054 | [Voice]

[with_discipline]

[So T'Pol's had a chance to get the basics from the Admiral again, and make a new deal. Now's the time to awkwardly deal with her memories.]

I have been told that this 'barge amnesia' is relatively common, and that my memory of my time here will eventually return. If there is anything of importance I should know, it may be prudent to inform me now.

[A pause; there's some paper shuffling, and a bark in the background.] I understand that I left an inmate when last I was here. Mister Dawsey, I assume you are still assigned to me?

Comments

Spam!

[hatestriangles]

Yeah, but what is it? [He casually pulls his plate back in front of him while he asks, and gets back to the serious business of eating. After he's swallowed, he continues:] And no, I haven't got a job yet. I don't fucking want a job, either.

Spam!

[with_discipline]

It bears a resemblance to billiards. [Wait. She knows the other word for it. She so knows.] Pool.

And a job will be good for you. Perhaps in the kitchen?

Spam!

[hatestriangles]

Lady, my culinary knowledge extends just about as far as opening a packet and heating up whatever's inside. [Not completely true, but he doesn't want to work. :|]

And pool's no good without a beer or two.

Spam!

[with_discipline]

You can wash dishes. [Yeah he's not getting out of this. :|]

I don't believe alcohol is necessary to the game.

Spam!

[hatestriangles]

[You just get an angry, angry glower. HE'S NOT A HAPPY MAN.]

Spam!

[with_discipline]

[SHE IS NOT IMPRESSED BY YOUR ANGER. In fact, he gets an eyebrow. Suck it, Perry. EYEBROW.]

Spam!

[hatestriangles]

[And with that, he chucks his fork down, stands up, hard enough to knock the chair over behind him and stares down at her.]

Fuck you. Fuck you, you alien freak.

[And yeah, he's... heading out of the dining hall.]

Spam!

[with_discipline]

[Well that was fun and public. T'Pol just watches him go. And maintains her cool. Because it's illogical to be pissed off. Or insulted. :| So. No on the kitchens. :c]