Knuckles: Oh, this is a 'god' thing Tom: You didn't have religion back on Mobius? Knuckles: Oh, we did Knuckles: But Echidna warriors slew our gods milennia ago Knuckles: As they were more trouble than they were worth.
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Knuckles: Oh, this is a 'god' thing Tom: You didn't have religion back on Mobius? Knuckles: Oh, we did Knuckles: But Echidna warriors slew our gods milennia ago Knuckles: As they were more trouble than they were worth.
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It always took Wesley several moments, usually spent cooped up in the turbolift taking a few deep, calming breaths, to pluck up the courage to speak to the Captain. It wasn’t that he was afraid of him, not exactly; he simply respected the man immensely. For as long as he had known him, Wesley had placed a great deal of importance in the man’s opinion—perhaps more so than anyone else’s—which meant today was no different. The computer had helpfully informed him that Captain Picard was currently in his private quarters, so that was the young Ensign’s destination, his heart beating rapidly in his chest as he made his way down the corridor.
Upon reaching the door, he quickly buzzed before he had a chance to change his mind and turn on his heel. He wasn’t going to admit defeat, not in the face of his own irrational anxiety. Wesley knew what he was doing. All he needed was permission to go ahead. And maybe a little validation from the man he most looked up to in the galaxy.
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Wesley was bad at lying at the best of times. Terrible in fact. The prospect of lying to his mother of all people was a complete impossibility in his mind, so when she asked him over dinner—however casually—if he was alright, he immediately caved in like a lithium mine under pressure.
“I’m... a bit worried. Nervous, I guess.” He murmured, placing his cutlery neatly beside the plate only to stare intently at it. Indeed it had been the way he had been picking at his food with little to no appetite that had first prompted Beverly to ask. “About the psych test. I just... don’t know what to expect.”
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