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Thread: A Porter For What Ails You

  1. #21
    Felcher redoubled the inspection of the object of his ridicule, noting that perhaps the lighting aboard ship was unflatteringly warm. Perhaps not ginger ginger. A species of rust?

    "And a lovely shade of it, Leftenant Commander!" he reluctantly chewed his reply into a smile.

  2. #22
    Folding her arms over her chest, Sam gave a more than unimpressed look to Felcher. She rolled her eyes at his backpedaling.

    "You should knock 'is ass to the deck," she offered.

    Of course, her own reasons for that was for the simple fact of the matter that Regan's horrible bunkmate was prolonging her trip out.

  3. #23
    Regan Altink
    Guest
    "Donnae tempt me," Regan growled under his breath, continuing to scowl and glower in Felcher's direction. "An impetuous wee bastard like this, though?"

    Tink shook his head, his eyes sweeping up and down his absurdly dressed bunkmate before he turned them towards something undeniably more pleasant to look at.

    "It'd be a waste a' photons tae type up the incident report, an' I donnae want a reprimand in ma file for strikin' a superior asshole."

    Any bashfulness or confusion that Tink might have been feeling earlier at Sam's unexpected appearance had disappeared completely, crushed beneath the utter wrath that Felcher had instilled in him. His fight or flight response had well and truly kicked in, flooding his muscles with the urge to do something. The fact that his eyes were currently aimed at Sam filled his head with all kinds of ideas. Not again, he instructed himself firmly. Not now, anyway. Still, between the residual anger and the frustration, the look he gave her was reminiscent of a primitive, planning to sling her over his shoulder and carry her back to his cave.

    "Did y' no' have some sortae plan involvin' us no' bein' in the same room as Admiral Gobshyte?"

  4. #24
    There was a strange sort of anxious puzzlement that descended over her features, as Sam did her best to think of the best and most efficient way of ditching the walking piece of human pocket lint that was Regan's bunkmate. She'd not really expected him to be around, and having to come up with a solution on the fly for this problem was a lot harder than having to do the same with explosives. At least with a detonator it was a one and done deal. You screwed up, and that was that. With Felcher, he lingered. Like a basket of week old socks soaked in Ronto vomit, you just couldn't get the stench of him out. You couldn't unhear his whinging, nasally voice. You could close your eyes, but those flaring nostrils and curled upper lip would haunt your dreams.

    She let out a long sigh, hazel eyes tracking from Felcher back to Regan.

    The only solution she could come up with spilled out in a lazy flow of words on the back of her exhaled breath.

    "Set 'im on fire?"

  5. #25
    Regan Altink
    Guest
    A thoughtful breath was sucked between Regan's teeth.

    "Couldnae in here," he mused aloud, his nose wrinkling as he peered up at the ceiling. "Fire suppressors'd snuff him out before his eyebrows even got more than a wee bit singed."

    His fingertips scritched at the scruff on his chin, the expression on his face a varied blend of frustration, contemplation, and dismay.

    "A'course, if we were tae overload the CO2 sensors an' trick the ship in tae floodin' the compartment with more oxygen, we might be able tae cook ourselves a crispy wee Felcher quickly enough."

    He snorted out a small sigh.

    "I donnae think he's worth the effort though, lassie. Probably best tae just seal the doors an' purge the atmosphere from the room. Worst case, at least without air we would nae be able to hear the prattlin' bastard."

  6. #26
    Arvel stood in the tempest of what he could only surmise was an impromptu roast in his honor. He stood rail-straight as they connived his demise in open and exhaustive detail, looking utterly smug and and amused as his jackboots rocked him ever so slightly from toes to heels.

    "Very good" he piped, the glib expression he wore bringing a hint of color to his cheeks as he held his pipe to one side. "Very good indeed. No doubt Captain Quez would be less amused in this conspiracy to deprive the good ship Novgorod of her invaluable loadmaster. I shall enjoy your courts martial as a poltergeist."

    Once again, he tucked his pipe behind his back.

    "Now, what was this about a parts excursion again?"

  7. #27
    Her eyes went to Felcher, and Sam made an exasperated face.

    "It's nothing to concern yourself with, Felcher."

    One arm hooked into the crook of Regan's elbow, and she pushed forward, dragging him with her.

    "It's just a rummage-about, with a few stops for the local flavor."

    She gave him a once-over, making sure that he knew she thought his choice of clothing was beyond idiotic. And as an afterthought, the blonde shuffled her feet just so, the sole of her own boots scuffing over the top of the pinhead's polished jackboots.

    And just because, her off-hand reached out to deliver a none-too-gentle pat to his cheek.

    "Nothing you'd be interested in. We'll probably make a stop off at one of the motels and have a test of the bedsheets anyway, so you might as well stay here."

  8. #28
    Regan Altink
    Guest
    A visit to a motel: that was a wonderfully enticing idea. An opportunity to rest his head and close his eyes without the constant chattering presence of his bunkmate, the interruptions of an engineering team that - wisely, granted - were reluctant to execute any major recalibrations or repairs without the Chief Engineer's express permission, the nagging burdens placed upon him by the command staff who insisted that as the third highest ranking officer aboard the ship it was his responsibility to command the bridge during certain situations -

    It took that long for the comprehension part of his brain to catch up with the busily fantasising part, and give it a gentle nudge to point out what it was that Porter had actually meant. Instantly, heat began to flood to Regan's ears; swiftly, relying on the fact that Porter's attention was for the moment focused on Arvel, Tink wrenched his hat back onto his head, dragging it down to cover his ears entirely, hoping that his usual grumpy aura would explain away any ponderances over why he was putting a hat on so aggressively.

    He stared at the bulkhead in front of him for a moment, collecting himself before he tried to speak, making sure his voice was going to tumble out at the correct volume and frequency.

    "We shouldnae dawdle then, eh?" he suggested, with a gentle tug against Sam's arm, eager to leave the room and this embarrassing situation entirely behind him.

  9. #29
    The only thing keeping Felcher from crumpling into an obsessive compulsive relapse to re-polish his boots - like a Hapan stage villainess attempting to scour a bloody spot off her hands - was the chance to harangue and prosecute his fellow shipmates over the slightest of infractions.

    "Fra-ter-ni-za-tion..." He sounded each syllable deliberately, relishing his moment of j'accuse with a creeping malevolent grin that would continue curling the corners of his mouth were it not for mere anatomical limitation. Before the hero and heroine of the story could exit scene, Grand Admiral Felcher had positioned himself ominously in the threshold to block their passage. "...is a serious infraction."

    He continued to build his case, looking more and more pleased with himself as he went.

    "Loose hips sink ships..." The Ensign cast his snarky insinuations to Porter. "...even if the accused hips have the softness and curvature of a cheese board."

    Felcher held aloft his pipe with an unsaid alas. "I feel that...in the interest of maintaining the fitness of men and materiale aboard ship...I must insist myself upon your shore party to act as chaperone."

  10. #30
    Regan's pull was transformed into a push from Sam herself, as she used the momentum from Novgorod's chief engineer, turning it back around on him.

    Determined to ignore Felcher, the blonde used Regan as a battering ram in a bid to leave the small confines of the bunkroom. She pushed her body against his, hoping that the added weight would be enough to send all three out into the corridor.

    Of course, in such close quarters Sam couldn't help the reach-around bum-squeeze on Regan's backside.

  11. #31
    Regan Altink
    Guest
    Resignation.

    There were psychological evaluations that the Alliance did, to probe into the sanity of it's officers and enlistees. Word associations. Ink blots. Hypothetical scenarios involving inverted turtles. There was one in particular that Regan found especially infuriating: describe how you are feeling in one word. For starters, Regan found it pretty intensely difficult to describe anything without at least one curse word, and unfortunately that kind of language didn't quite work so well as a stand-alone descriptor in that sort of context - something he'd learned from experience, when the psych officer had spent the next twenty minutes trying to probe into why the Lieutenant Commander felt like female genitalia. Right now though, Regan found it intensely easy to sum up his mindset in one word: and that was resignation.

    Ordinarily, the hand on his backside would have solicited some sort of flinch reaction, and it was still in there, to some extent. It was more about reflex though, than the kind of reluctant avoidance that usually came into play; not because he was starting to like these kind of affectionate displays from Miss Porter, but more because he had simply given up on trying to discourage her from them, and had resigned himself to the fact that his body now constituted a bio-responsive squishy stress toy for the woman.

    A typically quiet aspect of Tink's subconscious crept up stealthily behind him, offering the subtle suggestion that perhaps this kind of activity was an invitation for Regan to reciprocate. That thought lingered in his mind for a little too long, and Regan's ears turned a little redder beneath the concealment of his hat.

    Well, the more rational part of his mind sombrely offered, At least it is nae the med bay this time.

  12. #32
    "Excuse me."

    Felcher stumbled against the scrum. When civility did not win the day, he raised his voice.

    "I said excuse me!"

    The uncaring horde pushed forth all at once, spilling Felcher out into the corridor upon his derriere.

    "That's assault! I'm making a note of this!"

    The Loadmaster hoisted himself to his feet, tugging the bottom hemline of his jacket with a sharp, indignant motion. He glowered at Sam and Regan while drawing a pad and stylus dramatically from his breast pocket. He scribbled as he walked with the pair, his face a mask of furious intent.

    "Sam Porter...knowingly struck a superior officer...has engaged the Leftenant Commander Altink upon a course of treachery!"

    The sounds of stylus jabbing and swiping along the glossy screen were disconcertingly audible as Felcher followed apace.

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