Deep Breakfast
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Posted - 2009.07.12 17:56:00 -
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Edited by: Deep Breakfast on 12/07/2009 17:56:45 I find the sales office at the Caldari Guard assembly plant nearly deserted. A few capsuleers are wandering listlessly between the holo-displays buts its obvious that buisness is slow. Walking in, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in a shiny plaque on the wall proudly proclaiming New Eden biusness monthly salesman of the month. The recent upgrade should make an impression, the once deep lines and haunted stare, earned from months stuck alone in a mining barge are gone. The weathered and caloused hands, now soft speak of money and a life of ease.
You see me pause next to the desk-sized model of the charon, molded in solid tritanium and lit by a soft under-glow to reflect light, slowly rotating in its own gravitational containment field . You walk up to me with a brave, but obviously forced nonchalance. I can tell you need this sale, inflation is killing you, the ship market isn't the pedigree horse it used to be, and besides, i can tell your clone is in dire need of upgrading, the shunt in the base of your neck has a decidedly greenish tinge around the edges.
Sure, its a sign that your latest batch of cheap implants didn't take, and your outdated beta is slowly decaying under the accumulated strain that a pilots life puts on a clone, not uncommon, sadly. But the small stream of smoke slowly trickling out of your left nostril is the real giveaway, an effect that is only magnified by the fact that you are seemingly oblivious to the fact that your perception implant is literally on fire.
You grin, its lopsided "you like that model? She's a beaut aint she? Charon, thats what they call her, i heard its named after the engineers ex wife, you know, ***** was big as a charon" nervous laugh
I take a long look at you, i can see the sweat beading on your yellow-tinged forehead "Its a nice ship, I guess"
You look around, then wisper to me conspiritorially,
"I can cut you a great deal on one of thse babies, the dealer really underprice the last order, i can cut you in at 1.5 billion isk, full options, cupholders, moons roof, solid"
Your smile, no doubt, was killer one day, long ago, but the smoke and your rotting neck is a distraction from those pearly whites.
"your face is on fire"
the smile slips a hair
"ok, 1.4 billion"
I walk out, mining has made me a patient man.
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