to mild annoyance. "Really," she replies dryly. "How exciting."

"I'm sure they think so." He only shrugs. "And I'm afraid something has been going around lately, as a lot of people are a bit out of sorts."

"And you? Do you feel out of sorts, Irving?"

"Fortunately, I've been thus-far spared."

"How lucky." She looked him over carefully, wondering if it was truly luck, or of his own design.

"You're the one who created the brochure at the information booth, correct?"

He offered her no answer to that in his smile. "That's right. I asked my PR man to write up a little something to ease in newcomers."

Or the absurdity of a kiosk in space amused him, but he would stick to the first answer no matter what.

"I suppose that means you've been coming here for a long time then." And perhaps he knew more than he was letting on. Most people do the same.

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002 ☤ Mirror, Mirror, on the Wall...

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