Challenge 87: Gratitude
Title: Acquired Taste
Author: lemmig
Rating: T
Word Count: 300
A/N: nixmom is the absolute best beta a first-time drabbler could ask for.
President Roslin picked listlessly at her dinner, pushing the pale, slimy noodles around her plate. Commander Adama noticed her lack of enthusiasm. An apologetic expression softened his craggy features.
“I know they’re a bit of an acquired taste. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you something better for our first working dinner.” She smiled, knowing full well why noodles comprised the entirety of tonight’s menu; the Commander had allocated Galactica’s remaining fresh food stores to ships with small children.
“They’re not bad,” she lied. “I just wish the galley hadn’t run out of that Tauron hot chili sauce. It gave them a little kick. Please make sure that your crew knows how grateful I am to them for their sacrifice.”
He smiled a smile similar to the one she’d first seen when he asked her to dance on Colonial Day, only this one was colored with a bit of the shy smile he’d tried to hide from her when they had talked on Kobol. “Thank you, Madam President. The crew--” he waved his large hand demonstratively, “--they’ll be fine. But the way the Fleet is going through rations, they’ll be eating nothing but noodles like the rest of us before long.”
Playfully, she groaned out loud and was rewarded with a raspy chuckle. She liked this. She wouldn’t say she had hoped for it, but she welcomed the easy familiarity that seemed to have emerged between them.
She took another bite and chewed slowly, looking around his personal space and then at him. “I think the people might find, Bill, that good company and a shared sense of purpose can make even the most distasteful of meals more enjoyable.”
Still smiling, he nodded. Holding her gaze, he raised his chopsticks in salute. “So say we all, Laura.”
“So say we all.”
Author: lemmig
Rating: T
Word Count: 300
A/N: nixmom is the absolute best beta a first-time drabbler could ask for.
President Roslin picked listlessly at her dinner, pushing the pale, slimy noodles around her plate. Commander Adama noticed her lack of enthusiasm. An apologetic expression softened his craggy features.
“I know they’re a bit of an acquired taste. I’m sorry I couldn’t offer you something better for our first working dinner.” She smiled, knowing full well why noodles comprised the entirety of tonight’s menu; the Commander had allocated Galactica’s remaining fresh food stores to ships with small children.
“They’re not bad,” she lied. “I just wish the galley hadn’t run out of that Tauron hot chili sauce. It gave them a little kick. Please make sure that your crew knows how grateful I am to them for their sacrifice.”
He smiled a smile similar to the one she’d first seen when he asked her to dance on Colonial Day, only this one was colored with a bit of the shy smile he’d tried to hide from her when they had talked on Kobol. “Thank you, Madam President. The crew--” he waved his large hand demonstratively, “--they’ll be fine. But the way the Fleet is going through rations, they’ll be eating nothing but noodles like the rest of us before long.”
Playfully, she groaned out loud and was rewarded with a raspy chuckle. She liked this. She wouldn’t say she had hoped for it, but she welcomed the easy familiarity that seemed to have emerged between them.
She took another bite and chewed slowly, looking around his personal space and then at him. “I think the people might find, Bill, that good company and a shared sense of purpose can make even the most distasteful of meals more enjoyable.”
Still smiling, he nodded. Holding her gaze, he raised his chopsticks in salute. “So say we all, Laura.”
“So say we all.”