Save for the speedy work done by Vanessa, very little food was coming out from behind the counter, and some of the other customers were beginning to voice their disdain by politely asking the beleaguered waiter-bots about their food, or loudly commenting about the terrible review they were giving the place on SpaceBook or, in the case of the government-in-exile of the Jolly Junta sat in booth twelve, declaring that they'll annex the whole system if they don't get their ribs soon. These were, of course, idle threats. The military might of the Jolly Junta was eclipsed by the vehicles sitting outside the restaurant, and the number of customers trying to access SpaceBook gummied up the local network.

 [I]Guerlaghiix And The Flaughjinks[/I] were not too pleased about the lack of service either and, seeing Booth Seven get [i]their[/i] food was like waving a red flag to a Henderson's Mega Bull. Dangerous, but also kind of amusing, owing to the lack of coordination endemic to that breed. Guerlaghiix rose from his seat, and kept on rising. He was tall, and spindly with it, as if some cruel genetic engineer had gone out of their way to create the gangliest looking pan-humanoid possible as part of a dare. It had many of the features an alien spotter would associate with a pan-humanoid; two arms, two legs, a slight pot belly to the stomach region and a face that played host to various sensory features. Guerlaghiix had two holes for where eyes ought to go, but only one eye to share between them, as the other was covered up with an oily rag that served, just about, as an eyepatch. His singular eye did, however, allow him to condense two eyes worth of malice and downright grumpiness into one. He was skinny, lacking in muscles and completely unarmed, [i]but[/i] he did have a cool leather jacket with a patch on the back that read "[b]Guerlaghiix & The Flowjinks[/b]", and that sort of apparel tended to inspire a misplaced confidence in the best, and worst, of people.

 "[color=fff79a]What's this? Queue jumpers, eh,[/color]" his voice was difficult to hear, on account of how his head was brushing against the high ceiling and, spotting the newsletter, he snorted, sending a fine cloud of mucus and snot into the air above the crew, "[color=fff79a][i]and[/i] Space Friends too! What're a bunch of...[/color]"

 Guerlaghiix tried to think of an appropriate insult, but it was quite obvious that no single catchy word could be used to encompass the diverse members of the [i]Quest For Flavour[/i], and it had him momentarily stumped. Impulse control and forward planning were two traits bred out of their species at an early point. This was in part because they were indeed created as something of a joke, a point which made the species even more antagonistic and just a little bit more ridiculous.

 "[color=fff79a]...[i]friends[/i] up to? Take my advice, whatever it is, don't bother, me and the boys have it all under control. Since we're all such [i]friends[/i],[/color]" the manner in which he spat the word out suggested that he didn't exactly consider them friends, or it could simply be an unfortunate speech impediment, it was hard to be certain, "[color=fff79a]how about I take some of them fries?[/color]"

 One long arm reached down to take a bowl of sweet potato fries. Guerlaghiix's six long fingers wriggled in anticipation. The restaurant held it's breath, before a technician out back began to beat the air circulatory system with a hammer, cursing the day the manager installed the Dramatic Tension module into the AI that maintained the life support systems.