>>6054984“Coffee. Give me back my coffee, goddamnit.” The agent leans back against his chair, his momentary confusion soon replaced with curiosity. “I still have an 8-hour shift after this, and I don't care if you are the Director or even God, I will strangle that smirk off your face. Get me another cup of black. Right. Now.” This is not a joke, you are prepared to dig those damn blue eyes out of their sockets if you have to.
He carefully wipes his own lip marks from your old cup of coffee with a napkin before trying to push it back over to your side. “Are you deaf? Get me a new cup." The stubborn cat refuses to budge, arms folded over crossed legs. “I don't think you quite understand who gives the order here, Commander Thornton. I can have you killed with just a snap of my finger. Just like so.”
You will not let this slide. “And I will snap more than just your fingers even if that's the last thing I ever do.” In your mind, the standoff lasts for days. In reality, the lazy hand on the cafeteria clock has barely moved. He reaches deep into his coat pockets. “Alright then. Consider these nicotine patches my apology.” His eyes narrow with a glint not unlike a surveillance camera. “Don't push your luck.”
After feeling the burst of energy hits your bloodstream, you start retelling the adventures in Citar Quadrant. “No, no need for that. Skip to the part where we part ways after raiding that research station.” You nod and wind forward to your discovery of the half-corrupted coords in a frigate's dead databank. “Interesting... And you did not find it important enough to report this back to Fleet?” Shit.
“Well,” you stall for time while thinking up a plausible explanation, “you see...” His spindly fingers motions to stop you. “I'm not here to cross-examine you. Move on.” The tip of his fountain pen scratches gratingly against the rough paper. It can't be a coincidence, nothing's ever a coincidence with this man.
He did not interrupt you again as you described your meetings in the Hysret base and its commander Yamir, taking care to skip over the xenological details. His left hand raises slightly, a signal to slow down as the pen in his right struggles to catch up. “The Hysret commander's name. Can you say it again?”
“Certainly,” you smirk devilishly before crooning your throat, “<span class="mu-i">His Lowness Yamir-Hysret</span>” The pen falls onto the polished floor with a clang. The agent leans down to pick it up. “Great. Now I only have 2 spare tips left.” What should clearly be frustration, delivered in synthetic monotone. A rare mistake.
“I took a couple survey courses in Xenolinguistics back in college, you know? Never expects those liberal arts credits to become the single most useful skill I learned there.” The corners of his eyes rise slightly before falling again. Have you made a mistake of your own?
