"Listen, I've told you everyday for the past week, I don't make goram rocket launchers," Silas sighed, rubbing his face in frustration.

"But what if you [b]did[/b]?" asked a scraggly, slightly unhinged looking goat farmer who was missing one eyebrow. "C'mon! I got the coin," the man persuaded, waggling his lone brow at the gunsmith. 

[i]'I need to get off this planet,'[/i] Silas mused, shooing away the grungy farmer. [i]'Nothin' on this rock but crazies. What does that man even need a rocket launcher for? Is he gonna blow up his livestock?'[/i] The brunette thought, packing up his wares briskly. He glanced over at the shipyard, were there was a single ship docked. It was smoking ominously and it's captain was yelling orders back into the cargo bay at the crew. [i]'Should probably wait for the next one, that thing looks like a death trap.'[/i]

Just as Silas was making plans to stay another night, he spied the goat farmer again, staring at him through the window of the local saloon an waving excitedly. "Nope," Silas mumbled to himself, locking up the crates and making his way over to the ship, nodding at the dreadlocked woman he assumed was in charge.

"Are you taking on travelers?"