Dave Skywalker
Apr 6th, 2014, 01:54:27 PM
The CorelliSpace Gymsnor-2 light freighter Henrietta had, frankly, seen better days. Not exactly an impressive ship even in its heyday, this particular one was dented, rusted, missing a few hull plates here and there, and the hull plates that were secure were a mosaic of two different paint schemes and then a few swatches of bare and boring primer, just to keep things interesting. The hyperdrive worked, usually, plodding along at a leisurely class three rating. The occasional belch of drive plasma it hacked every few parsecs was fine, man. Probably fine.
Anyways, it got where it needed getting. And if it leaked various dark stains on whatever landing pads it rested on well that was just contributing to local flavor. Dave had plans for all that anyway. He'd gotten a deal on this ship, a real fixer-upper. Mind you he didn't know anything about being a mechanic, but he had a book, and he had plans to read it. You know, whenever the muse came to him. Besides, he had other things to do. It wasn't easy to be a renaissance man, after all. Wandering from port to port, never knowing what would happen except that it would probably all mellow out in the end. For now, he had cargo. And since he was skippering a light freighter, that was, you know, pretty ambitious stuff. He didn't have a destination per se. That kind of organizational restriction was pretty fascist. He'd just, you know, cruise a little.
For now, cruising looked pretty great. Watching the galaxy spin by in a hyperspace kaleidoscope, not a care in the world. He'd put in some random coordinates a while back, but to be honest he was pretty high at the time. Half a J of Ithorian hydro would leave you in a little bit of disassociation, so that probably meant it was time for a drink. Dave got up from his Captain's chair, which was a bit of a custom job he'd made from a second-hand recliner he'd found lying in a heap on Raxus Prime. It had a little smell, but he'd let it air out and it was totally mellow now. Plus - recliner. He'd bolted it to the deck, and could kick up his feet. Also, a cupholder in the armrest.
Padding from the cockpit to his ship's tiny galley in his bare feet, Dave opened the fridge, spending several contemplative minutes meditating over the contents within. There was the usual lunchmeat and cheese product, but he wasn't hungry. Instead, he found a jug of pre-mixed Onderonian Sweet Tea sitting next to a handle of Togrutan Tequila. Dave grabbed both, mixing 1:1 over a handful of ice from the cube tray in the freezer cubby hole. To this melange he topped with a scoop of Zing the ubiquitous freeze-dried citrus drink powder marketed to spacers. The neon granules sank into the brown and gold mixture of sweet tea and tequila, and he stirred everything with a finger. In the cockpit, a proximity alert was chiming, so he hurried back to sink into his recliner, just as Henrietta cut back into realspace. A planet filled his viewer as the ukelele-playing Twi'lek dancing ornament on his dash swayed slightly.
Well, he was here. Wherever here was. Slurping contemplatively at his sweet teaquila, Dave punched up his comms. Time to reach out and touch someone, man.
"Uh, hey. Anyone down there, man?"
Anyways, it got where it needed getting. And if it leaked various dark stains on whatever landing pads it rested on well that was just contributing to local flavor. Dave had plans for all that anyway. He'd gotten a deal on this ship, a real fixer-upper. Mind you he didn't know anything about being a mechanic, but he had a book, and he had plans to read it. You know, whenever the muse came to him. Besides, he had other things to do. It wasn't easy to be a renaissance man, after all. Wandering from port to port, never knowing what would happen except that it would probably all mellow out in the end. For now, he had cargo. And since he was skippering a light freighter, that was, you know, pretty ambitious stuff. He didn't have a destination per se. That kind of organizational restriction was pretty fascist. He'd just, you know, cruise a little.
For now, cruising looked pretty great. Watching the galaxy spin by in a hyperspace kaleidoscope, not a care in the world. He'd put in some random coordinates a while back, but to be honest he was pretty high at the time. Half a J of Ithorian hydro would leave you in a little bit of disassociation, so that probably meant it was time for a drink. Dave got up from his Captain's chair, which was a bit of a custom job he'd made from a second-hand recliner he'd found lying in a heap on Raxus Prime. It had a little smell, but he'd let it air out and it was totally mellow now. Plus - recliner. He'd bolted it to the deck, and could kick up his feet. Also, a cupholder in the armrest.
Padding from the cockpit to his ship's tiny galley in his bare feet, Dave opened the fridge, spending several contemplative minutes meditating over the contents within. There was the usual lunchmeat and cheese product, but he wasn't hungry. Instead, he found a jug of pre-mixed Onderonian Sweet Tea sitting next to a handle of Togrutan Tequila. Dave grabbed both, mixing 1:1 over a handful of ice from the cube tray in the freezer cubby hole. To this melange he topped with a scoop of Zing the ubiquitous freeze-dried citrus drink powder marketed to spacers. The neon granules sank into the brown and gold mixture of sweet tea and tequila, and he stirred everything with a finger. In the cockpit, a proximity alert was chiming, so he hurried back to sink into his recliner, just as Henrietta cut back into realspace. A planet filled his viewer as the ukelele-playing Twi'lek dancing ornament on his dash swayed slightly.
Well, he was here. Wherever here was. Slurping contemplatively at his sweet teaquila, Dave punched up his comms. Time to reach out and touch someone, man.
"Uh, hey. Anyone down there, man?"