Oh... this was yours?

[Sarge Potteiger]

There was a long, pregnant pause. It was almost like women didn't rattle off comm numbers to him on a regular basis. "Right....", he says slowly, "...what's the catch to the number beyond never being alone ever again?"

It was hard to tell if he was being a drama queen for his own amusement, or if he was really like that.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"Exactly the normal catches when someone gives you a number. But the catch for me is somewhat greater. That's a rather private number. About four people in the universe know it. It's the closest equivalent I can think of to what I just did to you."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"So... no booty calls?", he asks with the rash immaturity that she'd likely come to expect. Only two people, acting in unison, had gotten him to act anything other than immature. It hadn't been pretty for any involved.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

"No, no -- call as often as you want. I'll use that as my guide for how often to get in touch with you."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"You are one of the strangest women I've ever met. And I worked for an ornery Jessica Biel." He motions to the door as if to ask 'can I go?'.

 

[Ashin Varanin]

At this point, the question of the data was somewhat moot.

"Get thee behind me."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Shrugging, he walks past her and stops momentarily behind her. "I want to make an innuendo out of that, but I won't."

 

[Ashin Varanin]

She smiled, but didn't turn around. "Clear skies. Now get the feth off my station."

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

"Love you too. Don't get shot." And with that... he left her to review recordings of the female bathroom.