After Alieth and Fortune had freed Quinn from the forcefield, some kind of... explosion? had knocked them all out. Upon waking, they discovered they had moved location; the three glowing statues from before were absent, the room a perfect dodecahedron. The faces were cornflower blue, the edges glowing a gentle gold, and no other decoration, interfaces or exits that she could see through the afterimages spotting her sight. She tapped her pockets, and pulled out her phaser, numb fingers soon divining that the device was inert.
The white spots dispersed from her vision, the whine in her ears diminishing. Her entire arm danced with the uncomfortable pinpricks of a limb returning to life. With a soft grunt generated by aching muscles, Quinn pulled a knee close to her chest, intent on standing up but still just a little too sore and too numb to attempt it straight away.
Reynolds: Let’s take a moment, patch up as best we can. ::She shook out her hand and grimaced as the prickles burst into fireworks crackling through flesh and bone.:: And get some feeling back in our limbs. Then we’ll figure out how to get out of here.
Fortune: I'm not bleeding, just banged up, so I'll be okay.
Alieth: I am bleeding, but it is not life-threatening. My first mission on the USS Drake was far worse.
Alieth blinked in an expression that looked suspiciously like confusion, and no wonder. The Vulcan had never served aboard that ship. But Quinn had. And while she had fleeting scraps of memory and sensation that didn’t belong—the parched heat of a burning sun on her face, a subtle burst of florals and grass on her tongue from her father’s latest blend, the ringing clash of lirpa as fiancé and friend fought to the death—she was definitely still Quinn.
A frown carved its way onto her brow, and she tried to ignore her own sense of discomfort as she watched Alieth press her fingers against her forehead. A dazed look of concentration flared in her dark eyes, and blood oozed from her scalp wound, trickling down her forehead and across burned and peeling fingers. Quinn shook her head and reached for the medkit looped around the Vulcan’s shoulders, cracking it open.
Fortune: Your hands, too! How are they?
Right then, their hands were the last of Quinn’s worries. Confusion still held sway over the Vulcan, who now pulled her fingers away from her bloodied forehead and stared at them. Wiggling them didn’t bring any clarity, instead it only seemed to puzzle her further. Quinn tugged the medical tricorder from its padding, relieved to see the device was still functional, and passed the wand across Alieth’s form.
Reynolds: Apart from the disruptor shot to your leg, these are superficial wounds.
Alieth: ::She looked up.:: I think I don't feel well... ::Her ruler-straight eyebrows furrowed over dark eyes, and she corrected herself.:: I think I DO NOT feel as well as I deemed.
Quinn shook her head, swapping the medical tricorder for the kit’s dermal regenerator. Careful not to touch bare skin, she started with the disruptor burn on the Vulcan’s leg. The mending, fuchsia pink light played across the wound, encouraging the cells to regenerate and heal. No doubt they’d all need a visit to sickbay when this was all over, but a little first aid in the meantime would make things easier.
Her gaze darted up, still seeing muddled thoughts behind the Vulcan’s dark eyes.
Reynolds: ::Quietly,:: No, I don’t think you're well at all.
Alieth shook her head, turning greener than usual, and Quinn pulled away as the scientist suddenly shifted to empty the contents of her stomach on the floor. Eyes closed, a shudder ran through Alieth’s diminutive form, and Quinn shared a worried look with Fortune. It seemed like more than just the telepathic equivalent of afterimages—the Vulcan was lost in a hedge maze of borrowed memories.
Alieth: I'll— I WILL get better. I just need a moment... a moment until we figure out where we are, and I figure out exactly who I am.
Reynolds: The fact there’s any confusion over that is a problem. ::She raised her eyebrows, emphasising her point.:: Not to mention it seems to be making you ill.
Reynolds: Well, we’re both touch telepaths and neither of us were prepared. ::She glanced at Fortune.:: I think she’s ended up with more of my inner world stamped on the inside of her skull than anyone needs.
Lighting up the dermal regenerator again, this time Quinn directed toward Alieth’s scalp wound, trying to stem the continuing trickle of blood. Nothing like a little bit of multi-tasking; she could deal with the first aid, while Corliss treated the Vulcan’s severe case of Reynoldsitis.
And keeping busy helped to stave off the nausea pawing at the pit of her stomach. The Vulcan wasn’t the first person to get a look inside her head uninvited, and each time it left the sharp claws of violation digging into her shoulders and spine. She swallowed her discomfort down, and looked toward the counsellor.
Reynolds: Can you help her? If she’s lost in my memories, I don’t think I’m the right one to lead her back out. I’d probably just make it worse.