THE AMAZING, INCREDIBLE, MIND-BOGGLING ADVENTURES OF TABLE-HEADED SERVICE DRONE BOB!
Part Seven: Fulfilling stereotypes
Bob had been telling his incredible tales of heroism and daring for about fifteen seconds, then gave way to half-an-hour of running around in sheer terror, having things happen to him a lot. Despite the hapless nature of their events, they were still a thrilling tale if told right.
"...and now I'm carrying junk to and from the market for a foul-mouthed sociophobe," Bob concluded to his story. He thought he did pretty well, but Chak was decidedly unimpressed.
"And these things just...HAPPENED to you, did they?" Chak asked with a slight note of scorn. She had met more than a couple of boasting time-wasters in her line of work.
"You asked, I told," commented Bob, "I'm not really expecting you to believe me..."
"Good, 'cos I don't!" Chak said, turning her back to Bob to dry the glasses. Bob was disappointed, but she seemed the only chance of a true friend he had on this whole crummy planet and he wasn't going to give up now.
"So what's your life story, then?" Bob asked, trying to take as much flirtation as possible out of his voice, since she obviously didn't appreciate it.
"Why the crap would you POSSIBLY want to know that?" Chak turned back with a permanently fixed look of annoyance on her face. It had been a long day, and she wanted to take it out on SOMEBODY.
"I'm looking for a friend, is that too much to ask?" said Bob, playing the sympathy card, "I've been used as the universe's punch-bag for quite a while now and I WOULD appreciate it, if people were actually NICE to me for five fucking minutes!"
"Huh, fine. If you REALLY must know, I was a service drone assigned to this galactic cruise liner. It was hijacked by bandits and it's merchandise, i.e. me, was deposited here. I was bought by this member of Tek's lot and now spend my time serving meals to drunken louts. Here endeth the story. Now DO YOU WANT A DRINK OR WHAT!?" Chak yelled at Bob, almost scaring him out of his wits.
"N...no, I j...just wanted to...hang on? Who's Tek?" Bob asked out of all innocence, and the look of scorn coming from Chak was not encouraging.
"You REALLY don't get out much do ya?" Chak wondered, "Tek is one of the Empire's biggest crimelords. He practically runs this planet, and he does so by owning centres of commerce and conversation like this bar. Now, since I have other customers waiting STOP WASTING MY TIME!!"
Chak went back to some furious glass-cleaning in an effort to ignore Bob. Disheartened, he got up to leave the bar. In a corner, a shady group of labourers decided to follow him. The street outside was crowded and dusty, and while Bob had little difficulty ducking and nudging through the pedestrian traffic, he DID have difficulty letting himself loose of the iron grip that suddenly took hold of him and dragged him into a side-street.
"MONEY! NOW!" yelled the leader of the group of aliens holding him hostage. One of them was a tamed slaughtering rat person, while another was a sofa-constructing former inhabitant of Vort, and another seemed to have rocks for limbs. The leader had a screw sticking out of his head. Bob was, as always, incredibly scared.
"NO! WAIT! I'm a slave! Like you guys!" said Bob desperately, "see my height!? That means that other Irkens hate me! And I HATE IRKENS! See? I'm one of you! See? Please? I don't really want to die!"
"Huh, nice try," the leader said scornfully, "you Irkens, you mock us all the time, think of us as unworthy of status because we're 'violent' and 'unpredictable'..."
"Well, doesn't this sort of confirm that?" said Bob, apparently developing a death wish.
"SHUT UP!" yelled the leader, throwing his first punch into Bob's stomach. As he doubled over in pain, the other aliens joined in, kicking and punching Bob in every region of his body. He tried to keep away the blows, but to no avail. He was beaten first to senselessness, then to unconsciousness...
TO BE CONTINUED...
Part Seven: Fulfilling stereotypes
Bob had been telling his incredible tales of heroism and daring for about fifteen seconds, then gave way to half-an-hour of running around in sheer terror, having things happen to him a lot. Despite the hapless nature of their events, they were still a thrilling tale if told right.
"...and now I'm carrying junk to and from the market for a foul-mouthed sociophobe," Bob concluded to his story. He thought he did pretty well, but Chak was decidedly unimpressed.
"And these things just...HAPPENED to you, did they?" Chak asked with a slight note of scorn. She had met more than a couple of boasting time-wasters in her line of work.
"You asked, I told," commented Bob, "I'm not really expecting you to believe me..."
"Good, 'cos I don't!" Chak said, turning her back to Bob to dry the glasses. Bob was disappointed, but she seemed the only chance of a true friend he had on this whole crummy planet and he wasn't going to give up now.
"So what's your life story, then?" Bob asked, trying to take as much flirtation as possible out of his voice, since she obviously didn't appreciate it.
"Why the crap would you POSSIBLY want to know that?" Chak turned back with a permanently fixed look of annoyance on her face. It had been a long day, and she wanted to take it out on SOMEBODY.
"I'm looking for a friend, is that too much to ask?" said Bob, playing the sympathy card, "I've been used as the universe's punch-bag for quite a while now and I WOULD appreciate it, if people were actually NICE to me for five fucking minutes!"
"Huh, fine. If you REALLY must know, I was a service drone assigned to this galactic cruise liner. It was hijacked by bandits and it's merchandise, i.e. me, was deposited here. I was bought by this member of Tek's lot and now spend my time serving meals to drunken louts. Here endeth the story. Now DO YOU WANT A DRINK OR WHAT!?" Chak yelled at Bob, almost scaring him out of his wits.
"N...no, I j...just wanted to...hang on? Who's Tek?" Bob asked out of all innocence, and the look of scorn coming from Chak was not encouraging.
"You REALLY don't get out much do ya?" Chak wondered, "Tek is one of the Empire's biggest crimelords. He practically runs this planet, and he does so by owning centres of commerce and conversation like this bar. Now, since I have other customers waiting STOP WASTING MY TIME!!"
Chak went back to some furious glass-cleaning in an effort to ignore Bob. Disheartened, he got up to leave the bar. In a corner, a shady group of labourers decided to follow him. The street outside was crowded and dusty, and while Bob had little difficulty ducking and nudging through the pedestrian traffic, he DID have difficulty letting himself loose of the iron grip that suddenly took hold of him and dragged him into a side-street.
"MONEY! NOW!" yelled the leader of the group of aliens holding him hostage. One of them was a tamed slaughtering rat person, while another was a sofa-constructing former inhabitant of Vort, and another seemed to have rocks for limbs. The leader had a screw sticking out of his head. Bob was, as always, incredibly scared.
"NO! WAIT! I'm a slave! Like you guys!" said Bob desperately, "see my height!? That means that other Irkens hate me! And I HATE IRKENS! See? I'm one of you! See? Please? I don't really want to die!"
"Huh, nice try," the leader said scornfully, "you Irkens, you mock us all the time, think of us as unworthy of status because we're 'violent' and 'unpredictable'..."
"Well, doesn't this sort of confirm that?" said Bob, apparently developing a death wish.
"SHUT UP!" yelled the leader, throwing his first punch into Bob's stomach. As he doubled over in pain, the other aliens joined in, kicking and punching Bob in every region of his body. He tried to keep away the blows, but to no avail. He was beaten first to senselessness, then to unconsciousness...
TO BE CONTINUED...