Tag Archives: Tasha Yar

Deanna Troi

When potential leads to even less potential.

Half-human, half-Betazoid, and ultimately, "Deanna Troi-Riker". Everything and nothing, in the end.

What the HELL, Deanna Troi?  There’s so much I can’t get past to get to you.

The jumpsuits…

The hair…

The  feelings

Being ship’s counselor also makes you a lieutenant commander?  Or is it the other way around?  Or it is both or is it neither – and neither and both – because it really doesn’t matter if it makes any sense at all?

Why are you on the bridge again?  To tell if hostile beings are being hostile.  To see if liars are truly lying.  To dazzle up the right side of the screen.

Honestly.

I feel like there should be a Lifetime filter specifically on you every time you are there.

And only you.

Shh!  I’m sorry.  Please stop crying.  You do that, you know, a lot.  A LOT.

Not that you don’t have a lot to cry about, mind.

How many times did aliens take control of your mind/body during fits of poor writing and bad allegory?  At least twice that I know of on TNG and once by Mini Me Picard.

That guy.  That guy had problems.

Everybody likes your mom better than you.  You’re in the background until she leaves again.

Deanna Troi, you were almost Tashsa Yar, but the two of you ended up switching places.  She went on to deliver some impressive progeny (herself!), and you gave birth to an ungrateful brat who floated off into space.

Ian.

All this and more.  Maybe that’s why you have so many outfits.  Maybe that’s why you give bad advice to desperate people (really bad).  Is that why you’re so crazy into chocolate?

I mean, you try to do your own thing, try not to get in the way, pitch in where you can and you still can’t make a proper go at it.

You step onto the bridge (like always) and the new guy in charge tells you to change your damn shirt (inappropriate).

You try to help out a friend and he turns you into a cake and eats you.

Cellular peptide cake.

You’re just chillin’ in the tub and some jacked-up asshole comes along and bites you in the fucking neck.

Cheap thrills.  Missed opportunities.  Exhausted premises.

That would do it.

I would lose it, Deanna Troi.  I would do whatever, too, if I had to endure all that.

God.

God bless you, Deanna Troi!

 

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Tasha Yar

Oh, YEAH!  You're also a hologram.

"Death is that state in which one exists only in the memory of others. Which is why it is not an end. No goodbyes. Just good memories. Hailing frequencies closed, sir."

What is it about Tasha Yar?  She comes and she goes and she returns and leaves and saunters in and out of our lives over and over and she just gets away with it.

And we let her.  We just fucking let her do it!

It must be the kind of Love that only Hurt and Resentment can inspire.  It must be Great Expectations (greatly) lowered,  but not abandoned.  It must be Nostalgia gone Awry.

You know what happened, Tasha Yar?  We’ve built you up in our minds – your potential, your talents – and we just don’t have it in our hearts to tear you down.

You who eluded the rape gangs of Turkana IV.  You who saved a colonist by traversing a carnelian minefield and in so doing earned your position on the Enterprise D.  You who were your own daughter.

You know hardship, Tasha Yar.

You know Power.

You left us before we were ready to let you go.

But then, again, there wasn’t really a plan in place to get you any further than you did, was there?  Not a GOOD one, anyway.

Not comprehensive.

But why?

It is one thing to leave, but why did you leave after so much build-up, ONLY to be brought back to dance for us in the spotlight every now and then?

Sure, there was Worf.  But you established yourself well before he came into the picture, so why did he excel in your place?

Why were you pushed off to his side then sidelined altogether, in the end?

OH MY GOD.

It’s not one, but the Other!

YOU’RE THE HILLARY CLINTON OF STAR TREK!

And if you’re not too careful, they’ll have you come back again.  As something barely else.

Run, Tasha! RUN.

This close, Tasha. THIS CLOSE.

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