"[color=#d9d9d9]Girlfriend? I, ah, would, um, I mean to say, it's not like that, yet,[/color]" the cleaning robot, wearing a single sock, scrambled up on to one of the mostly-empty chairs in the bridge, scattering a few of the bees to see somewhere else to sit. The face of the robot, which was positively beaming with excitement when it bounded into the bridge a moment earlier, now looked embarrassed. Shy, even. It studiously avoided making eye contact with any bee, which involved quite a bit of work, considering that there were quite so many of them.

 "[color=#d9d9d9]I mean, I don't want to jinx it, maybe eventually. She likes me for my intellect, and I hope, um, she'll like Fiddlesticks for his, for his, um, his,[/color]" the voice shifted to a much lower volume, and the robot spoke [i]very[/i] quickly for a moment, "[color=#d9d9d9][i]his hot bod[/i] and then maybe, we can both change our SpaceBook relationship status. I'll use an ear-piece, that's a great idea![/color]"

 "[color=#d9d9d9]Better than those other plans. Less messy too.[/color]"

[hr] 

The Engine stuttered, then roared into life. The ship shuddered, then sank. From the view of an outsider, it was as if the ship was sucked through some invisible straw, and then nothing. It had gone from the Real, where everything moved slowly enough that it made [i]some[/i] sort of sense, to the Unreal, which made about as much sense as Restilov's post-surrealist epic poem "[i]Eschatology & Symbology: The Meaning Behind Asparagus[/i]" after it'd been translated into H67-B, a written language that has no agreed upon alphabet.

 Within the ship, the outside looked similar but strange, a negative image of the space they were just in. Black stars flicker against a backdrop of blinding white. Translucent shapes moved about somewhere outside, pressing their amorphous forms up against a soap bubble that contained the ship, the occupants of the ship and, should it hold, nothing else. There was little sense of movement on the ship itself now, even as it cut a path through the Unreal. Planets and stars and creatures the size of planets and stars drifted into view, and out of view. Occasionally, you might catch a glimpse of other ships cutting their way through the Unreal, little black spots suspended in tear-drop bubbles of familiarity and safety, chased by a host of hungry, many-tentacled [i]things[/i]. Fortunately, there were no windows looking directly behind the Quest for Flavour to check whether such a monstrous thing was following the ship.

 Quiet lounge music played over the speakers. It was supposed to be soothing.