Strokes of Genius, Wednesday

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

If Katchoo was feeling any ill effects from the flowers that had suddenly showed up all over town, she hadn't noticed yet, and was mostly sticking to feeling glad she hadn't developed an allergy.

And hoping it stayed that way.

When she arrived at work she popped Griffin Silver's Drunk Ducks CD into the stereo and, not wanting to risk being caught outside in case the clouds turned into a storm on her, sat behind the counter poring over her sketchbook. The music choice seemed appropriate; the ducks sure seemed like they'd been acting weird when she'd cut through the park on her way here.

[OOC: The less I search this post for some OCD, the closer I am to fine. I dunno.]

Comments

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

It was an victorious Worf who stomped into the art supply store today. Over his shoulder was a... Leg of an animal he had apparently hunted down earlier today. Wielding the leg like a club he then used it to sweep almost everything off the counter in one large swooping motion.

"I have brought you this," he declared to Katchoo as he dropped the leg on the counter. "I wish to provide food for you and your house. All I ask is to share your company and do honor to your name."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

. . .



Not a big enough font size in the world to express the ellipses that were all but visibly forming over Katchoo's head.

"HOLY SWEET $&*@ING JESUS $*(#ING CHRIST WHAT IN HELL DID YOU KILL."

Look, it was the easiest question she could possibly ask at the moment, because the more pertinent ones were lost somewhere under there is the leg of a dead thing bleeding all over what the hellwhat the hell what the hell.

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

"It is the leg of a deer," Worf said for some reason looking pleased at Katchoo's response.

After all it was common practice for a Klingon woman to scream and yell at a potential suitor. And throw things. Perhaps Katchoo had read up on his culture.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

No, unfortunately for poor Katchoo she just reacted like that. To pretty much everybody, although fresh game that was just this side of still being able to run away kind of amplified the yelling.

Normally she'd start beating her head into the counter right now, but . . . ew.

"Deer. Leg." Complete sentences were so five minutes ago. "Most people just bring me bagels!"

Well, no. Not most people. Just Francine, really.

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

"I... am not most people," Worf said in his best 'suave' voice.

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

"Gee. You don't say." Katchoo stared at the deer leg and wondered if she was turning vaguely green. Teal, maybe? "If that thing stains the floor . . ."

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

"Then it will mark a new day!" Worf declared. "Join with me."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

Oh god. Oh, hell no.

It was a shame Katchoo didn't subscribe to the school of letting people down easy.

"Points for up-frontness, but ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR FRIKKIN' MIND?!?"

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

Worf held up his hand. "I understand. A cross species romance can be very difficult. I assure you that I have not lost my mind."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

The sputtering.

Oh god, the sputtering.

"Are you sure? Because I thought I saw a flyer outside asking if anybody'd lost one."

So definitely turning green now. Was that deer blood congealing?

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

"My mind on this matter is set," Worf said offering his hand. "Come with me. And will feast together."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

There was really only one way to describe the language that Katchoo bellowed at the top of her lungs while kicking the base of the counter, but the People for the Ethical Treatment of ASCII Punctuation lodged a formal complaint.

Well, that didn't apply to the mid-rant section that went like this: "-- WEAR A FRIKKIN' SIGN OR SOMETHING? GEEZ, HOW MANY TIMES DO I GOTTA SAY THAT --"

The rest was not so easily reproducible.

[sonofmogh.livejournal.com]

Worf's posture stiffened slightly. While Kathchoo's rant was rather... alluring her message was clear.

He shifted his shoulders back and nodded as he tugged on his cadet uniform.

"Very well," Worf replied. "I beg your pardon for my... interruption. I will leave you now to return to your current duties. Please accept the leg of venison as an apology for my mistake."

[thismaskiwear.livejournal.com]

It was kind of a shame, really, that Katchoo didn't feel bad about this, but with very, very limited exceptions that was just how she rolled. So, sadly, there was no remorse.

Also, she was already storming toward the storeroom to find a mop or something.

Maybe she could borrow Anakin's bleach . . .

Deer blood augh.