http://ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com/ (
ol-yellow-eyes.livejournal.com) wrote in
milliways_bar2010-06-02 06:53 pm
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Data is in the bar with his cat today, occupying one of the booths. Spot is standing on the table with his face in a bowl of (apparently delicious) cat food, next to which is a datapad that his owner is currently studying.
The datapad is rather unnecessary, actually; the information that Data is accessing could be retrieved just as easily from his own systems. What he hopes to gain by having it in front of him is anybody's guess.
After several minutes spent studying the PADD, Data sets it down. He picks up his cat, interrupting the feline's meal to ask him a rather odd question: "Do you love me, Spot?" The cat mews, looking at Data rather quizzically. The android studies the feline's face with furrowed eyebrows, looking for any indication of a response to his question. After a moment, though, he shrugs and pulls Spot closer in order to pet him. Spot stretches towards his food once, but does not seem to mind too terribly when he determines that he can no longer reach it. Instead he settles comfortably into his owner's arms, as if indicating that he would prefer to be petted now.
Data's eyes return to the datapad and remain there. He does not seem to be concentrating on it very hard, however—he probably would not mind conversation.
[OOC: Open 'til it scrolls. Again, feel free to ping me if we have an old thread that you'd like to continue. ^_^]
The datapad is rather unnecessary, actually; the information that Data is accessing could be retrieved just as easily from his own systems. What he hopes to gain by having it in front of him is anybody's guess.
After several minutes spent studying the PADD, Data sets it down. He picks up his cat, interrupting the feline's meal to ask him a rather odd question: "Do you love me, Spot?" The cat mews, looking at Data rather quizzically. The android studies the feline's face with furrowed eyebrows, looking for any indication of a response to his question. After a moment, though, he shrugs and pulls Spot closer in order to pet him. Spot stretches towards his food once, but does not seem to mind too terribly when he determines that he can no longer reach it. Instead he settles comfortably into his owner's arms, as if indicating that he would prefer to be petted now.
Data's eyes return to the datapad and remain there. He does not seem to be concentrating on it very hard, however—he probably would not mind conversation.
[OOC: Open 'til it scrolls. Again, feel free to ping me if we have an old thread that you'd like to continue. ^_^]

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Meanwhile, if Fakir wants to keep his reputation for grace, he'd better put his dinner down on the nearest table before a disaster occurs.
He doesn't notice until afterwards that someone's already sitting there.
"Can I join you?" Fakir asks belatedly.
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"Please do," he replies, politely moving the bowl of half-finished cat food further to the side. He then offers his hand, still holding Spot in his other arm. "Lieutenant Commander Data, of the starship Enterprise."
Spot looks like he is wondering why the petting has stopped. He eyes the stranger suspiciously.
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(There are two chances in three, Fakir thinks, that the next question's going to be "Do you know Duck?")
Fakir doesn't comment on the cat, but his expression softens when he looks at Spot.
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Data resumes petting his cat. Spot seems to be ignoring the converstation now.
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!!!!!!!
She reels backwards on her heels - the 'flight' reflex is maybe just a little stronger in girls who are actually ducks - and then remembers a little late that she is a girl now, a girl who is ten times the size of cats (except for Mr. Cat, but that's another story) and promptly tries very hard to put on an air of total unconcern.
She'd be whistling if she could. Alas, she cannot.
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"Pardon me," he addresses politely, still petting his cat. "Are you alright?"
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Duck is both fine and brave! Yes! She is totally normal and cats do not scare her at all.
"I mean, why wouldn't I be fine, right?"
Introductions are normal, right? "I'm Duck!"
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The cat mews and cranes his neck a little, hoping to sniff at Duck.
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For the moment, Trudy (flightsuit, her own data-pad, boots up on the table) just watches him, frowning slightly and trying to place the uniform.
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"Hello," he greets politely.
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She hopes not. He's a beautiful thing, and her fingers are itching to pat him.
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"It is difficult to say," he answers finally. "But I cannot think of anything you would have done to offend him."
He thinks for a moment. "I believe that Spot is simply suspicious of most biological life forms."
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The cat probably will be uncomfortable with a dead thing watching.
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Data notices the change in his cat's behavior. "What is it, Spot?" he asks, then glances towards where the feline seems to be looking.
He is distracted by the girl he sees sitting there. "Hello," he greets.
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He is just starting to notice that the girl has an odd respiratory pattern. Odd, in that she does not seem to have one that he can observe.
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Today is one of those days. Tim is colouring, and Colin is being lazy by his feet (lately, they both have begun to feel the need to get out of the apartment and away from the mad woman they live with).
Until, that is, a soft mew piques the dog's interest. He gets up to find the source of the strange noise, eventually making his way over to the man and the animal in his arms.
He barks once. He does not mean either of them harm, but rather, just wants to see what the animal is, and why it is in the bar.
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"Hello," the android greets pleasantly.
The cat mews somewhat loudly, not in a threatening way but as if to say, "Hey, that food on the table is mine. What do you want?" --the last dog Spot met in Milliways stole some of his meal, so he can only assume that this one is after the same thing.
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This in turn alerts his owner, who comes over to retrieve his wandering dog.
"Sorry, mate," Tim says, picking the dog up from the ground. "He's not bothering you, is he?"
Colin, now at almost eye-level with Data, tries to lick him.
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"It seems that Spot is happy to see you," Data observes. (A brilliant deduction, of course.)
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He adjusts his arms to support the cat, and wiggles his fingers to scratch whatever's in reach.
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"Does he?"
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"Hello, Venus," he greets pleasantly.
He then looks at his cat again. "I do not know," he admits. "It is sometimes difficult for me to determine the emotional state of my cat."
Something occurs to him then. "Perhaps you would be better at it."
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She holds out her hands, slender-fingered and golden tan. "May I ...?"
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