LOG: Jason Bly and Ethan Rayne
WHO: Jason Bly and Ethan Rayne
WHERE: Dining area
WARNINGS: ---
Jason Bly took a bite of his sandwich and grimaced. He'd put the mayonnaise on it as a last minute whim, but in retrospect he'd overdone it. Oh well, it wasn't too bad. He'd eat it anyway, lest he waste food. That was the problem with stepping into a kitchen that wasn't his-- he'd been too tempted to experiment with his food. Why didn't this place have a cook of some sort? It was basically a cruise anyhow...one would think there'd be a crew member or two running about. Ah, well. It couldn't all be a free ride on the taxpayers' dollars in whatever restaurant struck his fancy.
Speaking of taxpayers, the CSS agent wondered how this "side project" (as Michael Westen was so apt to calling them) would affect his paycheck and, more importantly, his employment. He'd been assured (somehow, though he didn't quite recollect how) that his departure and return (when he DID return) wouldn't be noticed and thus, his career wouldn't suffer any, but he wasn't so sure he believed that entirely. Then again, he had no idea how a lot of things worked in this place, so it seemed like the best solution for now was to shut up and smile.
He took another mouthful of sandwich before picking up the one sad and lonely pickle he'd found in the kitchen to act as garnish. Did he need it? No, not really. This wasn't a high end cafe in Miami or even a crappy deli in D.C., but Bly had felt it right at the time to add it to the meal. It was hardly a pickle worthy of garnishing, but whatever. Life gave you lemons, and all that.
WHERE: Dining area
WARNINGS: ---
Jason Bly took a bite of his sandwich and grimaced. He'd put the mayonnaise on it as a last minute whim, but in retrospect he'd overdone it. Oh well, it wasn't too bad. He'd eat it anyway, lest he waste food. That was the problem with stepping into a kitchen that wasn't his-- he'd been too tempted to experiment with his food. Why didn't this place have a cook of some sort? It was basically a cruise anyhow...one would think there'd be a crew member or two running about. Ah, well. It couldn't all be a free ride on the taxpayers' dollars in whatever restaurant struck his fancy.
Speaking of taxpayers, the CSS agent wondered how this "side project" (as Michael Westen was so apt to calling them) would affect his paycheck and, more importantly, his employment. He'd been assured (somehow, though he didn't quite recollect how) that his departure and return (when he DID return) wouldn't be noticed and thus, his career wouldn't suffer any, but he wasn't so sure he believed that entirely. Then again, he had no idea how a lot of things worked in this place, so it seemed like the best solution for now was to shut up and smile.
He took another mouthful of sandwich before picking up the one sad and lonely pickle he'd found in the kitchen to act as garnish. Did he need it? No, not really. This wasn't a high end cafe in Miami or even a crappy deli in D.C., but Bly had felt it right at the time to add it to the meal. It was hardly a pickle worthy of garnishing, but whatever. Life gave you lemons, and all that.