Disclaimer: It already has been said, dammit! (MK: Mmm. . .Sarai's stolen
sugar^^ S:*glares*)
14) Assassins
Wesley was a happy little boy. He had gotten a 112% on his astro- techno-babble quiz and wanted to show his mom what perfect (as in irritating) young lad he was. Upon reaching Sickbay, as his mother was on duty, he heard a quiet purring sound.
"What's that?" he asked his imaginary friend Ay-plus. Finally, he actually bothered to take his nose out of the air and then noticed the cute, little furry creatures with placards at his feet.
"Oh, cute!" he squealed, picking up one hapless tribble protestor, "I'm gonna love you, and squeeze, and hugs you to pieces."
The unfortunate tribble squeaked with alarm, wondering what was seriously wrong with this kid. The remaining tribbles took one look at each other and dropped their placards à la Toronto Leafs vs. Ottawa Senators. (a/n: For those of you who do not know hockey as we do, these teams are blood thirsty when facing each other.)
Moving as one entity, the tribbles crawled up Wesley's legs, soon engulfing the poor, 'perfect' boy. The now furry mass dropped heavily to the deck with one arm flailing comically out of the fur. The arm went limp in a few seconds and was then swarmed as well.
Their work now complete, the protesters crawled off to regain their placards and regard their handiwork. It was most satisfying to see the mangled remains of the grubby little tribble-snatcher. Now the only thing left to do was to dispose of the body.
15) Garbage Disposal
The 'perfect' boy really lived up to his name, in the tribble's opinions. He tasted good. They had, however, left the uniform alone, because it tasted funny. After they had finished off most of the body, the tribbles discovered a big blood smear in the carpet, so some of them started eating the carpet while the rest polished off the remaining little tidbits of ensign lying around (tribble feeding frenzies are rather messy affairs).
Our traumatized tribble protester, along with a few members of its immediate family, was happily chewing on one of the offending arms when out of the mass of fur a commbadge beeped.
"Ensign Crusher to the bridge."
The tribbles looked at each other, worried. Now what would they do?
16) Substitute Ensign
Picard glanced over at the turbolift as it opened.
"Your shift started ten minutes ago Ens---Ensign Crusher?"
Ensign Crusher-or rather, his bloodstained uniform full of furry lumps- cooed in the affirmative as he-or they-squirmed out of the lift and crawled over to the helm. It took a few tries for the ensign to take 'his' seat, but eventually he made it.
"Er. . . very well. Take us out, Mr. Crusher."
After much cooing, purring, and squeaking, two fluffballs crawled out of the uniform sleeves and began bouncing on the console. Eventually they hit the right button and the ship began to move. Smart little buggers, aren't they?
14) Assassins
Wesley was a happy little boy. He had gotten a 112% on his astro- techno-babble quiz and wanted to show his mom what perfect (as in irritating) young lad he was. Upon reaching Sickbay, as his mother was on duty, he heard a quiet purring sound.
"What's that?" he asked his imaginary friend Ay-plus. Finally, he actually bothered to take his nose out of the air and then noticed the cute, little furry creatures with placards at his feet.
"Oh, cute!" he squealed, picking up one hapless tribble protestor, "I'm gonna love you, and squeeze, and hugs you to pieces."
The unfortunate tribble squeaked with alarm, wondering what was seriously wrong with this kid. The remaining tribbles took one look at each other and dropped their placards à la Toronto Leafs vs. Ottawa Senators. (a/n: For those of you who do not know hockey as we do, these teams are blood thirsty when facing each other.)
Moving as one entity, the tribbles crawled up Wesley's legs, soon engulfing the poor, 'perfect' boy. The now furry mass dropped heavily to the deck with one arm flailing comically out of the fur. The arm went limp in a few seconds and was then swarmed as well.
Their work now complete, the protesters crawled off to regain their placards and regard their handiwork. It was most satisfying to see the mangled remains of the grubby little tribble-snatcher. Now the only thing left to do was to dispose of the body.
15) Garbage Disposal
The 'perfect' boy really lived up to his name, in the tribble's opinions. He tasted good. They had, however, left the uniform alone, because it tasted funny. After they had finished off most of the body, the tribbles discovered a big blood smear in the carpet, so some of them started eating the carpet while the rest polished off the remaining little tidbits of ensign lying around (tribble feeding frenzies are rather messy affairs).
Our traumatized tribble protester, along with a few members of its immediate family, was happily chewing on one of the offending arms when out of the mass of fur a commbadge beeped.
"Ensign Crusher to the bridge."
The tribbles looked at each other, worried. Now what would they do?
16) Substitute Ensign
Picard glanced over at the turbolift as it opened.
"Your shift started ten minutes ago Ens---Ensign Crusher?"
Ensign Crusher-or rather, his bloodstained uniform full of furry lumps- cooed in the affirmative as he-or they-squirmed out of the lift and crawled over to the helm. It took a few tries for the ensign to take 'his' seat, but eventually he made it.
"Er. . . very well. Take us out, Mr. Crusher."
After much cooing, purring, and squeaking, two fluffballs crawled out of the uniform sleeves and began bouncing on the console. Eventually they hit the right button and the ship began to move. Smart little buggers, aren't they?