When Comments Get Out of Control

I treasure my comment sections. However, the comments from my previous blog post took on a life of their own. And my imagination started to spiral out of control. I spent the day at work watching them come in and eventually, this is what I envisioned:

Several pilots were scattered around the room. Round tables occupied one end. On the other, couches sat under a market screen that ticked with the current buy and sell orders for ore, minerals, and unrefined moon material. Atop a battered couch, her short cropped hair a pale blue halo about her head, a woman rested her cheek on a view port and watched a fleet of Tristan dock.

The door slammed open. "Everyone wants a battleship post!" snarled a man. He shrugged out of a jacket and headed to the bar. "You offer them a mining barge and no, they are to good for it. I sat there and watched at least a two dozen turn down perfectly good barge listings one after another."

Music drifted up from the old fashioned jukebox in the center of the room. It cast a shadow over a figure tucked int the dark recesses of a couch. "That's why I don't even go out anymore. It isn't worth it."

"You just hav' ta teach them adventure!" boomed a man from the bar. Tall and broad of shoulder a mane of greyed dreadlocks cascaded down his back. "You gotta give'm a reason ta fly!" A mug of frothy brew waved around but the only drops fell into its owners mouth as he took a deep swig of the rich brew. "Then they flock to you and they'll do annathing!"

The door burst open again. Bright eyed and cropped headed, the man staggered in under an immense burden of paperwork. He dumped them down on the first table he came to with a flourish and wiped sweat from his brow. "This is the newest roster. I've created a new calculation that takes into account the experience of the crew member as well as the efficiency of your ship. If you look here on page twenty-six..."

Intrigued, the dreadlocked man stalked over the plush carpet and picked up a binder. "This is incredible," he boomed.

"Did you use a computer to compile this?" Neatness dripped from him. His jacket impeccable with its gold and green leafing, his bearing Caldari businessman, a man drifted away from the market screens. "I'm not a fan of machines judging people." The lights from the changing stock prices gave him an aura as his calculated tread crossed the flood without a sound.

"Not at all. I believe in educating your crew instead of using them as a comedy." His file still open determination filled his stance as he squared off against the taller Caldari. "This study has laid around incomplete for years because people don't want to embrace what we are already using."

"They kind of are a comedy." Chocolate skinned she slipped away from the  market listings and picked up one of the binders. With a slender finger she paged through them her blue tatoos accenting her intense focus. "You can get them to do anything you want for ISK."

"That's because they are here to get wealthy, as are we all!"

"Not me," said the shadowed man. "I'm here for the music."

"Wealth is a concept not all will understand," murmured the sharply dressed Caldari. His boots glittered in the light.

"These calculations will improve it for everyone." He picked up one of the files and flipped to a page. "The algorithms are very simple and pull from factors that we already use but this optimizes them."

"Not me," said the guy in the shadows.

The chocolate skinned woman licked a long finger and held it up. "The winds tell me that you are angry." She walked back to the bar and pulled out a can of finger nail polish and began to lacquer on a scarlet coating to her nails. "You don't like people or something?"

"I like few things but good music."

"I don't like people," said the blue haired woman. "It frustrates me that I have to pay people to run a ship I can run on my own."

"Lass! You can't run a ship like that on your own. It is not that you are not competent," he said hastily when one blue brow arched, "It's the strain of it is to much for a singular person."

"I agree. You cannot expect a computer to understand you well enough."

"I like the taste of nail polish," announced the woman at the bar and began to sip from the tiny jar. "It tastes like cherries and tears."

"Madam, that is not a drink." Grey haired and broad of jaw another pilot entered the fray. He neatly took the bottle of polish away from the chocolate skinned woman and ordered her a Black Rise Blush. "If someone wants to go out alone, they can."

"What happened to the music?" asked a slender, dark haired woman. She had seemed to be asleep on a couch but lifted her head and cracked open heavily lashed eyes. "It was nice.

"I dismantled it," said the finely dressed Caldari as he rose from a crouch and tugged his shirt straight. "It had to many decision making capabilities. I'm way of anything more complex than a mix tape."

"I think that a crew is worth the time. I'm going to look at these algorithms and compare it to how well they drink at the bar," said the dreadlocked man. "I like humanity in my humans."

"I say we stop wasting our money. I fly my ship without a crew and I do damn well," said a pilot who had remained quiet during the rest of the interchange. "I use drones and they are just as good if not better!"

"Where are you docked?" asked the finely dressed man.

"Burble glurp," said the chocolate skinned woman as she downed her drink.

"Maybe I'll just stay in dock for bit," muttered the blue haired woman.

***

If you can't figure out who is who, check some avatars. :)

I love all of you, my commenters. Even my anon ones.