::glares at subordinate::
::lifts forkful of pasta, using fingers to wrap stray noodles around prongs::
And then, Celes, I got a comm from the Alpha Quadrant. Note...not home. Not my parents...
::ignores twin's our insert::
...not even my old boyfriend who appears to still be besotted, poor louse...
Just some reporter from the Fed News Agency.
::loses own focus for a moment, nearly losing hot roll to floor as well::
You got an interview request? Starfleet isn't filtering those?
Apparently this guy is really smooth. Or has connections. No telling.
::tap table with index finger::
The point is, there wouldn't be a reason for Starfleet to worry anyhow. He didn't even want to talk about my...okay, nimrod, our...experiences out here.
Apparently our parents made some super, amazing breakthrough with warp technology and everyone back in the AQ just loves them.
The reporter wanted a soundbyte of our thoughts on the matter.
::glares at worser half this time...can hear her geekery at times::
::allows corrected word to hang for emphasis::
Nearly two decades in this cesshole of a quadrant and all we get is a soundbite in a feature about our parents, who still haven't seen fit to personally share their good news, by the way...
::tears off chunk of bread, nibbling::
::looks around table::
And how is your warp project going over in Astrometrics?
::slumps back in seat::
Like we could tell you. Borg eyes only. And Borg boyfriend eyes. And the rest of the family too.
::bites lip, weighing conscience against friendship::
That's not really fair. It's complex work, the more people on it the greater the risk of confusion, I imagine. And relations aside, Seven...and Tom...and Harry...and Miral...are probably the best crewmen for the job. They have experience with the research.
::offers smile, hoping to defuse at least a little Delaney temper::
And you should ease up on Seven. She's been pulling double on her regular work too, not just the transwarp stuff.
Probably trying to get on your good side again...
It isn't our drone's work I have a problem with, you know.
And besides, what are you now, ship's efficiency monitor? She give that job up?
::twists neck, trying to stretch away a sudden, immense stab of dislike::
::bites back a grow up already, tearing off another bread chunk::
Magnus talks about her. He worries.
I keep forgetting.
::tries to tone down snark, reading friend's displeased look::
How are his deBorging sessions going? I could've sworn you said something about winding them down...weeks ago.
He seems human enough to me now.
Are you sure he isn't just taking advantage of your ridiculous amounts of nice and sympathy?
We're just friends, Jen. I know it's a rare concept for you, but give it a moment of consideration.
He isn't using me...and since I'm pretty sure I can see where your line of insinuation leads, poor Seven isn't using anyone either.
::bites tongue on retort to barely veiled insult...but not own opinion::
Poor Seven. That's all anyone says these days. Poor Seven! No mama, has to stare in the face of the daddy who ruined her life every day, can't even find her stinkin Borg fleet to go boss into more genocide.
That blonde bitch is smarter than any of us and she knows it. You don't really believe she isn't using all of the pity to her full advantage, do you? Sure, she's lost her family, but she's bound and determined to make sure every bit of what she has left is wrapped around her pinky finger.
She's lonely and bitter. Tom wandering around with his wide open broken heart was a beacon calling. He's putty in her hands. She'll get the happily ever after her gone and dead six year old self always dreamed of without even trying.
::slams elbow down, too livid to even take note of the throb::
I'm surprised she hasn't gotten herself knocked up and demanded a white dress yet. Still trying to find an excuse to forget the booster, I guess. Give it time...