Under Contract ((for elwoodsingblues
Weeks into deep space (from a human perspective), Telrim doesn’t have her usual locations to work from. Instead she’s hanging around in one of the lesser-used storage bays of Visser Twenty-eight’s ship, using the lone computer console to catch up on some work. Actually, she’s trying to decide how to word ‘injuries sustained from pilot's digestive juices’.
It’s a quiet place full of sealed crates and objects shrouded in plastic wrapping. There are no visible windows, but there is one table with a folder of papers on it, a single human-style chair and another a sort of stool. It could pass for a small warehouse if all the labels weren’t in alien lettering. Albeit a warehouse with metal walls and the faint, edge-of-hearing electrical hum.
It’s a quiet place full of sealed crates and objects shrouded in plastic wrapping. There are no visible windows, but there is one table with a folder of papers on it, a single human-style chair and another a sort of stool. It could pass for a small warehouse if all the labels weren’t in alien lettering. Albeit a warehouse with metal walls and the faint, edge-of-hearing electrical hum.