Eyeing her wee statue of a pained looking John Crichton, Eighth catagorized yesterday's events.
After an
excellent class -- (in which she had specifically enjoyed the discussion between
Mr. Skywalker and Mr. Carson), she had wandered into the first floor lobby of the student dorms looking for that dashing Dr. Pierce and ran into a
very charming Mountie. He had not said yes to her offered after-work drinks, but she was not one to give up easily. (Sam had spent too many years working too hard and not pursuing the many pleasures of life. Or it could be that she was lonely. The real reason omgsexbot didn't matter, she supposed).
Following that, she went for a drink at Caritas and
met Jarod, the very dark-eyed bartender. She'll remember him for sure. A friend of her pint-sized self,
Marty Blank, asked her some probing questions about her...well...her... which was interesting.
Walking back to her ship to run some tests, she ran into a pair of
very angry little girls who were very well armed. It was all very amusing to say the least.
All in all, it had felt like a usual day out in the galaxies as it was before she came to Fandom. Except that she hadn't killed anyone. Hrm. Still, lovely day.