Oh devils of hell below her head hurt.
Pasha gave a half agonized groan, rolling over in bed and nuzzling closer to the source of warmth closer to her. She really needed to stop drinking. No. That would never happen. She just needed to stop getting sober and getting hungover because after all, one couldn't get hungover if they were still drunk, yes
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Grumbling to herself quietly, her eyes still closed, she pulled the sheets tighter around herself. Really Pasha, you should know how difficult it is to wake the convict by now.
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"Kyra!" Pasha whined, continuing to shake her. "Wake up."
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Oh, and now she was whining. Just what she needed. Letting out an aggravated sound, she sat up quickly, he hair falling wildly around her bare shoulders, obscuring her features, though it didn't take much imagination to picture the expression she wore under there. "What's your damage? Can't a girl get a decent night's sleep?"
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Pasha's expression was nothing short of thunderous. She grabbed Kyra's ring hand with one hand and presented her own, matching rings twinkling in the light. It was almost disgustingly romantic. Pasha didn't do romantic. It wasn't her style at all. "That is my 'damage'." She hated it when the hotel did things like this. It was enough to make her want to scream.
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Oh. Well, those were new. Squinting at the rings, Kyra's free hand slid through her hair, brushing it back from her face as she just looked at the matching rings for a long moment. She'd never actually seen wedding rings up close before. They weren't as bad as she thought they'd be. "Pretty. Can I go back to sleep now? My head really hurts and I'm pretty sure that was not five hours."
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Remember the whole anal retentive control freak aspect to Pasha, Kyra? This was it coming out in full force. She did want to go back to sleep but she just couldn't now knowing what she did.
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She remembered very very well. It was just far too early in the morning for her to really be all that fazed by it. That and she really didn't see the issue here.
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"This does not bother you what so ewer?" She asked incredulously. Back home this would have been a massive deal, Russian marriages were usually at least two days long and the celebrations were at least two days.
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Shaking her head, the convict just shrugged. "Nope. If I'd woken up married to Riddick or something then maybe it would've. Being married to you's a pretty good option." It was a damned awesome option actually. Not that she'd have said that out loud. Weddings in the slam, when they happened at all, were mostly informal things. And unofficial in the eyes of any government. She got that it was different in the real world, but it really wasn't that big a deal.
Leaning forward, she kissed the navigator's cheek in what was meant to be a soothing gesture. "C'n I get back to sleep now,
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"And I am not the wife," Pasha muttered as an afterthought. "I do not know how to cook or clean."
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"Mnn. Well next to me you're the picture of the perfect domestic partner. You've gotta be the wife."
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That comment caused the girl to snort. "I hawe a job. That makes you the wife."
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"I can open the pickle jar, you're the wife," she shot back easily, though the tone in her voice made it quite clear that her mind was still wrapped in the comfortable haze of the half-awake.
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"Of course I can open it. You just hawe to smash the glass. And who eats pickles anyway?" Chekov retorted.
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"That's why you're the wife." She smirked, the sound of it evident in her voice. "Just an example. Jam jar, spaghetti sauce jar, boring science crap jar, you name it."
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"There is no such thing as 'boring' science stuff. Science is interesting if you understand it or at least attempt to understand it." The little Russian replied, pulling the covers tightly around herself and curling up as she always did before drifting off.
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