Off the Clock
Written for the stargateland "Off the Clock Challenge."
Also, I don't own any television shows, which might have something to do with why I'm not making any money. /disclaimer
"Darling, these are exquisite," Dr. Lindsey Novak says, running her pale hand down one of the tentacles attached to the alien's chin. "Are they new growth?"
"Yes," the alien says gruffly, ducking his head and all but shuffling his feet. He's enormous, broad of shoulder and tall, easily towering over her by at least a foot. He's wearing huge, knee-high leather boots, and his heavy chain mail clanks every time he shifts.
"Aren't you adorable!" She fearlessly pats his cheek and then waves an elegant hand in the air. "Off you go. You wouldn't want to keep the young ladies waiting, now would you?"
The alien grunts and shuffles away. Lindsey pats her wig as she watches him disappear into the crowd. Satisfied with the fall of the inky black tresses, she folds her arms and glides over to the nearest table, her tight black dress and high heels making her steps tiny and graceful instead of clumsy and rushed. Still, the crowd of people is starting to make her a bit nervous; she hasn't been away from the close knit crew aboard the Daedalus for months, and the culture shock is a bit much--especially here.
But she wouldn’t miss it for the world. Two worlds, even.
"Excuse me," Lindsey says to the young man sitting behind the table, "do you know what time the dark fantasy panel begins?"
He stares at her cleavage as he answers, and suddenly Lindsey has to fight to keep the grin off of her face. Morticia's blood red lips smile knowingly, mysteriously; she never grins, no matter how excited Lindsey feels about being back at Dragoncon again. Really, it's too bad that she can't wear this costume to work. Ever since she put on her dress and make-up back in the hotel room this morning, she hasn't hiccuped even once.
Also, I don't own any television shows, which might have something to do with why I'm not making any money. /disclaimer
"Darling, these are exquisite," Dr. Lindsey Novak says, running her pale hand down one of the tentacles attached to the alien's chin. "Are they new growth?"
"Yes," the alien says gruffly, ducking his head and all but shuffling his feet. He's enormous, broad of shoulder and tall, easily towering over her by at least a foot. He's wearing huge, knee-high leather boots, and his heavy chain mail clanks every time he shifts.
"Aren't you adorable!" She fearlessly pats his cheek and then waves an elegant hand in the air. "Off you go. You wouldn't want to keep the young ladies waiting, now would you?"
The alien grunts and shuffles away. Lindsey pats her wig as she watches him disappear into the crowd. Satisfied with the fall of the inky black tresses, she folds her arms and glides over to the nearest table, her tight black dress and high heels making her steps tiny and graceful instead of clumsy and rushed. Still, the crowd of people is starting to make her a bit nervous; she hasn't been away from the close knit crew aboard the Daedalus for months, and the culture shock is a bit much--especially here.
But she wouldn’t miss it for the world. Two worlds, even.
"Excuse me," Lindsey says to the young man sitting behind the table, "do you know what time the dark fantasy panel begins?"
He stares at her cleavage as he answers, and suddenly Lindsey has to fight to keep the grin off of her face. Morticia's blood red lips smile knowingly, mysteriously; she never grins, no matter how excited Lindsey feels about being back at Dragoncon again. Really, it's too bad that she can't wear this costume to work. Ever since she put on her dress and make-up back in the hotel room this morning, she hasn't hiccuped even once.