Room 405, Tuesday Morning
Today, like almost every day before or since, Skippy woke up first. He scurried off to grab Joker's leg braces, and then thwapped Joker with them repeatedly until he began to stir. It was better than any alarm.
Pyjaks had infested Arcturus Station a few years back, eating most of the food reserves, stealing all kinds of shiny and expensive things, and defecating in the air vents so that the smell permeated the entire station. Despite the massive public nuisance, a young Jeff had been traumatized when the station command decided to just exterminate them all. They may have been the galactic equivalent of rats, hiding in cargo holds and decimating crops at every port, but they were highly intelligent and frikkin' adorable.
A few weeks later, his dad had found one tiny little spacemonkey that had somehow managed to survive against all odds and brought it home. Jeff and Skippy had become close friends, and now the two of them were inseparable. At least, as much as they were allowed to be. Despite years of trying, the Moreaus had never been able to get Skippy officially registered as a helper monkey -- the latest rejection insisted it was because of the lack of formal training, and because Joker didn't really need a helper monkey, but not because he wasn't a Capuchin -- or else they really would have been inseparable.
Skippy grabbed a tissue to wipe away Joker's nosebleed, helped buckle his leg braces on, handed him his crutches, and then scurried to scratch at the door and coo anxiously. For a tiny spacemonkey, he sure needed to go to the bathroom an awful lot.
[Open for WTF-ery. Joker now has an adorable/annoying pet pyjak to grab and carry things for him.]
Pyjaks had infested Arcturus Station a few years back, eating most of the food reserves, stealing all kinds of shiny and expensive things, and defecating in the air vents so that the smell permeated the entire station. Despite the massive public nuisance, a young Jeff had been traumatized when the station command decided to just exterminate them all. They may have been the galactic equivalent of rats, hiding in cargo holds and decimating crops at every port, but they were highly intelligent and frikkin' adorable.
A few weeks later, his dad had found one tiny little spacemonkey that had somehow managed to survive against all odds and brought it home. Jeff and Skippy had become close friends, and now the two of them were inseparable. At least, as much as they were allowed to be. Despite years of trying, the Moreaus had never been able to get Skippy officially registered as a helper monkey -- the latest rejection insisted it was because of the lack of formal training, and because Joker didn't really need a helper monkey, but not because he wasn't a Capuchin -- or else they really would have been inseparable.
Skippy grabbed a tissue to wipe away Joker's nosebleed, helped buckle his leg braces on, handed him his crutches, and then scurried to scratch at the door and coo anxiously. For a tiny spacemonkey, he sure needed to go to the bathroom an awful lot.
[Open for WTF-ery. Joker now has an adorable/annoying pet pyjak to grab and carry things for him.]