Post by deadguydrew on Dec 9, 2009 8:51:39 GMT -5
“Your drink, sir.”
“Thank you. Return to your post.”
Holding the drink given to him by his newest recruit, Captain Cornwallis surveyed the endless sea of clouds that extended in every direction from the Excelsior's bridge. The young man had already gone back to his seat at the front of the Gaw Recon type's massive cockpit. There was nothing finer in life than a well made drink, Cornwallis thought to himself, the Zeonic commander taking a sip from his glass. Mid-quaff he stopped drinking, his eye twitching a little before he casually leaned over to the side of his chair, and spat the contents of his mouth on the ground.
“Ensign, a moment please.”
The bewildered subordinate that had prepared, and brought him his drink, got up from his seat, walking up to the captain, and saluting.
“Sir?”
“How do I like my martinis?”
It was obvious from the man's tone that the ensign had done something wrong, but the recently transferred soldier was ensure of exactly what it was he had done.
“Three parts gin, and one part vermouth, sir?”
Sighing, Corwallis toyed with the idea of pulling out his sidearm, and shooting the young soldier where he stood. After a moment or two, he dismissed the idea with regret; he was part of the Terrestrial Assault Force, and Gharma was not one fond of waste. Maybe if he were in the SS...
“Crew,” he stood up as he addressed the rest of the bridge, “...how do I like my martinis?”
In unison the bridge of the Excelsior responded.
“The perfect martini is a glass of cold gin, sipped on while looking at a bottle of vermouth.”
Nodding with pleasure at his crew's response, he thrust the mostly full glass into the ensign's hands.
“Now bring me a proper damn martini!”
Practically scurrying, the ensign moved as fast as he could to get off of the bridge, and away from Cornwallis' ire. Smirking, Cornwallis sat back down his seat, going back to admiring the vista as he waited for his drink.
“Thank you. Return to your post.”
Holding the drink given to him by his newest recruit, Captain Cornwallis surveyed the endless sea of clouds that extended in every direction from the Excelsior's bridge. The young man had already gone back to his seat at the front of the Gaw Recon type's massive cockpit. There was nothing finer in life than a well made drink, Cornwallis thought to himself, the Zeonic commander taking a sip from his glass. Mid-quaff he stopped drinking, his eye twitching a little before he casually leaned over to the side of his chair, and spat the contents of his mouth on the ground.
“Ensign, a moment please.”
The bewildered subordinate that had prepared, and brought him his drink, got up from his seat, walking up to the captain, and saluting.
“Sir?”
“How do I like my martinis?”
It was obvious from the man's tone that the ensign had done something wrong, but the recently transferred soldier was ensure of exactly what it was he had done.
“Three parts gin, and one part vermouth, sir?”
Sighing, Corwallis toyed with the idea of pulling out his sidearm, and shooting the young soldier where he stood. After a moment or two, he dismissed the idea with regret; he was part of the Terrestrial Assault Force, and Gharma was not one fond of waste. Maybe if he were in the SS...
“Crew,” he stood up as he addressed the rest of the bridge, “...how do I like my martinis?”
In unison the bridge of the Excelsior responded.
“The perfect martini is a glass of cold gin, sipped on while looking at a bottle of vermouth.”
Nodding with pleasure at his crew's response, he thrust the mostly full glass into the ensign's hands.
“Now bring me a proper damn martini!”
Practically scurrying, the ensign moved as fast as he could to get off of the bridge, and away from Cornwallis' ire. Smirking, Cornwallis sat back down his seat, going back to admiring the vista as he waited for his drink.