Thrust 2.

"How does that work?" The Vagendra of Manocide asked, since she wasn't even wearing a hair bobble now, it might have been serious. "Doesn't that mean everyone can see my bits?"

"They can't see them as such, they have to imagine them based on the descriptions. Such as long black hair, the dark red eyes and stuff." Captain Seymour Dicklogic had just looked at the back of the book she had brought with her, indeed it was an "oh!" moment.

"Stuff?"

"Well, the advantage of not being on TV is you can run around wearing only a hair bobble and the censors won't bury us alive in blue pencils."

"So, if they don't imagine I'm the most beautiful lolly in existence, I'll kill them to death in the next episode?" The Vagendra of Manocide disappeared under the counter and searched for the apron. There really were a lot of Maltese Falcons in the bar, some of them even glowed ultra-puce.

"Lolly?"

"You know, looks like school age, bur really a bit older. Lolly."

"We need to get the scribes to move out of that Autocock Field." Captain Seymour DickLogic grumbled manfully. "And that?" He waved in the general direction of the young woman.

"I was born that way. It was a problem all the way up to War College. Everyone else gave me a hard time. Then I beat the redshirts off them all in the Repress An Unruly Planet competition." The Vagendra of Manocide found pointed at her hair and caught the hair-bobble when he returned it, using it to put her hair up.

"The Hive has redshirts?" Captain Seymour DickLogic asked, somewhat incredulously since they'd almost never seen any of the lower ranks in the TV series.

"Skirts. Redskirts. Sort of knee length and darker than yours. About as useful too. I think your uniforms are much better material than ours, especially Ensign Nappies. Yours don't explode." The Vagendra of Manocide relaxed with the barbeing, it was displaying instructions on how to make Manliance Coffee. Specifically how to get the floor polish up to temperature without vapourising anyone's eyebrows. Since it was a Manliance ship, in a mancave, with a man, a captainy man no less, the glasses were manlificent. "Do you like my apron?"

"Definitely, don't show Doctor Firm-Posterior though, it's way too small for her." The captain admired the Manliance issue frilly apron of Doom, mark four. It perfectly concealed the pointiest nipples in the whole book and forced one to imagine things that were unsafe to imagine.

"It's lolly size."