||[Jun. 12th, 2009|02:34 pm]
::draws to halt a few paces away from the main entrance to Starfleet's hub, cocking head to take in building...and remember last occasion for visiting::
::tamps down glare of disgusted indignation with profound effort, tugging at uniform jacket one last time before heading in::
::winces as irony of gesture strikes::
I don't see why we couldn't do this over dinner as well. God knows, I need the comfort food.
And I was merely stating fact.
::makes effort to soften expression to a more emotional and therefore more human-appropriate form, since previous calm seemed to cause offense::
A smart-assed Vulcan. Why is it always a smart-assed Vulcan?
::straightens, on to a potential challenge::
And I know for a fact that Vulcans have names too.
Care to share, in the name of universal good manners?
::examines him, disconcerted by flare of...amusement?...threatening to burble up::
The one you are least likely to maul in translation is Asil.
::doesn't bother trying to figure out when
and why worf_rozhenko
abandoned seat to come stand by own and glower, just punches a fist into his brawny arm::
::swallows an ow!
, leaning over to whisper instead::
Isn't that sweet, Worf? I think they already like each other!
::bends slightly, sniffing::
You are inebriated.
...well, you didn't think I'd make it here sober, did you?
::waves hand again in unheeded dismissal::
::clamps fist over Trill's infinitely more frail one, locking it to table::
::sighs when further lecture is interrupted by door opening::
::draws to full height, offering equally reproving look to old crewmates::
You are late.
::smiles over at new Vulcan friend::
You two should get together. He likes stating facts, too.
I knew it. I knew this wouldn't be good.
::pretends not to see ferociously scowling Klingon, scanning rest of room quickly::
::feels brows shoot up at sight of a couple of people::
::keeps it in...for now...and puts on best game face::