"Yeah, nothing says ‘I love you’ more than a bouquet that’ll die in two days…"
Archer stopped walking. He was hot, and tired, probably filthy and —boy!— was he sick of Shran’s complaining. He knew the Andorian came from a much colder climate, but they were in this together. It would be nice if Shran could try not to drive him insane.
“It’s not a bouquet.” He gestured with the bundle of alien flowers, perhaps too forcefully. A few petals fluttered to the cracked, dusty ground and he exhaled through his nose. Cleared his throat and continued evenly: “It’s an offering of peace. The high priest won’t even open the door without this exact arrangement.”
He trudged a few steps forward. The looming sandstone temple was wavy in the heat, and didn’t look any closer. “I wish you would take this more seriously- we wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t started that bar fight.”