[h2]George Melons - Nox[/h2]

George Melons popped out from his little hidey-hole, foaming at the mouth. The Med-X had not interacted well with the Mindbreaker Toxin, and the trip was going south. An amiable looking negro approached, and said something about meat wagons... Meat sounded good right now, sure.

"My apologies, gentle magic black man, I haven't time for your wagons of meat! I'm on the run from the 'Star Fleet', and right now that involves laying low on a backwoods piece of shit world like this one, and stealing someone's identity! Any of you lacking a paper trail?" George Melons produced a sharpened trowel from the back of his pants, and held it up menacingly. "I swear to fucking god, give me your driver's license or I'll cut you six ways to Saturday!" he was trembling now. The three bystanders in front of him had begun metamorphosing into half-Predator, half-Gorilla creatures, and that wasn't something he wanted to be involved with. "Now hand over your valuables, all of you. Start with the jewels, then move on to drinks, then drugs... Actually, drugs first. Then jewels, then drinks... No no. Drugs, drinks, jewels. Yeah. FINAL OFFER!" the trowel was now dangerously close to Shivani's throat region. "You got any drugs, you Tajaran FUCK? Huh? Long way from Adoh'mai, aren't we? GIVE ME THE FUCKING DRUGS!"