"Yo boss! We're almost there."
I looked up and almost laughed in relief. No matter how much one likes to laugh, reading bad jokes and horrible puns to an engine gets boring fast. This is especially true if you're coming from the edge of a system and all the way to Phobos, which, because the Schrottplatz is pretty much always dreadfully slow, takes a lot of time.
I gave the great big book of jokes and puns to Gramps and he continued reading from it, bursts of increased speed indicating when the engine was 'laughing'. I turned around and ran out and towards the cockpit praying that none of the drones had taken the initiative of hailing Phobos station yet. My prayers were for naught when I arrived and saw one of Penny's colleagues trying to sell someone "prime farming land on Pluto" over the communicator.
With a low growl, I pushed the drone back and whispered, "Stop that. I don't need to get another fine for clogging up the comm. channels."
I turned back to the over glorified handwavied radio we called a communicator, "Sorry about that." and cut the communication.
I then called Phobos station to notify them of our arrival and sat back for the wait.
***
Finally, after a few hours, we flew to our designated dock. We had barely landed that several drones ran out of the ship and started setting up kiosks. Of note were the Capitalistic Drones and their "Alcohol, snacks, and anything your heart might desire" stand with a pile of odds and ends behind it. There was also our 'official' stand, that is, the one that advertised our services.
A large part was dedicated to our expertise at construction of replicas, with pictures of our two most notable projects, the federation starbase replica in orbit of Pluto, and our 1/100 replica of an Imperial Star Destroyer. The stand was manned by a varied assortment of drones, including the 'trekkie' group and the stormtrooper drones.
Once I had conducted a quick review of that stand, I took a look around, and noticed a genuine pitchfork and torches mob. I was starting to wonder where the mob had found such antique equipment when I noticed a duo of my drones selling them to onlookers. I was in the process of stomping over to stop them when the crowd suddenly ran away from a psychotic nut job with a gun instead of a hand. (OOC: whose hand turned to a gun?)
*****
There you go, a hook for the role-playing you wanted to do Catty, I'm up for it this evening.
I looked up and almost laughed in relief. No matter how much one likes to laugh, reading bad jokes and horrible puns to an engine gets boring fast. This is especially true if you're coming from the edge of a system and all the way to Phobos, which, because the Schrottplatz is pretty much always dreadfully slow, takes a lot of time.
I gave the great big book of jokes and puns to Gramps and he continued reading from it, bursts of increased speed indicating when the engine was 'laughing'. I turned around and ran out and towards the cockpit praying that none of the drones had taken the initiative of hailing Phobos station yet. My prayers were for naught when I arrived and saw one of Penny's colleagues trying to sell someone "prime farming land on Pluto" over the communicator.
With a low growl, I pushed the drone back and whispered, "Stop that. I don't need to get another fine for clogging up the comm. channels."
I turned back to the over glorified handwavied radio we called a communicator, "Sorry about that." and cut the communication.
I then called Phobos station to notify them of our arrival and sat back for the wait.
***
Finally, after a few hours, we flew to our designated dock. We had barely landed that several drones ran out of the ship and started setting up kiosks. Of note were the Capitalistic Drones and their "Alcohol, snacks, and anything your heart might desire" stand with a pile of odds and ends behind it. There was also our 'official' stand, that is, the one that advertised our services.
A large part was dedicated to our expertise at construction of replicas, with pictures of our two most notable projects, the federation starbase replica in orbit of Pluto, and our 1/100 replica of an Imperial Star Destroyer. The stand was manned by a varied assortment of drones, including the 'trekkie' group and the stormtrooper drones.
Once I had conducted a quick review of that stand, I took a look around, and noticed a genuine pitchfork and torches mob. I was starting to wonder where the mob had found such antique equipment when I noticed a duo of my drones selling them to onlookers. I was in the process of stomping over to stop them when the crowd suddenly ran away from a psychotic nut job with a gun instead of a hand. (OOC: whose hand turned to a gun?)
*****
There you go, a hook for the role-playing you wanted to do Catty, I'm up for it this evening.