Foston Slacks - Time's Flies

30

Captain Clara slipped the chromium stilettos back onto her feet in that slinky way that some women took them off. Clara knew that slinkiness, she'd used the method often enough when flirting after a night out was about to turn into a full on seduction. Seeing Captain Clara perform the action in reverse, she could understand why the technique worked eight times out of ten. Well six-point-five times out of ten.

"We shouldn't be enemies, you and I." Captain Clara weaved her hips as she moved towards Clara, placing the empty bottle back on the dining table.

"Shouldn't we?" Clara stepped back in her bare feet, hating the fact she wished she was wearing the sneakers.

"Of course not. After all, we're practically sisters." Captain Clara trailed her finger across the top of the dining table, looking at Clara with hooded, sensual eyes.

"Yeah? Well, one of those sisters is acting like a blonde haired character in that series about dragons." Clara stepped back and Captain Clara matched the movement. "Look, no matter what Allison would have everyone believe, I'm not 'hiding my true self'. I was just curious, that's all."

"You knew Allison too? Ah, university days. So many memories." Captain Clara caught up to Clara and pressed her pelvis against Clara's, the sequins rustling against Clara's interview skirt. The Captain's hand trailed up one of the lapels on Clara's jacket. "I wasn't just being curious. Look at us, Clara. We've been looking in the mirror all our lives and known why other people fancy us. We're foxy."

"I'm foxy. You ... you're just ... manly." She wasn't. And Captain Clara was right, Clara had always thought of herself as above average in the attractiveness stakes. Even with the spread of her bum and belly, Clara still thought 'Yeah. I totally would'. Now, the chance was there on a plate for her. The ultimate curiosity. Sex-wise.

Clara slipped a breakfast bar stool between her and Captain Clara. After experiencing so much weirdness over the last few months, this was, quite probably, about as far as her tolerance of weirdness could go. Even though Captain Clara was HOT!

No! She slammed a hand upon the surface of the dining table. She would not go there! Although, she thought ... No! She shoved her hands into the pockets of her jacket, where she could just about trust them and ignored the knowing look Captain Clara gave her as she bent over the dining table, revealing a cleavage that Clara knew well.

Clara stepped away from the dining table, making sure Captain Clara remained a good six feet away at all times. The Captain didn't stop her pursuit, placing one foot in front of the other, accentuating the curve of her hips with every step. The Captain reached up and began unbuttoning her purple captain's blouse, sensuously. Captain Clara seemed to do a lot of things sensuously. She probably hit Foston with the wine bottle sensuously.

"Why fight what you know is inevitable, Clara?" Another button popped free and Captain Clara spread the blouse apart, giving Clara a peek at a lovely purple satin bra. Clara wanted to steal that bra, too. "Let's get undressed, use the hot tub and fall into ... ow!"

Captain Clara fell to the floor, clutching her knee where Clara had aimed the silver and gold death pen she had only just realised she still had in her pocket. Clara moved nearer to Captain Clara, all pretence of seducing Clara gone from the Captain's face, replaced by utter and complete shock. Clara squatted down on her haunches, then turned her knees to the side when the Captain tried to look up her skirt.

"I do the seducing, thank you very much." She punched Captain Clara in the face and howled in pain clutching at her knuckles. The Captain had not been knocked out and Clara cursed all those movies that showed it to be so easy. She punched the Captain again. It still hurt and the Captain remained stubbornly conscious. She looked around for the much used wine bottle.

"Wait! Wait! The green button, on the top of the Las-o-matic. That sets it to stun." One of the Captain's hands rubbed her swelling chin, the other tenderly touched the thin, cauterised wound through her knee.

"I thought that was for green ink? No-one uses green ink." Clara stood back up, stepping back in case Captain Clara made a mad lunge towards her. She examined the death pen, or Las-o-matic, finding the green button.

"Well, it's not a pe ..." Captain Clara fell unconscious as Clara shot her with the green stun setting.

In triumph, Clara twirled the death pen around her fingers, dropped it, avoided the green stun beam as it fired upon hitting the floor, then picked up the death pen and placed it, very carefully, back into her pocket.

Foston's eyes flickered open. They rolled around in the sockets a few times, focussed upon Clara's grinning face, then rolled around again. He stuck his tongue out and pinched it with his thumb and forefinger and his eyes widened as he woke up properly.

"Why do I feel like the back of my head has been bashed by an empty wine bottle?" He held his index finger in front of his face, moving it from side to side, following it with his eyes.

"Because the back of your head was bashed by an empty wine bottle. No, it wasn't me. I would never dishonour a wine bottle like that." Clara picked a piece of pop corn from Foston's chest, beaming that huge grin at him.

"You seem perky. Why are you perky? Stop it." Rubbing the back of his head, he tried to sit up. Half-ne pattered about on the floor, as if concerned for Foston.

"Well, for a start, I took that jigsaw down to the incinerator and, at the same time, I got rid of our Captain Clara problem." Clara pushed Half-ne away. The thing irritated her. "It was her that hit you. The duct tape must have been faulty."

"No, I mean your breasts. They're so unnecessarily perky. Why? Why are you're breasts all ... perky. It's ghastly." Foston wriggled his fingers in the general direction of Clara's chest, shooing her away.

"Oh, new bra!" Clara pulled open her equally new purple captain's blouse and pinged her bra strap at Foston. He didn't appreciate it. "I may have confiscated some clothing items before getting rid of that stuck up prude."

"Got rid of her? Wait. You mentioned the incinerator. Clara! You didn't!" He sounded like he was horrified, but looked like he was going to be sick every time Clara's chest wiggled into view.

"Hey! Give me some credit! No, I threw her into the escape pod's escape pod. There was a panel on the outside that said something about 'stasis'." Clara stood up, giving Foston a little room, a little upset that her brand new bra didn't get any positive attention. Even from him. "I've seen enough sci-fi crap. I know what stasis means, so I set that and shot her out onto deep space. I'd love to be there when she meets something like the Kapakapururu."

"Well, it could have been worse. You could have put her in suspended animation." Foston absentmindedly stroked the back of Half-ne as the robot hand snuggled against him.

"I thought that was almost the same thing?" Clara had seen that option, but decided 'suspended animation' had too many words.

"Dear, god! No!" Foston seemed genuinely shocked. Even Half-ne skittered around as if it were staring at her. "No, suspended animation would have been horrible, horrible torture! Imagine hanging upside down in the inky blackness of space having to watch the same, cheap cartoons until the air in the escape pod inevitably ran out. I couldn't imagine a more tortuous death!"

Clara imagined it and decided Captain Clara had got off lightly. It didn't matter of course. Captain Clara was gone, her tactless, incredibly confusing, sexual overtures along with her. Clara now didn't only have shiny new chromium shoes, but a swanky new purple blouse, a scintillatingly sexy new bra and multi-ink pen that could drill a hole in someone or put them to sleep. As far as she was concerned, the only way this day could get any better was if a Breach suddenly opened that led back to her home. Her earth.

She paused for a second. Looked around. Sighed in disappointment. She would just have to settle for the great day she'd had.

"Proximity alert!" The internal speakers of the escape pod blared out to the tune of the 'William Tell Overture'.

Clara balled her hands into fists, digging her nails into her palms. It couldn't last for just a few more hours! And she still hadn't got the hang of walking in her new stiletto heels.