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Star Trek TOS -Kirk--Incognitis MilitisTitle: Incognitis Militis
StarTrek: The Original Series
Language: English, Rating: Rated: K
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I realize that many make fun of redhsirts including myself at times, but for once I thought a serious undertone should be given to the subject. In reality how many of us are or will be or have been in some capacity, would be looked upon as a 'redshirt'? Especially when you think about how we look upon the redshirt ourselves in the Star Trek universe for the most part...generally with a smile or a chuckle....just something I thought I sorta wanted to do knowing I was guitly of reacting in the same manner myself from time to time.
Yes, it's not perfectly written I know but I've too much trouble with beta's in the last ten years to go there any more. And it's something I wrote a little while back but wanted to share here anyway.
Takes place sometime after Star Trek V TFF.
No, don't own Star Trek or
The Coffee GodThe Coffee God behind the counter shuffles foot to foot, a dance of steam and espresso. Black painted fingernails, inch gauged ears and a gray striped sweatshirt, hood crooked on his back. There's a cigarette tucked behind one ear; it bobs and twitches with each step.
“Non-fat caramel latte,” he calls, just as he always does, part of a spell, part of a mantra, toneless (just a tuck at the end). I reach. He looks up.
The espresso maker hisses.
There's something like a grin, something like a spark, something like a shared secret linked eye to eye. When he passes over the drink (rough cardboard sleeve hot to the touch), he lingers. Our fingers brush, a shiver, a jolt, a ten-watt shock.
The Coffee God tilts his chin, shouts, “Hey, mind if I take my break now?”
and ducks around the counter without waiting for a reply.
He slips his cigarette between his lips without taking his eyes from mine. I follow him out the door.
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