||[Jul. 10th, 2009|01:46 pm]
::spears a celery stalk, swishing it around in something Chell seems to think resembles dressing::
::wonders who got the bright idea to let the Bolian and Talaxian switch off security and mess shifts...then wonders when Neelix's cooking became worth preferring::
Should have risked wasting replicator rations.
::debates doing it yet, glancing over to doors to see if wife is anywhere within visual range::
::groans at worser sight::
There you go, then. That's why you're in the dog house.
::discreetly checks chronometer...he can't nag about personal issues on the bridge, at least::
Now you've just got to figure out how to get yourself out of it.
That doesn't clarify anything! Is she mad because I talked about the nickname or mad because I talked about her father or both?
::slaps palms to eyes, squinting to shut out light even further::
::looks at time again, more pointedly::
I don't know, I'm not a mind reader. Inference can only get you so far.
You should probably ask her...after shift.
We're already late.
That's assuming I can find her, or she hasn't moved on to Borg force fields...
::reluctantly follows him out of mess and toward lift::
Borg are a hell of a lot of work. It's worse than dealing with a Klingon.
::shakes head...he never changes::
I think it has more to do with her being part of the female race.
Tom, you have a knack for annoying women.
...you've even managed to make Kes mad...both of them.
Well, at least they get over it relatively quickly.
Linnis' mother only put me on the sofa once...and that was for an hour. Bless the Ocampan fear of wasted time.
::stumbles a little at thought of other Kes...maybe she can hold a better grudge::
::sighs when lift stops at bridge level, tugging at collar one more time...it'll be a long shift::
's questioning look with a you don't want to know
one of own in passing, making beeline for Ops::
::grins a little when face is out of sight::
::if nothing else, can spend the next eight hours watching pilot squirm::