working out the knots, tag: louisaaaa

[S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK]

Hunger. Persistant hunger, was a human failing. Thier biology required nourishment almost constantly; and from a wide variety of foods, as they rarely ate directly what was just necessary, and instead choose what they wanted - which, not all the time carried the properly levels of anything their body needed. So, naturally, when the customary 60 minutes for the lunch-break came, he was the obvious choice to remain behind and ensure someone was on the bridge. Of course, out of pride, others would volunteer themselves, which was admirable. However this time, he'd already put himself up as a candidate, his arguement for such being quite logical.

"Captain, my biology does not require that I consume nourishment as frequently. It would not do any harm for me to miss eating now, what I can retrieve later, and not be effected in my efficiency to operate correctly. I will stay."

Who the hell was going to argue with that? Not that he really gave much wiggle room - though, from his own failing of following direct orders, if Kirk really wanted him to go, he would have. Not happily, but the other man knew Spock was right, and let him stay, waving him off before joining the horde of others squishing into the tuborlift to get to the mess all. Another reason he didn't mind staying? No chance of accidental contact in tight spaces and getting a peek into an unprotected mind. It really wasn't pleasant.

He turned around after the first wave left, seeing a few others gathered, ready to go. A very faint sigh escaped, and his shoulders relaxed briefly, giving the muscles in his back a moment to breath, before executing perfect posture once again. For the time being, he went back to his science station, flipping through the various tabs open on the screen; statistics, data, weather reports, equations. A number of things that he saw daily, and usually went through with jarring speed and accuracy that would likely have anyone else bemoaning about a headache, and getting their eyes crossed.

Entering calculations and a few requested reports he remained quite silent, completely focused on the screen in front of him; every so often he switched screens to bring up a whole new set of data for him to organize, classify, and file if necessary. It was all routine work for the half-Vulcan, and it left him with an odd sense of contentment; he enjoyed working, and, admittedly, knowing that it was appreciated, even if no one ever said anything. Except Kirk, whenever he fell behind and, since it was his duty as First Officer to ensure the Captain was on track, he aided in the 'catching up' process. Slightly annoying, but productive; he had to do it less and less.

[LOUISA FALLOWAY]

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.

Louisa eyed the clock on the personal display to the lower right quadrant of her primary monitor then began drumming her fingers anxiously. She could hear the blasted security officer off in the corner munching on a bag of potato crisps, and as the rest of the crew began to file out and into the turbolift, the sound became more and more deafening.

Crunch. Crunch. Crumple. Crunch.

She clamped her jaw down in irritation and swung her chair around to face the bloke. Her arms swept her work area in her frustration and littered the ground with an assortment of calculating and graphing tools, which only lent to her anger, and by the time the SO caught sight of the tactical officer, he was prepared for a face full of venom. Louisa glared in his direction, but chose to lean back in her seat rather than gather up the belongings she scattered around her work area, “Ensign, may I remind you that food is meant for the mess hall?” She sounded rather impressive, if she did say so herself. In no time flat the red shirt fled the bridge with a clumsily worded apology and practically sprinted for the doors, but neglected to collect his bag of crisps. She stood, bent down to collect her things, and her glance drifted toward the bag every now and again. Foul temptation. Well, she supposed she needed to eat just as much as the next person.

Falloway had a tendency to skip out on mid-day meals when she had diagnostics to run, and she sure as hell didn’t follow the standard protocol when it came to.. pretty much everything in Starfleet, even if she reprimanded the Ensign. She stepped lightly toward the bag and picked it up so it wouldn’t make any more of it’s awful noises. They were dill flavored, which was a pleasant surprise, and at least half of the little potato slivers remained. She slid one into her mouth and bit down satisfactorily, and just as she was about to turn and return to her console, she spotted the First Commander at his work station. She cocked her head to the side and shoved another salty round into her mouth; of course he would still be here.

His back was turned to her and he was going on with his typical routine of peering into odd viewing contraptions and writing up reports at breakneck speeds. She licked her thumb and continued watching for a few more seconds until she realized how utterly creepy she was being. If her assumptions were correct, the half-Vulcan would have already known she was standing there, partially due to Vulcan intuition and to the commotion she managed to make over a snack. She hesitated and looked back at her own console; the wise thing to do for this sixty minute interval was finish her overdue diagnostics, but the fun thing was sitting across the room, just waiting to be pestered.. She approached quietly and allowed herself a smug grin, “You really can’t seem to leave the bridge, can you Commander? That is a tad worrisome..”

[S'CHN T'GAI SPOCK]

Despite how far he had delved into his work, his sensitive ears had zoned in around the annoying crunching of someone who wasn't suppose to be on the bridge - and eating, no less. He had been about .3 seconds from turning around, to reprimand the culprit himself, when someone else did it for him. Not that he was going to complain; more time to focus, afterall. Besides, she seemed to handle it well, though he was slightly irked had the number (wow, a whoppin' two) of people who had decided to remain back as well. Oh well. As long as he could work peacefully enough, all would be fine.

Unsurprisingly, he became hyper aware of a presence behind him; signaled by his natural keen sense of things, and the tangible smell of the unhealthy salty snack. Spock continued to work, promptly ignoring the feeling, and thought that he could actually get away without being disturbed. Apparently, that was a very bad thing to look forward to. It was almost like it sent out little pulses to others that screamed 'bother me!'. Quite uninvited. The female voice that was directed to him made him stop, barely pausing for a moment before turning slightly in his chair, so his voice would not be pillowed by his console. "Pardon me, Lieutenant, but there is no vital reason for me to now be on the bridge at this time. Work needs to be done, and my body is perfectly capable of sustaining until a later time. You, on the other hand," He eyed the small snack in her hands, "...seem to bedisobeying your own etiquette as far as food."

The comment wasn't nearly as disapproving as it should've been, and it was likely to avoid any unnecessary conflict that would make things even more unproductive then they were being right now. "Furthermore, I was not aware that my work ethic was a cause for concern. As you can see, I am fit to be on-duty at the present time." Spock blinked, head giving a faint tilt before going back to the appropriate up-right position, eyes glancing back at his station, alight with work that needed to be done. Not necessarily now, but he liked to be ahead of scheduel, and ensure things were not rushed. Besides, it wasn't like he was about to admit that he rather liked being on the bridge; he felt more at home on the Enterprise then he really eve rhad anywhere else.