27/03/2026
"๐ง๐ผ๐บ๐ผ๐ฟ๐ฟ๐ผ๐... ๐๐ฒ๐๐๐ถ๐ป๐..."
Blueberry intermittently sticks her head out the specimen window, waiting on Dr White Chocolate for his daily rounds at the lab.
Dr. White chocolate walks in from the west hall.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: Ooh, my fate arrives... like clockwork.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: How are the samples?
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: Orange rind glistens like a diamond and walnut, always a crunch. But you, Dr. White, are creamy dreamy in your lab coat.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: The samples?
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: Oh, the samples. They wait, as always, under the fluorescent sun, dreaming of your caress.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: Poetic. But which one first? Orange rind or walnut?
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: Together, Dr. White. Bumps and zest pops make life, you know, more interesting.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: ( clears his throat) Daring combination. Shall we start with a gentle stir... or a bold swirl?
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: Bold, always bold. The timid never rises to the top, Dr. White.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: (adjusts his sleeves) Protocol, Ms. Blueberry. Too much, and it ruins the output.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: (smirks) Output...or you mean your composure, Dr. White. Sometimes, I can't tell. My vision is too rosy...
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: (examines Blueberry's eyes) Have those checked. There's a bit of inflammation.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: (flutters her eyelashes slowly, still smirking) Inflammation...hmm? Sounds serious, or maybe just a reaction to you.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: ( takes a step back and tugs his collar) Samples, Ms. Blueberry. Not on me.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: (faint giggle) Charming.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: (straightening, eyes back on the tray, voice clipped, somewhat annoyed but calm) Focus, Ms. Blueberry. Charm doesn't mix with measurements.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: Perhaps... But it does make time move faster.
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: Time in the lab is for samples, not poetry. Now, Orange rind. Grams have to be precise. Not over, not under.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: (leans lightly against the window frame, speaks softly) Precise grams... Yet some things cannot be measured...can they?
๐๐ฟ. ๐ช๐ต๐ถ๐๐ฒ ๐๐ต๐ผ๐ฐ๐ผ๐น๐ฎ๐๐ฒ: (adjusting his collar) Carry on, Ms. Blueberry.
Blueberry smilingly gazes as Dr. White Chocolate dissappears back to the west hall. The lab's fluorescent light hums, and the faint aroma of walnut and orange rind kisses the air.
๐ฝ๐ก๐ช๐๐๐๐ง๐ง๐ฎ: (deep sigh) Tomorrow... Destiny...
Bite Me Back - Vol. 1 INFATUATION
Brian Culbertson - On My Mind
1997 Secrets
