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Beach Party GP
Mar. 20th, 2013 02:02 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
withmyshieldSharon marches into the holodeck, which is empty [apparently there aren't any takers for her challenge, and it's probably for the best -grown men crying isn't the most fun way to start a beach day] and plunks her bag down in the middle of the empty space. She looks pretty hysterical dressed the way she is standing in the middle of an empty room on a space station, but Sharon doesn't give a damn about that right now.
"OK." She puts on her sunglasses. Let's do this.
"So, I want a beach. The best one you've got, preferably from Earth. I'm talking white sand, palm trees, blue skies, possibly a bar serving nothing but drinks with little umbrellas in them. Out of coconuts. There better not be any wildlife bigger than a starfish, either. Seriously. I see a single wild boar or the suggestion of a shark and I will flip out. Your little sweeper bots will blow all their circuits cleaning up the mess I'll make." The threat sounds pathetic even as she says it, but her powerlessness has become something of a joke even to her.
"Oh yeah, we're gonna need some chairs. Maybe a hammock."
Every time she speaks, there's a soft noise as the room reconfigures to her design. In the end, Sharon is standing on a stretch of beach that seems to go on for miles, not far from a long dock at the end of which she thinks she can make out a grass-hut bar. Next to her is a canvas chair with a big red umbrella. Thoughtful. It reminds her of a vacation she took in Aruba a few years back. Well, she almost got there. Rerouted to Cuba at the last minute, but Fury had been really apologetic about it.
She sits down and pops open the sunscreen. She also doesn't care that fake sun probably isn't harmful to her skin -it's all about the smell.
"OK." She puts on her sunglasses. Let's do this.
"So, I want a beach. The best one you've got, preferably from Earth. I'm talking white sand, palm trees, blue skies, possibly a bar serving nothing but drinks with little umbrellas in them. Out of coconuts. There better not be any wildlife bigger than a starfish, either. Seriously. I see a single wild boar or the suggestion of a shark and I will flip out. Your little sweeper bots will blow all their circuits cleaning up the mess I'll make." The threat sounds pathetic even as she says it, but her powerlessness has become something of a joke even to her.
"Oh yeah, we're gonna need some chairs. Maybe a hammock."
Every time she speaks, there's a soft noise as the room reconfigures to her design. In the end, Sharon is standing on a stretch of beach that seems to go on for miles, not far from a long dock at the end of which she thinks she can make out a grass-hut bar. Next to her is a canvas chair with a big red umbrella. Thoughtful. It reminds her of a vacation she took in Aruba a few years back. Well, she almost got there. Rerouted to Cuba at the last minute, but Fury had been really apologetic about it.
She sits down and pops open the sunscreen. She also doesn't care that fake sun probably isn't harmful to her skin -it's all about the smell.