OUTWORLD: Ott and Cold

OUTWORLD: Ott and Cold Part 2

Skip threw off her sleep clothes and dressed quickly, throwing on her usual outfit of pink shirt and denim dungarees. She considered wearing her flip-flops but chose her hightop sneakers, shoved her bare feet into them, and left via the bathroom to emerge in the cramped main crew corridor. None of the other doors opened as Skip hurried past them, for which she was grateful. She wasn't in the mood to talk, and she was afraid of what would come out of her maw if she were forced to.

The journey did little to alleviate her mood. Every elevator she tried was between decks, forcing her to take stairwells to catch it and, naturally, she missed each one, every time. As Skip struggled up what felt like the millionth stair, she was infinitely relieved that she'd decided on her sneakers instead of her flip-flops; otherwise, she'd have given up a third of the way.

***

By the time Skip staggered onto the landing for the command deck, she was out of breath, her feet aching. She took a deep breath, collecting herself, and moved as quietly as she could towards the door to the captain's office, staying out of sight of the guards posted at the security checkpoint and dodging under cameras. She was an Otter, and so she could flow like water.

She smiled as one thing seemed to be going her way so far: the guard on duty outside the office was also an Otter, he was male, and he had a crush on her. She'd encountered him a few times, mainly in the mess hall, and he'd taken every opportunity to get her attention. She hadn't reciprocated, of course, but that hadn't stopped him.

He brightened now as she approached, a big goofy grin spreading across his muzzle. He didn't seem the least bit alarmed that she was a lowly crewer who had clearly strayed into a restricted area; rather, he seemed elated that she was even looking at him. "Hey," he purred as she approached.

Skip grinned back, showing him every fang in her maw. "Heya." She elbowed the flirtation with a wiggly-finger wave of her right paw.

The object of her affections chortled. "Fleer, right? Your name's Fleer." His grin, somehow, turned goofier.

"Yeah, that's my name," Skip replied, keeping her tone flirtatious yet shy. "Y-ya like it?"

The guard blinked, seeming to recover some of his professionalism. "Whuh-what are ya doing here? This area's kinda off-limits..."

"I wanted to see ya," Skip chirped, still laying on the flirty shyness with a trowel. "Been thinkin' 'bout 'cha." She twitched her whiskers suggestively.

The guard coughed, promptly forgetting his job title. "R-really?"

Skip nodded. "Yuh-huh." She licked her muzzle, noting his thrilled reaction. "I was just wondering, y'know, since you're up here most of the time, if I could..." She flicked her eyes at the ID badge on his vest. "...y'know, maybe have a little something to tide me over when you're not around? 'Cos, y'know, I'm stuck down on the stinky ol' crew deck, and you're up here..." She batted her eyelashes coquettishly, adding a giggle for good measure.

The guard chortled, overcome. "Heh-heh. Well, I guess you could have my ID. I have a spare in my desk, so." He unclipped the card and slipped it into her paw. "Oh, hey," he cried. "Maybe I could have yours, and..."

"Yeah, nah," Skip replied, moving swiftly around him and swiping the card through the security lock by the door. Before the spluttering guard could do anything, Skip was past him and slipping into the office. She sealed the door and locked it.

Licking her muzzle again, she turned around and strolled into the room. Ontiveros' office was lavishly appointed, with elegantly patterned grill flooring; as she walked, Skip felt a heat source from underneath it; fuzzy warmth soaked through the bottoms of her sneakers over the soles of her tired feet and between her toes.