Mild

I sit on the floor, casually lounging as I fill yet another balloon. There's still several hours before the party, so I haven't gotten dressed yet; I'm wearing a simple pair of panties and a form-fitting white tanktop. I sigh. "Man, who knew blowing balloons would take so long?" I lament, turning to you.

You're sitting on a chair in jeans and a white t-shirt, using a pump to fill the balloons. "Well, it's a good thing we have this pump. It could be a lot slower," you note, with a smirk.

I pout. "Well, I suppose. Still, next time we should just buy them, I guess."

Julie sauntered through the doors of the Christmas Shop like she owned the place. She blew through the aisles of the shop, past Christmas trees, tinsel, massive air blown inflatables in the shape of snowmen, santa, reindeer, past a balloon counter and into the back room of the store. 

"Morning" she said jauntily to Christie, the manager. Christie was sitting on the staff room sofa looking worst for wear. "Oh boy... Christmas party... Ugh" she croaked, and chugged a glass of water, followed by a couple of headache tablets.

It was a cliche, but before Quint knew it he had fallen in love with his teacher.

The Revulcanizing Polymer Bonding Shuffler, usually just called it to save time, was encased in a colossal industrial sarcophagus, and stood as an unholy union of the bleeding edges of every field of science and engineering, from Quantum Mechanics to the Culinary Sciences. An outer case of stainless steel covered the labyrinth of coolant pipes, wires, sensors, and air ducts, which surrounded the it, and three huge hoses reached like the fingers of a hand toward the exhaust vents hung from the ceiling.