- Posting Speed
- 1-3 posts per week
- One post per week
- Slow As Molasses
- Writing Levels
- Adept
- Advanced
- Prestige
- Preferred Character Gender
- Male
- Female
- Primarily Prefer Male
- Genres
- Fantasy, SciFi, Modern, Magical
Despite the command of at ease, Whiskey had no intention of doing so. Instead she blinked, gave the captain a crisp salute, a sharp Yes Ma'am!, turned on her heel, and strode out of her office, giving Anira not so much as a glance. She had nothing to say to their supervisor, though it irritated her that she hadn't heard anything about the slur Androlov had thrown her way: the Clone was expecting an ass-chewing and accepted the consequences. But that her partner got pulled into it, too...
Once she'd turned the corner from the captain's office, Whiskey dropped the professional bearing and punched the wall with a grunt. There was a reason she'd told Litimco to leave her to her own business! Anira had potential; she'd fuming go places. Be a captain or a major or something. That wasn't the only reason Whiskey got angry with Anira, but the Clone didn't want to even think about that. As she stalked toward her bunk, she happened to pass by the hallway where their fight had taken place. Medics had already cleared out the injured parties, probably hurrying them to medical. A dark spot on the floor where Klein had fallen drew her eye; she'd not heard his head impact the floor, but apparently it'd done so enough to draw at least some blood. Nose wrinkling in vague concern for the guy, Whiskey shoved her hands into her pockets. He'd have been a good fight, too.
Dammit, Litimco.
Close by, a pair of privates were whispering conspiratorially and gesturing at her. She thought about telling them off, and as strongly as her newly discovered name-calling skill could muster, but had no desire for further ass-chewing. Not if she couldn't get her fists involved first. So she stomped off and covered the rest of the distance to the bunk. At the door, a random look down the hall revealed her partner coming her way. Clicking her tongue, Whiskey shoved inside. Casting her jacket onto her head, she heard the door hiss open again. She turned to look: Anira. Not waiting for her to speak, the Clone lit into her, gesturing vehemently.
"The hell were you doing!? Didn't I say I had personal business? The hell's the matter with you, that you'd just fuming follow someone like that!?" Absentmindedly, Whiskey ran her fingers through her blue locks before throwing them into the air. "Fumes, Litimco, you took on L'Kundi and Klein!? You're damn lucky you're not in that medical center with them!"
Her brow was furrowed and her body tense in anger, but in the corner of her right eye was a tear.
Once she'd turned the corner from the captain's office, Whiskey dropped the professional bearing and punched the wall with a grunt. There was a reason she'd told Litimco to leave her to her own business! Anira had potential; she'd fuming go places. Be a captain or a major or something. That wasn't the only reason Whiskey got angry with Anira, but the Clone didn't want to even think about that. As she stalked toward her bunk, she happened to pass by the hallway where their fight had taken place. Medics had already cleared out the injured parties, probably hurrying them to medical. A dark spot on the floor where Klein had fallen drew her eye; she'd not heard his head impact the floor, but apparently it'd done so enough to draw at least some blood. Nose wrinkling in vague concern for the guy, Whiskey shoved her hands into her pockets. He'd have been a good fight, too.
Dammit, Litimco.
Close by, a pair of privates were whispering conspiratorially and gesturing at her. She thought about telling them off, and as strongly as her newly discovered name-calling skill could muster, but had no desire for further ass-chewing. Not if she couldn't get her fists involved first. So she stomped off and covered the rest of the distance to the bunk. At the door, a random look down the hall revealed her partner coming her way. Clicking her tongue, Whiskey shoved inside. Casting her jacket onto her head, she heard the door hiss open again. She turned to look: Anira. Not waiting for her to speak, the Clone lit into her, gesturing vehemently.
"The hell were you doing!? Didn't I say I had personal business? The hell's the matter with you, that you'd just fuming follow someone like that!?" Absentmindedly, Whiskey ran her fingers through her blue locks before throwing them into the air. "Fumes, Litimco, you took on L'Kundi and Klein!? You're damn lucky you're not in that medical center with them!"
Her brow was furrowed and her body tense in anger, but in the corner of her right eye was a tear.