hey there passengers, it's me, ya commissary

[dealwiththe]

Passengers: Everyone (get in here)
Location: Ye Olde Commissary
Date: March 1-7
Summary: Put tickets in, get knives, foam wives, and novelty t-shirts out (sorry I couldn't think of another rhyme)
Warnings: Will add as needed.


[ Ooooooooooooooh.... ]

Comments

[grindset]

That does seem to be the case so far.

[His head is currently full of robotics tutorials and appliance instructions the same way people get stuck on songs, but there's still room. Why not?

Gloved fingers lift to his chin, tap light on his lips—thinking—]

Mmm, give me some time to figure it out. I can't make any promises, but... maybe something can be arranged. I'll see what I can do.

[smugreport]

Seriously?

[ Said with equal amounts skepticism and enthusiasm. He's been itching to work on something- anything to pass the time, but has felt that if something wasn't already blocked off from him, it was just a waste of time he could spend trying to get out of here.

The latter is seeming less and less an option...and there will be a while till next port, probably. ]

That'd be good. The Navarch doesn't know what she's missing out on, denying me a chance to fiddle with this place's tech.

[grindset]

[Viktor answers with a crisp nod: yes, seriously.

Time's ticking down on his standing comfort, so he gathers up his crutch and... chicken purse... which he tucks under his arm like a little deflated football. Its beady eye stares at Rhys almost judgementally.]

I think the Navarch knows exactly what to expect, should any of us be permitted to fiddle. [A good word that sounds good coming out of his mouth.] Best to avoid attracting too much of her attention for now.