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[right][hr][color=white][b][b]Meal Hall, Fortuna | In Transit[/b][/b][/color]
February 21st, 3061[hr][/right]
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[color=9e0b0f]“Whole day’s full of luxuries, doc. ”[/color] Mox chimed, popping another cube into her mouth. Chewing and swallowing without pulling a face was an exercise in discipline. [color=9e0b0f]“It’s just about jumpin' the lil’ gaps between them.”[/color]

Life on the Vox Fortuna could be tumultuous in the best of times, but that was the lot, right? If the worst thing that happened to her today was that her food needed more salt, well, that’d be just peachy. 

It would also be a fair sight better than what [i]William’s[/i] day was shaping up to be. She listened to the doc pitch her latest medical scheme to him, and he, of course, ate it all up without a second thought, or so much as an inkling as to what it actually was. That did more to test Mox’s composure than a plate full of bland gray cubes. Theirs was not a tight ship, beholden to the rules and regulations of proper civilization. No one was going to slap doc Thompson with a malpractice suit for…going a few extra miles. She was a smart woman, no doubt, and every synonym for cunning, but there was something in the way she handled herself, how she fit into the shoddy little world around them that seemed [i]off.[/i] 

It reminded Mox of people she didn’t know anymore. In a way, it made her hate Andrea Thompson, deeply. 

[color=9e0b0f]“Don’t prick’im too hard, doc,”[/color] Mox said with a flawless grin. [color=9e0b0f]“Heaven knows we need the lil’ chicken-bot out there.”[/color][/indent][/indent][/indent]