A Conversation for Seven of Nine's Tent
The Supreme T Started conversation Jun 18, 2003
Seven of Nine [(1x52)-2-8]x1=42! Posted Jun 22, 2003
*strides in, dressed in her brand new black leather corset and fishnet stockings*
*looks The Supreme T up and down*
Hmmm times are hard.
Alright, you will suffice until someone more interesting comes along.
*grabs The Supreme T's wrists and him to the wall*
The Supreme T Posted Jun 25, 2003
*Pulls hairpin from back pocket and undoes handcuffs*
So, I'm sitting here with a pair of handcuffs all by my lonesome. Perhaps you've been bad and need cuffing yourself? I think gams like those are illegal in twelve states.
The Supreme T Posted Jul 3, 2003
Death to the infidels...
The Supreme T Posted Mar 12, 2004
The long silence of the room is broken by the sound of the door being thrown open. A swirling cloud of dust kicks up and draws the stranger's attention to the chair in the middle of the room. The dusty and decayed remains of what appear to be a man adorn the chair. Its body covered in ratty and moldy clothing, the bones so long exposed to the air that they have taken on a dirty off-white color. The stranger's eyes move down the skeletal remains, trying to appraise the type of man who must have once filled these tattered cloths. His eyes alight on a faintly glimmering pile of metal clutched in the corpse's bony grasp. Hand cuffs. Horrible. The man must have been cuffed and left to rot in this miserable room. Upon closer inspection, however, he sees that the hand cuffs are not actually on the man's wrists, but clutched in his lifeless hands, like a prize. The stranger reaches down and pulls the hand cuffs away from the dead man's grip. "What madness is this?" he thinks. Alas, he cannot ever know. He throws the hand cuffs on the floor, stirring up another dust cloud and then exits the room without another glance, his feet scraping across a message in the floor which he fails to see, but which reads "Why hath you forsaken me, Seven of Nine?"
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