Re: Prospect 23
Somewhere deep inside the ruined hulk, all is dark and quiet. Unfiltered light from the depths of hyperspace casts a thin edge to worry amongst the twisted metal and warped plasteel. Energy sparks along the shattered remains of the bridge, revealing that a power core is - at least - still active in the debris. A quiet red light beeps a few times, and a click goes unheard.
Emergency lights flare to life first, sharp and blaring white before they dim to a dull orange glow. Deep within what used to be a mess hall, droplets of water cling to every surface like minute jewels. These are suddenly blown loose as vents roar to life, filling the space with life-sustaining oxygen - the water acting as a light rain, pattering against everything, the humidity already gone far out of control. The jury-rigged seals creak against the strain, even as salvaged consoles click and begin to whirr to life. A few sparks flash here and there, showing that not all is well within this 'life pod'.
An ancient recording begins to slowly come to life, blaring a soulful tune into the confines as air replaces void. "..ooooOOOON'T WORRY... ABOUT A THING. 'CAUSE EVERY LIL' THING, IS GONNA BE ALRIGHT.."
Trey Uv'Secks snaps awake, banging his nose on the enclosed helmet of his ship suit. He'd been sleeping in it every cycle, pumping air out of the cabin to keep stress off the internal walls and feeding it directly into his suit via hard line. He closes off the line, making sure to keep any leaks to a minimum - he won't be able to recover any loss. Then watches the pressure meter on the wall climb to safe levels before cracking the seal on his helmet and sliding the face plate up.
"Ah, ja mon. Is gownna be'a -GUDE- day." He begins bobbing his head to the ancient classic music. He'd been listening to the same tune for.. he wasn't really sure anymore. Fingers dance across a broken keyboard, bringing up status on a screen that used to be the entertainment HiVi. While it was hard looking at a two dimensional read-out on a screen designed for three dimensional images, time had made him immune to the headaches caused by the flickering, depthed paper. Another spark makes the man jump, and he quickly pats out the small flame on the wires that lead into the wall. Making sure to wipe as much condensation off of them as possible. A quick check along the ship's one remaining sensor - designed more for detecting the hyperspace reef than other ships - reveals nothing.
"Ah, no companah today." He states cheerfully, before peeling the tin off of a vaccuum sealed ration bar and leaning up against the emergency door that had originally sealed this section off. Wiggling his fingers at the nasty looking bugs that are crawling about, sucking down the miniscule heat and energy that plasteel window leaks. "Hello I bredrens. Havin' a gude tima out dere?" He takes only a moment to stare up at the thin slit of hyperspace he can see with his own eyes through the rip in the bridge, before moving away. Beginning to whistle along as the thirty three second loop of the song repeats itself.
"Don worry! Uh. Abowt a'ting. 'Cause avery lil' ting, she gowna be a'wight. Rised up dis mohrnin', Smilin' wit' de raisin' sun..."