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Afternoon rush. [Jul. 8th, 2009|03:32 pm]


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::yanks on uniform jacket, giving wrinkles a half-hearted once over::

With everything else Starfleet comes up with, you'd think care free fabric would be simple enough...but no, no...

::jumps when firm, slightly cool fingers run over back, apparently focused on the out of reach spots::

Thanks, Seven.

::twists, greeted by a plate of...something...stuck just under nose::

Ah...smells good. But what exactly...

[User Picture]From: annikahansen
2009-07-09 01:35 am (UTC)
::narrows eyes, uncertain as to whether the statement is purely playful or retributive topic shift::

::decides to save competition for a later date, settling instead on a long-outdated cliche::

::leans forward, pressing a chaste kiss to one of pilot's ruddy cheeks::

Enjoy your shift, Commander.
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[User Picture]From: ltcmdrtomparis
2009-07-09 01:42 am (UTC)
::loses grin despite best efforts::

::heads for door at firm shove, offering a look of warning back::

We'll continue this later...and I'll leave it to you to decide whether that's something to dread or not.

::allows self just a glimpse of former drone's perfectly shocked expression before heading out into corridor as well::

Like chipping ice...

::ah, well...kitchen stays toasty::
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