*The Captain hasn't welcomed visitors to his Nexus rooms for a while: he wonders, briefly, if he ought to have dusted the place, or, he corrects his thought, got one of the new scugs to dust it. He adjusts the bunched white lace at his throat fastidiously. Ah well. The Nexus room is merely an entrance hall. Today he's welcoming people to board his
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....good day....
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I would never have suspected, my dear...*he meets Sel's eyes cautiously, in case it's catching.*
Things are...fine. *He gathers himself* Please, come in.
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The Nexus room is small. There's a large and much-abused desk taking up most of it, with deep grooves of James' anger scored into it: it is swamped in paper, books, dribbling candleabras and a small tank containing a tarantula. There is also a laptop lying on top of a copy of Anatomy for Artists, which has a skull and cross-bones sticker on its lid. There's a fridge, which no-one in their right mind should ever open, and bottles, and a tea caddy: there's an aged sofa which osteopaths would condemn on sight: and there's a bunk set into the wood-panelled wall, made with red silk sheets and pillows. The walls too have seen their share of the steel claw's rage, it seems.*
Do you wish to commence the tour immediately? Or would you prefer a rest?
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Isn't that a scary thought?
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*No, he doesn't sound relieved, why do you ask? Certainly not for the safety of his desk... He strides over to the little interior door which leads to his ship's cabin, and opens it: warm light spills out, sunlight...*
If you would follow me, ladies...
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I am always trying to work on my sense of humour. Shall we?
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