Date occurred: Too many years ago to remember but I might have written it down somewhere.
Date recorded: June 24, 2009
Story Title: To Boldly Go Where No Dream Has Gone Before
Fandom or Universe: Star Trek TOS
Safe for work? Yes
Characters or Pairing(s): Convention goers
Potential Triggers: None
Notes and/or Warnings: None
Disclaimer: Every once in a while a dream from long ago resurfaces for my mental entertainment than disappears like a snowflake hitting a warm gust of wind. These are my dreams and they are in no semblance of order, reason or rhyme. If it happens, that is merely coincidence.
Tags: Star Trek, conventions, costuming, abandoned places, exploration and adventure, disjointed thoughts, layers of memory, dreamscape.
Summery: Me...Her? Dressed as TOS Crewmember, short blue uniform, black boots & hose. Dark brown hair done up and piled on the head. Lt. Sandra Joe Lundstrum. USS Enterprise NCC-1701. I'm fighting hard to write SHE instead of I. We'll see how this goes. And yes, I switch between tenses because that's how dreams go.
The convention was a primitive one held at the dawn of convention-going before they ever became organized. The location was a huge abandoned warehouse complex decorated with the bright mid-morning sunlight. The air was not overly warm, yet it was surprisingly clean of pollution as if a wind had blown the stink far away where it would dissipate into nothingness. The neighborhood was quiet, almost peaceful... empty of life except for the occasional passing car or emergency vehicle siren some blocks away, or birdsong... or a dog barking in the distance... all out of line of sight. A car was parked outside the warehouse, but whether it, too, had been abandoned or not was uncertain. Then again, probably not. There wasn't much dirt on it in the first place. She walked across the empty expanse of concrete and asphalt towards the door with a sign on it. The door where the car was parked. Looking at the building, the walls of the first floor had few windows, but they were intact. Unlike those smaller ones that made up the second level. From halfway up the upper story was all glass and frame, some of those small windows were either open to let what little breeze flow through as it willed, or were deliberately broken by persons unknown in a timeframe unknown. A man in his late 20's came forward from the vehicle he was standing beside (he wasn't there a moment ago) and reached to open the door for her. He knew why she was there and it was his job to be accommodating. Dark, hair, jeans, t shirt and leather jacket... then he was gone as she entered the building. The door, of its own mysteriously normal accord, whispered closed behind her.
The inside of the building was a sharp contrast to the abandoned exterior. White painted walls, dividers, tiled and carpeted floors, hidden lighting, softly playing... music? Sound effects? The white noise buzz of many conversations, the inanimate hum of the very place itself. People dressed in a riot of colorful outfits milled about, standing around conversing, moving from one event to another, or sitting and enjoying a repast of some sort... Masks or real life aliens? Costumes or clothing? It was hard to tell, for what IS a costume, really, but clothing you wear for specific occasions... like work... church... swimming... sports... leisure... so many colorful costumes that people take for normal every day wear... taken for granted.... And yet something not in fashion is called a costume. Yet here it is perfectly normal... accepted as normal. That which is outside this place is not desirable, yet inside this place... home. You can feel it like humidity in Colorado. One moment it's not there, and then suddenly you can feel it... taste it... you welcome it with elation as it seeps into every aspect of your being.
An event is about to start. She's been looking forward to this for so long and now the day has arrived. Taking a seat in the very center of the row near the front, yet not in the very front row, she sits, smoothing the short skirt of blue and looks at herself as she does so. Yes, she is presentable, and as a representative of her ship there could be no other way to look. The skirt, slit seductively... tastefully up one thigh, black translucent hose encasing slender legs, ending at the top of polished high black boots. Further up, the black-trimmed neckline dips just a bit lower over the left breast than the right, drawing ones eye to the star fleet insignia sewn just below. Trim and well build, the woman has a lovely figure, not too un-proportional, yet just right.
Then there is the smell of pizza in the air and she wonders if she has time to pop out quickly to the stand outside the room for a slice of pepperoni and cheese to bring back to her seat. Yes, she'll chance it. The room's not filling up quickly. Not yet anyway. She has time...