02-27-2018, 07:50 AM
Satisfied that Dan wouldn't !!!¡!rudely!¡!!!¡ interrupt again, Scrubsey turned back to Rooster, ignoring the heavy sigh from Hammer.
ST-JD3, otherwise known as 'Scrubsey' by the rest of her force, knew all about corn. For instance, she knew that it was kinda hard to find the stuff in Coruscant in its hard-shelled form, preferably bagged-up and cracked. She also knew that the small population of ducks on a little pond at least five city blocks away from HQ loved corn, and that she felt obligated to lug the stuff over there every twenty four hours for the enjoyment of her feathered friends. Ducks, Scrubsey had learned, were remarkably good listeners, and could be cajoled into a perfect routine with offerings of snacks.
Basically, those web-footed quackers were the antithesis of the troopers she had to work with. She didn't even know if her colorful sticky note reminders (carefully stashed inside helmets almost every day) were working, seeing as she had observed Granny using them as coasters to rest coffee mugs on. She was also pretty sure Shard pinned them to the wall to use as target practice. Still, Scrubsey soldiered on, answering phones and trying to ensure everyone around her stayed well-nourished and hydrated. It was definitely her calling, even if she still found discarded and highly dangerous weaponry left in the locker room showers at least twice a week.
Not that she didn't, like, like her cohorts, but it got pretty nerve-wracking when things were blowing up 24/7 because Fuse apparently had a nervous tic called PSYCHOPATHY. Plus, snacks didn't really do... Well, anything to improve workplace efficiency, which just stunk on so many levels.
Anyway. Scrubsey was eager to hear all about Rooster's corn, because as far as she was concerned, corn chops were harder to smuggle through Coruscant's tiers than whatever illicit items the rebel scum were always peddling around.
Rooster just stared at her, having not expected this kind of reaction from... uh, anyone. And how had she even heard him from across the room? Did Scrubsey have supersonic hearing or something?
He shook his head, hunching over his coffee a bit. "Er, to tell you the truth, Scrubsey, there's not much to say. The stuff brought all kinds of nasty stuff to my front porch. Birds, rats, snakes—"
"Were there ducks?" Scrubsey asked with way too much eagerness, still crazy invested in the conversation.
"... You know, I think there were a few."
ST-JD3, otherwise known as 'Scrubsey' by the rest of her force, knew all about corn. For instance, she knew that it was kinda hard to find the stuff in Coruscant in its hard-shelled form, preferably bagged-up and cracked. She also knew that the small population of ducks on a little pond at least five city blocks away from HQ loved corn, and that she felt obligated to lug the stuff over there every twenty four hours for the enjoyment of her feathered friends. Ducks, Scrubsey had learned, were remarkably good listeners, and could be cajoled into a perfect routine with offerings of snacks.
Basically, those web-footed quackers were the antithesis of the troopers she had to work with. She didn't even know if her colorful sticky note reminders (carefully stashed inside helmets almost every day) were working, seeing as she had observed Granny using them as coasters to rest coffee mugs on. She was also pretty sure Shard pinned them to the wall to use as target practice. Still, Scrubsey soldiered on, answering phones and trying to ensure everyone around her stayed well-nourished and hydrated. It was definitely her calling, even if she still found discarded and highly dangerous weaponry left in the locker room showers at least twice a week.
Not that she didn't, like, like her cohorts, but it got pretty nerve-wracking when things were blowing up 24/7 because Fuse apparently had a nervous tic called PSYCHOPATHY. Plus, snacks didn't really do... Well, anything to improve workplace efficiency, which just stunk on so many levels.
Anyway. Scrubsey was eager to hear all about Rooster's corn, because as far as she was concerned, corn chops were harder to smuggle through Coruscant's tiers than whatever illicit items the rebel scum were always peddling around.
Rooster just stared at her, having not expected this kind of reaction from... uh, anyone. And how had she even heard him from across the room? Did Scrubsey have supersonic hearing or something?
He shook his head, hunching over his coffee a bit. "Er, to tell you the truth, Scrubsey, there's not much to say. The stuff brought all kinds of nasty stuff to my front porch. Birds, rats, snakes—"
"Were there ducks?" Scrubsey asked with way too much eagerness, still crazy invested in the conversation.
"... You know, I think there were a few."
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Gamzee Makara Wrote:S’aight. After all, dogs have a tendency to motherfuckin’ bite.