>>5202605Her lips pull back in a nervous grimace. “There’s a chemist in the middle district who managed to rediscover how to make and process raw film. But the cost for custom packs for my camera…eh, it’s beyond most peoples’ budgets. Even with more SX-70s on the market.”
“Oh, crap. How much?”
“You and I could easily afford it,” she begins, “But for the rest of the ship’s compliment…”
Had you been drinking anything, the number she gives you would have caused you to choke. “Jesus Christ!”
“Yeah, it’s…an expensive hobby,” admits Gully with a wince. “But I get a good deal. Two packs of thirty sets me for most of the year. I’m…picky with what I choose to photograph.”
One would hope, at the highway robbery that chemist is charging her.
But the talk for cost falls to the wayside as she once again resumes cleaning her camera. She doesn’t get too far before she pauses, looking at you. “Didn’t you want to know about the Polaroid?”
You blink, taken aback before the words reach your brain. And with a smile, you agree. “Yeah, I do.”
“Come on over, then,” she says, patting the cushion adjacent to her. “Let’s see if we can’t add camera technician to your resume.”
You do so, easing into the leather with an eager smile. “Challenge accepted.”
“Mmhmmm. If you break anything, I'll kill you,” declares Gully with that same straightforward expression.
You laugh nervously. “Dully noted.”
“By the way, the book that you brought in…”
“Oh, it’s a Charles Dickens novel. <span class="mu-i">Tale of Two Cities</span>. Classic pre, pre-Cataclysm literature.”
“…who’s Charles Dickens?”
…hoo boy.
…turns out that outside of PUEXO piloting, there’s things that neither of you are that well-versed in.
>…>…you spend the rest of the late afternoon and evening with Gully in the pilot common room.>…together, you learn from her how to service a Polaroid instant camera, and in turn regale her about the literary genius that is Charles Dickens.>>The following morning…>>Day 3 of Salvage Expedition to [???]You yawn, stretching the cricks and cracks out of your neck, back and spine. “Another day, another…fucking hell.”
Your reflection in the mirror echoes that sentiment. Morosely, you run through the motions of freshening up. The “toothpaste” isn’t even the real deal, a lathery combination of seashells and soda-ash, mixed in a little tureen of fluoride.
“How many more days?” you bemoan as you shuffle out the door.
>For the sake of expedition, I will narrow the choice to workstations you haven’t done yet.>After which, I will give you options to spend time with a heroine of your choice: Gully, Holt or [???].>>Where do you wish to work for today? [Choose one]>Galley/Mess. The soul of the ship, where her crew comes to eat and relax.>Security Detail. The contingent of marines who keep the ship safe and secure.<span class="mu-s">[VOTE OPEN FOR SEVEN (7) HOURS]</span>
