This choice: Bring the cheerleader some food as an "apology" gift • Go Back... Miranda Lawson. Cerberus bitch extraordinaire. So sure of herself, never admitting weakness or defeat. "Perfect."
Miranda Lawson. Overconfident. Self-absorbed. Not as clever as she thinks...
Jack pondered carefully the nature of her rival. Miranda was certainly clever, but she'd never had to worry about half the shit Jack had been through. Jack's experiences had hardened her and made her strong, but they'd also taught her a lot more about the nature of people than Miranda could ever have hoped to learn from her high-stakes power plays. Miranda had written her off as dumb muscle, only fit to throw onto the front lines. Powerful sure, but not a serious threat to someone of her "intelligence."
Jack smiled. "Let's see how much of a master manipulator you are when you haven't got every guy falling over himself to get a look at your ass. We'll see who's the whiny one when you start having to lift a finger to get people to do things for you."
It was perfect. Miranda's famous curves made curvier. That catsuit she wore might be sexy now, but it would serve to advertise every added pound.
As for her method of fattening the femme fatale, her approach would be elegant and discreet. She'd feed her a fuckton of food of course. All the while playing to her vanity and love for control. Yes this would require spending more time in her presence than would be ideal, and yes this would even require playing nice, but it would be worth it. Outsmarting Miranda this way would be more satisfying than even splattering her against a wall would be, if only by a little.
Jack made her way to the mess hall. The mess sergeant was nowhere to be seen, probably off fixing something or slacking off just as likely. She'd have to see if there was anything around she could prepare without much difficulty. She opened up the fridge to find a chocolate cheesecake with caramel drizzled over the top. Clearly Rupert was having fun with those new ingredients Shepard had picked up. She knew the cheerleader had only finished lunch an hour or so ago, so a full meal was probably out of the question, but it's amazing what can be construed as a "snack."
She poured out a cup of coffee that was mostly cream and sugar and placed it on a serving tray along with two generously sized slices of cheesecake each on their own plate. One was a bit bigger than the other, she was curious to see which one Miss Bubble Butt would pick. She poured herself a cup of black coffee, for appearances' sake.
The walk to Miranda's office was only a few steps. The bitch probably doesn't get much exercise going to the mess hall and back, and it shows. She was soft. And Jack was going to make her softer. Jack barged in and set the tray down with a bit more force than necessary. Miranda looked up from her work with a sickeningly calm expression. "What's all this Jack? Did you want to talk?"
"Yeah I want to talk, about what happened by the elevator."
"Jack, I'm sorry I read your poems to the others. That was over the line. But you must admit the idea of you as a poet was quite amusing. Imagine how you'd react if you found out I was secretly wrestling varren or something."
"Good point, emotional people never write poetry as a way to deal with shit. I'm hilarious."
"I'm trying to say I'm sorry, but you're making it very hard for me." Miranda had not hesitated in digging into the cheesecake and was taking sips of coffee between bites. Yeah, eat it up bitch, you've earned it.
"I guess I wanted to say sorry too, I overreacted. But next time, fucking ask before you go spreading my private stuff around like that. You know, I've got poems with you in them too. Get on my good side and I might let you read them."
To Jack's amazement, Miranda had finished her slice of cheesecake and was starting on the other one! Rude and gluttonous, no manners whatsoever. Perhaps she was trying to "show dominance" or some shit. Well, we'll see who's dominant when you've resigned to desk duty due to not fitting in your armor. Maybe the XO just had a sweet tooth and no sense of propriety, time would tell.  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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