"What," Roslin begins, then gives up. If there's a reason the official level of Colonial One is decked out the way it is - red-pink hangings, and candles everywhere, and is that a lacy tablecloth draped over her desk? - then it's probably forthcoming.
"Don't ask me," Adama says helplessly. "I got a call saying you wanted to see me. To be honest, I thought maybe the chamalla..." He stops there, probably thinking better; presidential restraint allows nothing but a raised eyebrow to present itself in response.
Roslin seats herself, eyes flickering down to the intricately folded pair of napkins where the papery ephemera of the day-to-day should be.
"Iroh?" she calls, intending to get an explanation for this one way or another. A moment later, Adama blinks, and she turns around to level an icy stare at her grey-haired, white-shirted, bow-tied... waiter.
He lifts the teapot in his hands, and grins like a benevolent Chesire cat.
I'M DRUNK, OKAY.
"What," Roslin begins, then gives up. If there's a reason the official level of Colonial One is decked out the way it is - red-pink hangings, and candles everywhere, and is that a lacy tablecloth draped over her desk? - then it's probably forthcoming.
"Don't ask me," Adama says helplessly. "I got a call saying you wanted to see me. To be honest, I thought maybe the chamalla..." He stops there, probably thinking better; presidential restraint allows nothing but a raised eyebrow to present itself in response.
Roslin seats herself, eyes flickering down to the intricately folded pair of napkins where the papery ephemera of the day-to-day should be.
"Iroh?" she calls, intending to get an explanation for this one way or another. A moment later, Adama blinks, and she turns around to level an icy stare at her grey-haired, white-shirted, bow-tied... waiter.
He lifts the teapot in his hands, and grins like a benevolent Chesire cat.
"Tea, anyone?"