Have I told you that technically speaking, I was born in the 1860s? They change the name of organizations every ten years or so, quite a lot of acronyms rattling around up there.
[Shaw is not visible here; he's just getting feed of a wall in the infirmary. The suddenly, something comes flying towards the camera from offscreen and hits it dead-on, sending the filming communicator spinning across the ground.
If he watches the video closely, it's possible to make out that the flying object in question is a saran-wrapped sandwich.]
But inventory's one of those jobs that you put a few hours in each day. It's not like the infirmary or the greenhouse where you can happily spend a whole day in there if you choose.
One, inventory is absolutely a real job. Do you know how many people have weird supernatural dietary restrictions on this ship? And that's before you get to the people who think they're being helpful by making disgusting little insect food that only they'll eat. Honestly, I am counting down the days until Ye Zun leaves so we can finally eject those awful mealworms into the deep vacuum of space.
Two, I'm the poster child for useless hedonism. If I patrolled with you, I'd probably bore you to tears with a story or two, letting us get absolutely nothing done.
Oh, inventory is definitely a real job, but not the way you were describing it. How much of that stuff do you actually do, and how much of it do you delegate?
Also, if you patrolled with me, I wouldn't let you distract me and we'd get plenty done.
I'd say about fifty-fifty. You know Sweeney? When I took the job, he had been running inventory for...hell, for months now. He was a well-oiled machine. As far as I'm concerned, it's stupid to fix something that isn't broken. So I slid in there, adapted to his system, and we've been running smoothly ever since.
And of course I'd distract you. I'm a wonderful distraction.
Nobody's immune to my charms, Little Miss HIPPA. [ Which he knows has even less to do with law enforcement that CSI, but he's doubling down on being a shit. And without hesitation, he gets a stupid though and decides to act on it. Keeping his tone smooth, Dorian muses, ] Or Little Miss BOFA? I'm not sure which would be a better nickname.
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Have I told you that technically speaking, I was born in the 1860s? They change the name of organizations every ten years or so, quite a lot of acronyms rattling around up there.
[ He absolutely was talking about the CIA. ]
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[ his tone of voice is 100% teasing ]
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If he watches the video closely, it's possible to make out that the flying object in question is a saran-wrapped sandwich.]
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There's that high class NASA training! Your tax dollars at work, Yanks.
[ Even Dorian know that NASA doesn't have anything to do with the CIA, FBI, or CSI: this is PURELY him giving Shaw shit. ]
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Do you ever do any work?
permavid b/c he's lazy!
[ lord help them all. ]
But inventory's one of those jobs that you put a few hours in each day. It's not like the infirmary or the greenhouse where you can happily spend a whole day in there if you choose.
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Maybe I should make you patrol with me. Get some use out of you.
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Two, I'm the poster child for useless hedonism. If I patrolled with you, I'd probably bore you to tears with a story or two, letting us get absolutely nothing done.
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Also, if you patrolled with me, I wouldn't let you distract me and we'd get plenty done.
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And of course I'd distract you. I'm a wonderful distraction.
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[ Please please please take the bait. ]
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[ There's a pause before Dorian lets out a very immature giggle. ]
Ohhh Christ, I've been hanging out with Roman too much. This really isn't my sort of joke. But you left it wide open!
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You learn all the terrible jokes that way.
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