On Thanksgiving, he dines on martinis.

*Pinned down by enemy phaser fire.*

*washing the blood off his hands*

*sacked out on one of the biobeds*

Snot running down the back of your throat and enough tea to wash it down does not constitute a meal.

The emergency strobe flashed red, casting subdued light through the darkened cabin of the shuttlecraft. Smoke from a minor electrical fire wafted toward the overhead, creating a thick haze in the confined space. An open comm line crackled with static in the background. A groan lifted up from behind an overturned chair. This was the hell Doctor ( Read more... )