((pretends to nibble on a jumja stick))
Beverages. Tah. If humanoids could *become* liquids they didn't need to *drink* liquids.
((mimics drinking a Raktajino))
Quiet. I like that!
*strolls around the Promenade*
Julian: Miles don't tell me you've dislocated your shoulder again...?
Me: Just fix it.
Julian: What was it this time? I've told you to take it easy on the kayaking.
Me: Wasn't that.
Julian: Hurt yourself working? I can take you off duty to recover# for a few days.
Me: No! I mean, I'm just so busy, I don't want to spend all that time just sitting around.
Julian: Miles, we've talked about this - if Keiko is hurting you, you can tell me.
Me: I moved a plant.
In the 24th century, the Internet of Things is called the Subspace of Space Stations.
I scored some Ketracel-white that got smuggled back on the Voyager, and I've spent the past 9 hours listening to dubstep and cutting all my uniforms into strips and weaving them into a parka. I give myself another 15 minutes before I start licking all the fingerprints off the displays in an attempt to contact their creators' brains.
I don't mean to brag, but I'm clearly the most popular space station on Mastodon.
((patrols the promenade ring, musing about "frenemies"))
I have to admit it is fairly liberating.
((waits till he is alone))
((runs down the promenade))
((like swiveling around in a bucket...))