Summary:
>>5949592>If we wander around *insert poor, sketchy neighbourhood name* right around the corner will we be able to safely find a fence that will give us a decent price for our Zlatino titty fluid barrels?[WEAK YES]
>>5949603>"Is the Zlatino Tech-Guild doing tech-heresy?"[UNCERTAIN]
>>5949606>"Can we get more Zlatino barrels to capture?"[NO]
>>5949622> Should I bring Aleta along when I offer my services to the Ecclesiarchy?[UNCERTAIN]
>>5949651>Did Aleta have an important identity before she became a Servitor?[EXTREME NO]
>>5949803>Are the Zlatino fluids useful in the care and maintenance of Aleta?[EXTREME YES]
>>5949807>Will the church be happy if we brought Aleta in with us for prayer?>[UNCERTAIN]-
Yesterday's escape from the casino and your sleepiness had left you with little time to inspect your loot.
Kneeling, you scrutinized the plastic containers. Each bore labels and seals in High Gothic sprawled across them in bold, imposing letters – somewhat decipherable thanks to your modestly fluent Low Gothic skills. Below it the titles, a sea of technical jargon swam beyond comprehension. The seals bore the inscriptions "Approved - Vassioport (something)" and "Chemical (something) - Vassioport (something)".
"Aleta, do you know what these are?" you asked, figuring that she might have some idea.
"Of course, Mr. Anon," she replied, emotionless. Then, a sudden mechanical whirring filled the air, followed by a jarringly cheerful jingle. You braced yourself.
"When it comes to quality, there's only one name to trust: Zlatino!" Aleta's voice boomed in a pre-recorded, overly enthusiastic tone. Her eyes glazed over momentarily as she transformed into a walking advertisement.
"This is... Synthetic Blood Fluid! Keep your servitor in tip-top shape with this convenient product! Simply apply to designated port, and voila! No specialist Tech-Priest required!" Aleta gestured towards one of the barrels with a metallic hand.
The pre-recorded voice continued, "General Fat Imitation Oil... Bust Volume Imitation Oil!..." Aleta thrust her chest out with the last one, gears whirring faintly. "...and! -"
Suddenly, Aleta froze. Her voice became flat, devoid of emotion. "In-house military-grade lubricant 213-J-Gamma, internal use only, not for sale." The commercial jingle abruptly cut off.
Then, with a snap, Aleta was back to her artificially cheerful self. "Import your Zlatino products from anywhere! Use them anywhere! And remember: Quality guaranteed!"
Finally, the jingle played again, and Aleta blinked, snapping out of her commercial trance. "There you have it, Mr. Anon," she said in her usual monotone.
"Right." you muttered, wondering about the whole 'military grade' thing. You raised a brow at the labels. Anyways, why sell separate the bust and fat oils if they were both well, just fat, no? Maybe the marketing ploy worked better that way? You wouldn't know, of course. Your knowledge of feminine anatomy was purely "academic".
