Open Log

[timesbureaucrat]

Who: Narvin and OPEN
What: Narvin at work and off work (Also, Gallifreyan food is mostly terrible.)
When: Month 11, Day 14
Where: Museum Laboratory and Xyma's House Restaurant
Notes & Warnings:



The lab was different with Dr. Bishop gone. (Quieter and tidier for one thing.) But he'd been hoping to exchange notes with his colleague on the spawner technology. Now that was impossible. So he was on his own with the spawner. He'd borrowed one of the original spawners from the museum collections--an ancient relic excavated from the ruined city, not one of the new commercial spawners created by reverse engineering the old alien tech--and was carefully hooking up a Gallifreyan interface screen to a few of the spawner's diodes.

So far, people have just mimicked the technology. But Narvin wanted to know how it works, and know it well enough to start making significant alterations of his own to the tech.





Xyma’s House didn't have the homey restaurant atmosphere of F'nayalip and Joe's All Day Eats, but Narvin didn't care about homey. What Xmya's House had that brought Narvin there was an extensive menu off off-world cuisine, including Gallifreyan nutritional disks: tasteless round bites with the texture of styrofoam coated in plastic. The colourful shells made them appear almost interesting, but it was all a lie. The colours were coding to indicate what assortment of minerals and nutrients were in which disk.

It was a little taste of home, and Narvin came at least once a week. The server didn't bother to give him a menu any more, just placed the order as soon as Narvin sat down. They didn't take any preparation, so a plate of colourful disks reminiscent of oversized skittles was placed in front of him. He delicately stabbed a green one with a fork and contemplated it before sticking it in his mouth.

Comments

[kaiju_cinderella]

Rather than using the steak knife given to him, Hannibal Chau flicked out a golden balisong, flipping it around his gloved fingers with ease and experience. And then he cut through that meat as if it were scissors through paper- he kept the edge of that intimidatingly sharp.

"Your disagreement is noted," he said with a serious expression, taking a single, thinly sliced bite.

While he would put up with a small level of banter- he was who he was. A boss who had to maintain impressions. Talked back too much, and someone might start disobeying. They'd side with the other party, and he couldn't have that. He knew about Narvin's friendships, too. Allies were allies, and unless they became a problem for him directly, he wasn't going to act on it.

[timesbureaucrat]

Narvin scooted back in his chair a few inches, his eyebrows popping up at the rapidly flick of the knife and the ease with which it cut through the meat. The leg chairs squeak a little on the floor at the movement. His dour mindset being what it was, he couldn't help but imagine what sort of damage that knife could do on living muscle, not just dead and cooked flesh.

He cleared his throat and let his hands rest in his lap to reestablish a calm and unconcerned demeanour.

"Thank you. ...sir." He hadn't called anyone sir since Coordinator Vansell had died. The word felt strange on his tongue.