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[notabricklayer]

McCoy has fallen into a rhythm in the bar - waking up late (for him), coming down eventually to see if anything particularly interesting is going on, pick up something for lunch, trade in a stack of videos for a brand new stack of videos, and go back upstairs.

This morning, he is downstairs much earlier.

He is in uniform for the first time in a week.

And he doesn't detour at the Bar, striding straight to the door, no pauses, no stops, just a quick trip to the front door, which hisses open obligingly, dragging him back aboard his shipboard life.

If he were to stop, he'd never make it through that door.

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[notabricklayer.livejournal.com]

He shifts, just a bit, just to curl a little more around her. Sure he said (and meant, means still) that if she's uncomfortable in this form, she should go back to being an owl... but he could rapidly get used to her being here, warm in his bed, making the stark impersonal place feel a bit more like home.

He's fairly sure the feathers wouldn't be quite so cuddly.

This may be the first time a Grand Enchantress has been thought of as cuddly.

Of course it took a Georgia boy to think it.