[ TEXT ] in which cambridge suffers more disorientation than previously expected

[sexting]

[ welcome back to reality, gentle crewmembers. Here's Cambridge, fighting off her disorientation as she attempts her usual brain-text-interfacing hideousness; except, being a little worse for wear thanks to That Blue Liquid, she's having a some trouble. ]

uhhhgfhdgfdh
grav pouch hangover s
are SSSSSSimply horrendawful

did we move?
where are we
now?










oh shoes oxford i have my shoess

Comments

( action )

[romanticism]

[ Personal space? Hardly a concept that Oxford himself understands at the best of times, so Aberdeen's movements do very little to bother him, though he raises a brow at her with a faint amount of uncertainty touching his features. He does not pay overt attention to the fact that Aberdeen is wearing rather little in terms of clothing, though it's not something that escapes his notice. Digging his hands into the pockets of his jacket (worn now more for comfort rather than style, a much appreciated piece of home that tells him much more about himself than he previously cared to notice), he simply watches Aberdeen for a long, searching moment.

I'd prefer not to attempt the headache, my dear, lest it actually works, he says, a little frown furrowing his brow, but let's see what else I can manage.

He stares squarely at Aberdeen, not leaving her eyes, though his mind wanders to the regions of Aberdeen's mind that control her movement; all he wants to do is to make her briefly raise her arm, something that under normal circumstances would just seem like an ungainly little flap. In this case, however, Aberdeen is unlikely to experience anything but a little twinge in her muscle, not uncomfortable or painful, just a little odd. ]