"How the Hell do you even..." a turquoise cyclops fidgeted with the small device in his hand. Feeling anger rise again within him, if his regular tech expert didn't make herself present soon, he was damn near ready to break it again.

SNAP!

The only thing that had caught his attention was his mute second-in-command, a large, animal-like blue and white creature, purposely snapping a twig. Since his vocal cords were badly damaged in a fight a number of months ago, it was the best he could do.

"Grood, where is Drusa?" the cyclops growled.

Grood pointed in the direction of the ship graveyard.

"What?! But she was just there two weeks ago!"

Shaking his head, he held up three of his clawed fingers.

"No, I clearly remember it was two."

Grood grabbed a small journal off of the log where she usually sat, and handed it to him. It was originally a captain's log, stolen off of one of the ships, but her patterns had become so predictable, it was now it was used to keep track of how many days it was until her next leave. Sure enough, the tally-marks equaled twenty-one, just in time for her regular breaks.

Drusa was very talented with her hands, able to fix just about anything as far as anyone was concerned, no matter how broken it was. Unfortunately, nature provided some unfair consequences to being a healthy young mammalian female. Since they had little options to deal with her cycles in a sanitary matter, the best they could do for her was give her a three-to-seven day vacation to rest in one of the abandoned spaceships in the Ship Graveyard until it ended.

"...Fine. It appears we will have to take matters into our own hands. Or...paws. You know, whatever those things are."

The funny thing about ships landing on this remote planet, they all seemed to crash in just the same place: the Ship Graveyard, as the stranded locals called it. A barren, foggy place that stretched on for miles.

While his ally had gone off in search of any new tools, or perhaps an instruction manual from the ship they found it on, a sweet smell had distracted Grood. and it wasn't the melon he was holding, (as he had to feed Drusa soon, currently unable to forage for her own food.) It was coming from somewhere in the distance. Galloping off towards the scent, he found a ship he hadn't noticed before. Perhaps it crashed recently. Setting the melon down, he managed to squeeze through the narrow door, and explore a bit.

This ship had been down for at least a few days. The bodies were still relatively fresh: a humanoid species, though from what planet(s) they were from he was unsure. But through the smell of rotting flesh, the alluring scent remained. Following it to a large compartment at the back of the ship, his pink eyes widened at the sight as he found the source.

"Grood! Where did you go?" The former Cardonian general called out. He had gotten what he came there for.

With a big grin on his face, Grood waddled over to him, holding several white bundles in his arms balancing a melon on top.

"What the...?" Zartok squinted his one eye. "Are those...socks?"

Exhaling happily, the creature buried his face in the stack he had.

"What do you need those for?!"

Suddenly, he had no idea what came over him, but he dropped the clean, white socks, and proceeded to throw one at his commander.

"What the?" Again, another bundle. "Why are you-?!" Before Zartok could attack out of anger, he found himself overwhelmed by just how many pairs of socks were being pitched at him, forcing him to retreat back to their campsite.

Picking up everything he dropped, including the bundles he threw again he stuck his face in them. Chances are that these had been washed recently, but who knew the things humanoids put on their feet could smell so good? Sighing in bliss, he waddled off towards Drusa's ship.