( Wembly stood at the helm of his dirigible, clutching a cup of coffee in one hand, while a half smoked cigarette hung out the side of his mouth. Every few minutes he yelled down instructions to his crew, who were rushing around hauling in sterring nets. It's not that he needed to tell his crew anything, they were already preforming quite well, Wembly just like to remind them who was in charge of the Wingnut.
All things considered Wembly was quite happy with how this trip was going. They had made excellent time to First Star, which in fact was no longer a star, but rather a large black hole sitting at the center of the 'Til Morning galaxy. Sterring spawned here every year because all of the structure that go embbeded around the edges of the black hole. It made fishing in the area high adrenaline work. One wrong move and you could beach yourself on the event horizon, two wrong moves and you could remove yourself from the universe all together. It was worth the danger. They only had one more haul to go before they could deliver to the processing vessel, 'The Weverland' that was waiting a few hours away.
"Hurry up, slackers," yelled Wembly over the PA system, "the longer it takes, the lower the price."
He smiled to himself. It was a bold faced lie. Still, it worked. The greenhorn Wishmael had stopped making fish faces at the other deckhands at least.
Reaching behind him, Wembly groped for the sandwich that his cook Wuffy had brought up to him a few moments earlier. Coming up empty handed, he turned around. The white porcelain plate sat empty, sans a few crumbs. Wembly frowned. Had he already eaten it? He frowned, things like this kept happening on this trip,)
Are you really using a sandwich as a plot device?
( things going missing and food not being were it's supposed to be. Wembly just marked it down as space spaciness.
"Wuffy," called the captian, "make me another sandwich would you!"
He heard a muttered reply about sammiches and kitchens. He was satisfied that his second lunch would arrive shortly.
Well, maybe not that quickly, the crew had finished setting the last 4 drift nets before Wuffy shoved another sandwich under his nose. Wembly squeaked out a quick thank you before turning back to the helm. He cringed a little as he heard the impatient tapping of a foot. Turning back around he looked at Wuffy. She was a beautiful you woman with blonde fur and blue eyes. Right now those eyes were glaring at him.
"Yes," captain Wembly asked cautiously.
"Keep you men out of my kitchen," she said threateningly, "I've been working on a stew all morning, then I pop out for a few minutes and when I came back half of it was gone. Now I have to cook these ungrateful bastards something else. If it happens again they can go hungry."
"I will pass on the message."
Stunning beauty aside, Wembly was a little scared of Wuffy. He had turned her down for the coodk position the first time he had met her. He was an old fashioned man of the opinion that women didn't belong on dirigibles. As he was leaving the pub he had met her at, he was attacked by three underworlders from the planet Hades. As luck would have it Wuffy had walked out the door right behind him. She dealt with the three grimy scaly bastards with nothing but feet and fists. Needless to say he reconsidered his opinion of women rahter quickly and Uffy had been keeeping him nervous and fed for the last three years.
"You better," she grumbled and walked back down to the galley.
Wembly reached for the mic, intending on giving his crew a rather scathing lecture, then hesitated. His crew had been on crew constantly for the last twelve hours. Whoever was knicking stew wasn't one of them, and it wasn't him.
Wembly smiled, "we have a stowaway. Oh, goody.")
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