Dax blinked.
Once.
Slowly.
"…Clemency," he repeated, like Chris had just asked for the moon to be politely rotated ninety degrees.
"Yes," Chris said, far too loudly, as if volume could distract from the sheer desperation behind the request. "Clemency. Mercy. A royal pardon. A divine intervention. Whatever word you want. From…"
He jabbed a trembling finger at the tome on his desk, "That."
Dax followed the gesture.
His eyes moved from Volume One… to Chris… back to the book… then returned to Chris with a look that could only be described as amused, disbelieving, and extremely entertained all at the same time.
"You want clemency," Dax said slowly, "from the etiquette volumes."
"Yes," Chris repeated, very firm, very proud of his emotional survival instincts. "From the seven kinematic textbooks of social torture. I want clemency."
There was a beat of silence.
A long one.
