That information is unavailable, reads a string of cyberglyphic text materializing on the holo-screen.
“No, not necessarily,” Broadband replies. “The sublight engines are still working, so once we find somewhere to go…”
Thrift nods.
“Doors…” he repeats. “Y’know what? I have just the thing!”
Thrift briskly walks away, motioning for Juliana to follow.
“I found this in on an island out in the middle of the Acid Sea,” he excitedly monologues. “I had to break it down to fit it in my ship, and the whole time I’m thinkin’: ‘Thrift, buddy, what’re you gonna do with a door, man?’ Well, something in my spark told me it’d mean something to somebody somewhere someday, for some reason or another. And here we are! Sometimes those gut feelings of ours are worth listening to, eh?”
“What would these creatures do if they were without Protoforms to feed on for an extended period of time?” he asked, hoping they wouldn’t need to exterminate them.
Recorded behavioral patterns suggest that the [Error] would seek out all available sources of inert sentio metallico before resorting to cannibalism.
Reads the console.
Grommet looks between Zepar and the obelisk, not understanding a word that either one was saying.
“Ummmm…”
Thrift nods and snaps his fingers.
" 'Xactly!" he exclaims. “Anywho…”
The junkion pulls out six pieces of an olive-drab colored metal. It appeared to be the hangar door to a small vessel of terran origin- it bore the insignia of one of humanity’s stellar republics, and identification written in English and written Chinese. It was dirty, slightly rusted, and the bulbous portholes had all been shattered.
“There we are,” Thrift proclaims, gesturing proudly at the pieces. “For extra charge, I can even put it all back together for ya!”
OOC: I’ve bern through almost, everything I lost. Hope is enough.
IC: Gronius seemed to not share Epsilon’s concern for the turbilances, as he stood down on his dragon belly, looking at the myriad of mechanimals. @BlackBeltGamer98
Song was standing at a table in the Antilian Sunrise, fool of sweat. Suddenly something hit her table. It was Redstocker. Inhis wheelchair, his head was barely sticking out above the table.
“Ms Wildsong.”
“Cap. Redstocker.”
The two saluted, one looking at the edge of the table, one at the other confused. @ProfSrlojohn
Blight pushes Pixel forward, who, not very reluctantly, creates a mouth in his synthetic face and spews out sixty coins from it, forming a messy pile of wealth on the floor.