09-07-2006, 12:19 PM
Allistair pulled aside the closet shutter. He stood back and marveled at his wife's extensive tastes for all the seasons, their swath of shoes in neat, house-wife fasion, and the rack of work clothes behind them. His hand pushed his wife's Calico Blazer aside, a small remembrance of their first honeymoon in the tiny Jamaican Isle. The feeling dragged him to look at her still asleep, unfathomed sadness tugging his face. Someday they'll return to those islands.
Sitting on the dresser, Auspex bussed about his early morning routine. 'How can you take so much time to dress? I don't see Christine wasting an hour to put on a frilly shirt.'
"It's not frilly, its ornamental." The NetOp replied. "And I always wear the shirts she buys for me."
'Didn't you return half of those?"
"No."
'Yes you did. I remember that banana shirt-' Allistair threw a discarded shirt over his PET, knocking it and the shirt to the floor. 'Uh huh. You wear those all the time.'
In another thrity minutes, Allistair Lorne chose his wardrobe. He vested black long pants with grey leggings pulleed over them, his hands sanding down the wrinkle creases around the ankle. He wore a Riot Vest with shallow, teflon pallets and swept his stormcoat over that. Picking up his PET, Commissar Allistair Lorne kissed Christine Lorne on the head and made for the front door, clipping his pistol to his belt bandolier.
Sitting on the dresser, Auspex bussed about his early morning routine. 'How can you take so much time to dress? I don't see Christine wasting an hour to put on a frilly shirt.'
"It's not frilly, its ornamental." The NetOp replied. "And I always wear the shirts she buys for me."
'Didn't you return half of those?"
"No."
'Yes you did. I remember that banana shirt-' Allistair threw a discarded shirt over his PET, knocking it and the shirt to the floor. 'Uh huh. You wear those all the time.'
In another thrity minutes, Allistair Lorne chose his wardrobe. He vested black long pants with grey leggings pulleed over them, his hands sanding down the wrinkle creases around the ankle. He wore a Riot Vest with shallow, teflon pallets and swept his stormcoat over that. Picking up his PET, Commissar Allistair Lorne kissed Christine Lorne on the head and made for the front door, clipping his pistol to his belt bandolier.