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+--- Thread: Corrida de Corsair (/showthread.php?tid=47959)
Corrida de Corsair - Dusty Lens - 10-04-2010
Timothy Rhyme was extremely comfortable, despite his best interests. The seat in which he sat adjusted itself to provide an unparalleled level of support, mild electrical impulses emanated from the same to relax and adjust the muscles of his back. It was slightly heated and elicited, on occasion, a pleasant odor.
He tapped his feet against the bulkhead of The Solar Breeze, the OSI transport in which he now sat, looking out of a porthole at the remains of Freeport Nine. The damage to the station proper was ruinous, but largely self inflicted. A fitting testimony to the series of events that led to this point.
He was comfortable, but he really shouldn't be. Not with what was coming next looming on the horizon.
He dropped a boot from its bulkhead dance to rap on a small adjacent panel, with its illumination sprung to life, lo and let there be life, the connection with the vessel's comm operator.
"When Mr. Caudill is finished with his guest, do you think you could buzz him with a notice that we'd be well served in calling the Corsairs before venturing towards their space? Being blown to hell by a passing patrol isn't in our best interest."
He went back to tapping his feet against the porthole, the chair gave off a pleasant odor, he wondered how badly this was going to go.