WARNINGS: Disassociation, reality is very trippy here
'I feel like I'm going to vomit…' Hestia thought. Lights and sounds and sights flickered throughout all of her senses. She felt limbs in more places than the average four, phantom limbs sprouting from her torso and pins and needles inside her attached limbs. Was she standing or sitting? Was she even here?
"Oh…"
The voice was from an unidentifiable source. At best she could guess it was coming from inside her spine. Colours and shapes all began to weave together, the tapestry of this universe intertwining to become something half recognisable to her green eyes.
Metre long lights were ingrained into the walls of the cylindrical room. Hestia found it hard to see, this place was so bright. She tried to lift a hand to block out the incoming tsunami of information, but her arms remained locked in place.
She could feel muscles twitching and tendons contracting but reality refused to be bound by her humble wants. The cylindrical room slowly simmered down into something ingestible for her addled brain.
What wasn't holding light, the walls appeared to be a crème colour. It clashed with the navy roof. What an eyesore. That, or there was a popped blood vessel in her eye. Her eyes burned.
Hestia tried to call out for help, for sound to bubble out of her throat. The well remained dry and no such plea erupted. Her throat contracted, and her lungs filled with air but the labours remained sterile.
She heard a low piercing pitch erupt through her skull, like when you drop a microphone from a high place. The closest thing she could compare it to is whales singing a G7 note. It stung.
"Oh! I am so sorry miss, uh, but there's no need to worry-" came a thickly accented voice.
"Fuck off" Hestia croaked. Serotonin flooded her skull. To be in control of something so minor as her own voice was a welcome privilege. The world around her dimmed and she saw that she indeed had her arm up.
It was not simply covering her face however. Her own nails had dug into the flesh surrounding her left eye. Slowly, she pulled away her shaking limb. Blood had dampened her fingertips. Hestia realised she still could not yet see out of her right eye.
"No, no, don't worry, I'm a part of the Starfleet! I promise I'll get you back to… Uh, where are you from?" three men around her spoke. They were triplets. They were different men. They all spoke with one mouth.
Noises bubbled out of her throat as she tried to answer him. Sounds popped and buzzed and hummed in an effort to communicate with them. All at once the three men cringed, holding a hand warily at their hips.
"W-W-What's… A starfeet?" Hestia whispered. The red of their shirts hurt her eyes. She never liked warm colours. All of them lacked outlines, instead weaving in between worlds in a fog of non-existent light.
She wanted to say it was black, but she knew somewhere, that it was more than that. There was simply a lack of colour, light being swallowed by the three men.
"You don't know of the Federation's Starfleet? Wow, you must have really hit your head" said one. She instantly hated that one. What a cocky brat. He had something the other two did not however; a voice.
The others twitched their faces in a mockery of a real creature. As if realising the gig was up, they trembled and shuddered and shifted into each other. Slowly they all became one person.
"M-Maybe? But could-could-could you… Please tell me what this place… Is?" her own voice skipped like a faulty record. Hestia wasn't sure how she should sound exactly.
She did know that how she was trying to sound was incorrect and it hurt. Her eyes drooped, and she regretted being back in possession of all four of her limbs. They ached as if she'd been walking for miles. Hestia wanted to go home.
"It's the USS Discovery. It's one of the science space vessels, it's the smallest but it's got more stamina than you'd think" said the remaining man. He stood over her, curling above her lying form like a snake.
He stretched his thin lips into a smile and wrinkles graced his blue eyes. His rippling flesh was creepy. What he said was also creepy, but in a more terror-inducing manner.
"… A spaceship?!" she hissed. Despite the words being fully formed they twang with strange pitch. Her tonal inflections flickered like flies around a carcass. To try and speed up the process, she intentionally began trying to move her aching limbs.
Hestia moved her fingers as if they were trying to compose a piano song. Her chest heaved under the exertion. She tried to curl in on herself, but her legs refused to cooperate. A low groan hummed in her throat.
"Just, just wait a second, are you okay?" he asked. He was no longer smiling, but at least he became less fuzzy. He clearly had an outline. She guessed he was somewhere in his early-forties.
He held out his hand in her direction. It did not occur to her that he was trying to help her rise up. His hand remained static, hanging in the cold air.
"No" she admitted, "the only thing that's stopping me from vomiting is that I haven't eaten in like, hours."
