According to the dice just now, the medical assistant is an Alien Killjoy ā¦ vulcan / mimbari (religious caste) compatible. 
I guess Iām on my own. Plunging ahead!
Andā¦ Ohhhh. Thatās what an Alien Killjoy is. I didnāt know: Iāve just been talking like that because thatās how I always write.
Kiflicker seemed riveted to the floor. Apparently, the idea of going to do routine maintenance had bored him, literally, to sleep. It was just as well. From Dinyās experience, reporters were such untrustworthy folk anyway.
Diny paced back down the corridor to where the last of the cool air was rapidly diffusing, and spotted a crewman wearing an Ensignās insignia exiting the InstaLift. After a moment, he recognized the person in question, and called out, āEnsign Umpirson!ā
The Ensign hesitated, and then walked toward Diny. āYes, Mr. A-Loon?ā
āActually, Ensign, itās pronounced āA-low-on,ā but that is beside the point. I was wondering if you could accompany me to the Chemistry Lab, as it looks like that may be the source of the temperature anomaly that the ship is experiencing.ā
The Ensign did not look happy about the idea, so Diny decided to appeal to his emotional side. He adopted his approximation of a sad expression . āPlease, Ensign. I made a bad first impression on the Chief Engineer when I came aboard, and, in order to be useful to the ship, I need to repair my reputation. Please, Rand,ā he addressed the Ensign by his first name, in an attempt to build familiarity, ācan you please assist me?ā
Ensign Umpirson wavered for a moment, and then capitulated. āFine. Fine! Iāll go help you fix the stupid temperature anomaly. But you owe me, A-Loon.ā
Not wanting to risk being losing his escort down to the Lab, Diny Alloon did not correct Ensign Rand Umpirsonās pronunciation again.
A few minutes later, after an uneventful InstaLift ride, the two arrived at the Chemistry Lab, and examined the blood, charred flesh, and corroded metal at the maintenance hatch.
Spend one AP and roll to try to figure out what happened here. Charlie, Delta, Bravo.
3 Likes
##Allās Beep That Beeps Beep##
Rolling vs all 3. 6 + 1 + 3 = 10 / 3 = 3.33ā¦ round 3. 3 +1 (AP) = 4. Pretty good success.
Diny discovers Maxwell ( @uphill ) just past a pile of steaming chemical mess, staring at a device.
Iām putting it in my bug file that I need to explain the species. 
And the rolling procedure. Assuming I donāt change the rolling procedure.
1 Like
"āMild Failure,ā quoth the SpiffyWiff,"muttered Shank. āJust look at this suit! If I ever see that crooked semihemiquartermaster again, Iāll stitch fresh lapels outta his eyelids!ā
Clad only in his graying skivvies, sparking uniform whites balled up under his arm, Shank crept down the starboard corridor of D Deck, sweating and cursing. It only took a momentās calculation for him to reason that getting caught out of uniform on a weekday (even while technically off-duty) would earn him measurably fewer hours of drudge-detail labor than getting caught in a wrinkled, stained uniform that still emitted slightly painful sparks around the battery-collar. Of course, if anyone saw him, theyād laugh him straight out of the serviceā¦ but laziness trumped dignity every time.
And as a direct result of that, he was cheered to realize that the semidemiquartermasterās tertiary backup stores were directly across the corridor from the same maintenance hatch heād had occasion to visit earlier that eveningā¦ the one serving Coolant Overflow Tank 6-S.
The corridor was deserted. Shank used a wadded-up section of still-sparking uniform sleeve to wipe condensation off the view-panel. He squinted at the faintly-glowing green coolant. Couldnāt really tell if it was still circulating or not. Couldnāt in fact tell if the not-quite-stifling air of the corridor was warmer near the coolant hatch or not. He decided to risk an investigatory touch to the hatch.
Roll Alpha and Echo to see if Shank can detect whether the excess heat is coming from the ship enginesā coolant or not.
2 Likes
In The Heat Of The Right Hatch
6 + 2 = 8 / 2 = 4. Mild success.
Chancreās McGuffinā¢ Detectorometer and hand indicate that the hatch is not particularly hot.
AP: 1 (3 total)
1 Like
Diny looked into the maintenance hatch and saw someone ā in civilian clothes, like himself ā fiddling around with something. He would really appreciate having a sidearm right now, but civilians arenāt generally allowed to carry weapons on a military vessel.
He decided that conversation was the better idea at this point ā he would undoubtedly sustain injury from crawling through the corroded hatchway, still steaming from the effects of the acid. Besides, if it were a bomb, he doubted that whoever was responsible for the heatwave would bother cooking the crew before vacuum-sealing them and freeze-drying them, and it was a ridiculous notion to suppose that multiple people trying to sabotage the ship at once in unrelated efforts.
āI do beg your pardon,ā Diny said, ābut what is that device that you are looking at?ā
He turned to ask Ensign Umpirson if he had an opinion on the device, but the Ensign had vanished, leaving only the sound of rapid footfalls echoing down the corridor. He must have concluded that the device was a bomb. Humans, Diny thought, never able to apply simple logic under pressure, as his highly trained smug sense of superiority took over and prevented him from running down the hall after the Ensign with his tail between his legs.
3 Likes
āIt appears to be some sort of doohickyā, said Maxwell, turning to face the smug looking alien killjoy standing on the other side of the corrosion. āIt beeps.ā he added helpfully.
āThere are wires coming out of it that seem to be running into this circuit box and some flashing red lights underneath - it clearly doesnāt belong here, but I havenāt been able to work out what it is yet. Do you have any ideas?ā
2 Likes
Diny leaned forward to get a better look, trying to avoid the corroded metal.
He studied the device and the area it was attached to, trying to determine the function of the device and the circuit box it was attached to. Roll: Alpha Foxtrot Echo.
1 Like
And, Iām out of time, and give for the weekend. Soā¦ nap time!
Diny still could not get a good enough view of the device to see anything. He leaned closer, over the threshold of the hatchway, and saw another red light, on a device almost identical to the one the other contractor had been studying, flashing out of the corner of his eye. As he passed the threshold, the light turned green. Out of pure reflex, Diny was able to pull his head back before the hatch slammed shut with the force of a guillotine.
Overbalanced from the sudden backward motion, Diny collapsed into his back, the wind getting knocked out of him. He stayed calm and, after a few seconds, managed to get his lungs working normally. As he inhaled, a strange, sweet odour invaded his nostrils.
Dinyās eyes widened and he quickly looked around, dizzy as his head spun with sudden motion. Even blurred, his vision confirmed that he was the only one now present in the corridors: he was fair game for the ship to attack him again. Diny struggled to sit up, but weakness was spreading through his limbs, and he soon ended up back on his back.
If it only werenāt so hot, was his last thought before losing consciousness.
The shipās computer immediately noticed the contractorās loss of consciousness and took the appropriate action: it issued another demerit to the long list on Specialist Alloonās record, this one for sleeping while on duty, and put a note into the system to dock him the appropriate pay for the transgression.
3 Likes
Webinet of Probably Bad Thingsā¢
Roll vs Civilian Specialist, Alien Killjoy, and Annoying Parents. 4 + 5 + 5 = 14 / 3 = 4.66 round 4. Mild Success.
Diny successfully detects that a non-standard piece of hardware has been installed ā¦ and likely hasnāt been logged properly either. Tsk tsk.
He probably told Maxwell ( @uphill ) before his sudden, unauthorized (but strangely unnoticed) nap.
1 Like
Otto, MedBay, Finally Conscious
Ottoās left-most eye was the first to open (he was always left quadrant dominant, while not atypical for the Laugher race, it was extremely beneficial for Laugher anatomy to be so, due to the transdermal ridge-bone in each Laugherās left arm. While sub-dermal, save for when flooded with Floo, the majority of Laughers only ever used it as a last line of self-defense, but those whose left quad was dominant, they could use it offensively with great and horrifying effect ā it was one of the key natural contributors that led to his promotion to the rank of Spartan during the Great Harkonnen Wars) and the sudden onslaught of intense lighting triggered his visual shield reflex to draw hardened lenses over all six of his normally yellow eyes,
even the closed ones, which both turned them red to observer but also essentially caused Protanopia as the redness came from the spectrum of light they reflected.
His eyes, distributed along the upper two-thirds of his long bull-like snout, in two rows of three and each with a small and relatively indistinguishable pair of nasal slits between them, popped open in a quick circular pattern. Again favoring the left. His Laugher muscles suddenly tensed and his hands sprayed open and slammed for purchase on either side of him to lift his upper body off the Med-Bed.
As his left hand hit the counter, it found the fork from his pocket and it suddenly snapped him back, his ocular shields retracted, he let out a deep breath from all six of his nostrils which flared with the force of it and he saw a slender blue-skinned Dr at the foot of the bed with her long skinny fingers drawn up to her face which was still frozen in a mask of horror.
āFortunately the Floo hadnāt flownā he thought to himself, otherwise his rage would have been unstoppable, satiated only by his thirst, The Hunger. This Hunger, which was akin to a religion for the Laugher race, was a primary contributor for most of the governing races that have ever witnessed Laugher Hunger to abuse it for militaristic endeavors.
āA bob you say?ā he said rising from the Med-Bed, now fully composed and back to being his normal, nonthreatening and, for a Laugher, rather unintimidating self.
āY-Y-Y-Yes?ā replied Dr. Marx, starting to relax, though still stepping back and givig him a wide berth as he stood up and adjusted the McGuffin Standard Issueā¢ Jump Suit. While his healing factor used DNA memory to preserve long-term memories during the rebuild process, short-term memories were always lost with any major head trauma, yet having experienced this many times before he had learned it best to not think about what may have been lost.
āI think you would look perfect in a Bob Dr. Marx ā I even think a spot of color might help bring out your eyes. If youāll meet me at the Barbershop Bulkhead, Iāll be along momentarily because I have a nagging suspicion that Iāll be in need of Barricade ā and I use my own recipe you see, and Chem Lab is on the way. Iāll be mere moments behind you.ā and with a wide grin, showing dozens of small, pointed teeth he tried to reassure the good Dr, but the look on her face reminded him that not everyone liked the Laugher Smile.
As Otto turned to follow the Dr out of the Med Bay, he put the fork in his pocket and closed the door behind him. Typical with all McGuffin Standard Issueā¢ Jump Suits, the pockets were just stenciled on ā and the fork fell to the floor, with the metallic TING echoing just as the door slammed shut.
When Otto reached the Chem Lab, he noticed that the T junction on the far side of the ship was dark, burnt and in ill repair. His inferior nasal slit picked up the slight olfactory indicator of his Laugher anatomy, cooked into barely recognizable atomized mixtures with strong overtones of sulfur.
With a fresh keg of Homemade Barbicide (blue CuraƧao) over his left shoulder, Otto reached the Barbershop Bulkhead and was caught off-guard by his āback in 10minā sign on the floor by the door, which was open. He had told Dr. Marx to meet him here, not to go in! This territorial disrespect suddenly caused all the dermal horns along his spine to stand erect, and as he turned and entered the bulkhead he was met by a dizzying sight.
The room was a shambles! Hair was on the floor, his scissors, removed from his McGuffen Palm Navigator ā which itself was also on the floor, shattered and no-longer sending emails ā were lying open on his white barber jacket with the wrong collar which had blue stains on it. The Dr. had already helped herself to what little Barbicide remained!?!?!
He looked up at Dr. Marx, who was stammering āIām s-s-so sorry, I f-f-found it like thisā, but it was too late. The indignity of being downgraded from Dentist to Barber was bad, but to have a Dr disrespect him so by using all of his amenities ā and why, to lure him here to show him how much better at cutting hair a Doctor was than a Dentist?!
-Internal Voice: Oh I Knows Whatās Nexts!
Instinctively, and with incredible mental exertion and focus, he reached for his fork - whose metallic scraping on his cranial horns could soothe him back into self-control ā but where he expected his fork to be, his hand found nothingā¦
-Internal Voice: Itās Mys Turns Nows!
One by one his eyes turned red. All six of his nasal slits flared so his nostrils, now fully protruded, are three times normal sized and drawing in event the faintest scent to his 1.8 Billion olfactory receptors. The anatomical response continued as all of his Traskillian-Floo Pockets emptied. Initially flooding into his trans-dermal cranial horns, engorging all six of them eight-fold until each were the size of a human forearm and glowing a deep vermilion - then flooding his system with an organic accelerant that made human adrenaline seem a sedative by comparison.
-Internal Voice: Noooooooo!!!!
The Hunger, now unleashed, the Otto-Rage-Monster leapt from the bulkhead door and through Dr. Marx in a fraction of a second. His cranial horns piercing the good Dr. and reaching a good eight centimeters into the tri-titanium bulkhead wall beyond. His nostrils inhaled her blue blood and, his jaw, dislocating to increase the size of his mouth, which now flooded with Floo, had over-sized teeth protruding through his cheeks cutting them each time he took a bite from the ever decreasing Dr. Marx.
-Internal Voice: IāVE nggggh,GOT TO
ā¦but it was too late, Dr. Marx was gone and The Hunger barely noticed. He rampaged around the Barbershop destroying everything.
-Internal Voice: REGAIN nggggh, CONTROL. Nggggh.
With The Hunger now being fed by Traskillian-Floo, whose pockets hadnāt been emptied in more than a dozen cycles, the Floo was much stronger and his ability to withstand and overcome its effects a dim and distant memory
As the Otto-Rage-Monster emerged from the Barbershop bulkhead, the ship suddenly changed the frequency of the overhead lighting in Ottoās immediate field of view, pulsing everything between the 495nm and 570nm range and over-intensifying everything above the 620nm ranges, creating the effect of a clear path for this rage monster to follow.
Roll Alpha-Bravo to avoid an unfortunate, yet ship OS encouraged, encounter with Diny. (@nimelennar sorry!!)
Roll remaining alphabet to be distracted by any other protein based scent if the above roll fails.
Iām going to have to leave Otto in Rage Mode for a bit cuz my health is taking a turn, so as much as I want to participate, itās getting incredibly hard to be creative, let alone positive : ( - heās free to roam the ship as an unfortunate encounter or finally achieve control and retreat to his personal bunk in shame after seeing what heās done. Or the Brig, thatās the typical place for a raging Laugher to wake up. Iāll rejoin as soon as Iām able, but next week or so is looking to be pretty grim on this end.
4 Likes
Shank blinks at the disturbingly not-distant-enough roars of frustrated-dentist rage, the banging and crashing, the screaming and gurgling, the tearing and slurpingā¦ and decides heād better don something sturdier than last weekās underwear.
Roll Beta and Delta to see if he remembers how to pick his way into the semidemiquartermasterās stores.
Oops! I accidentally called him a frustrated barber rather than dentist! I hope I edited that before he heard me!
3 Likes
##Newtonās Law: Article 1##
Rolling vs Spambot and Spartan Laugher. 2 + 4 = 6 / 2 = 3. Mild Success.
Otto doesnāt successfully doesnāt find Diny. He does, however, smash the captainās favorite coffee mug. Hereās hoping she takes a very long nap indeed.
AP: 1 (3 total)
Thanks for playing as long as you did. Iāve been keeping up with Eff Today so I appreciate your contribution all the more. Feel free to hop back into the action again when youāre able.
2 Likes
Task too easy to roll for. 
Gloves Actually
An ensign with an immaculately pressed uniform and every hair in perfect place glances at Lieutenant Chancre and tries not to break her concentration on the perfect posture. She frowns for a moment.
āSir, I hope this isnāt too ā¦ blunt. But I think you may want to requisition a new uniform.ā She puts a hand beside her mouth and whispers, āUse the one on the aft section. Malkins just got the micro-weaver repaired.ā
The Otto-Rage-Monsterās howls GAR-Ooooooooo! GAR-OOOOOOOoooo-gah! echo through the ship and the (now quadruped) ra-da-da-THUMP! ra-da-da-THUMP of the raging Spartin Laugher rumbles the bulkheads as Shank (@Donald_Petersen) hurriedly looks for something better suited to the current situation than his underoosā¦
āmissed it by thaaat muchā ; )
2 Likes
cheers mate
I should have mentioned that this particular storeroom isnāt just for general-issue uniforms. Iām breaking out a pressurized EVA/CQB battle harness, if I can roll past the S.H.Q.-Masterās combo lock. That roar is loud!
The Universe Fails Accounting Roll In Your Favor
6 + 1 = 7 / 2 = 3.5 round 3. Mild Success.
Itās the latest model. There may be ā¦ quirks. But it will certainly protect against almost most things.
1 Like
##Player Poll##
@chaz1 @daneel @Donald_Petersen @jamesnsc @nimelennar @uphill
Iām thinking of changing Impudenceās rolling scheme so instead of averaging the rolls (which tends to limit criticals in either direction), every roll happens against your species. Your rank or upbringing add or subtract one depending on the context (e.g. -1 for Space Pirates in Space Court, +1 in hand-to-hand combat).
- Change now
- Change for next time
- New rolling scheme seems terrible
- I have no opinion but like voting for things
- I have another idea and will PM or spoiler tag below ā¦ but I like voting for things
0 voters
Also adding this to the notes:
Species
- Human ā Mostly harmless. Unremarkable biped. Must be doing something right since thereās so many of them around.
- Telepath ā Telepathy is mostly useless and annoying. They are often oversharers. But sometimes members of this species will be really secretive. Which makes others nervous.
- Killbot ā Robots made to fight in battle in the place of humans. Remorseless. Except when they arenāt. Which would have been a problem during the robot wars. But now they donāt get their OS reimaged when they develop a conscience.
- Laughing Warrior (Formerly known as Spartan Laughers but this was confusing) ā Battle hardened physique, often have a crass sense of humor, and like to party hard. If no bones were broken, it wasnāt their kind of party. Usually. Some of them apply a warrior mentality to things other than fighting. Like engineering. Or decorating tea kettles.
- Killjoy ā This species has a reputation for infuriating factualness and aloofness. The exceptions are many but eccentric and not well appreciated by other members of their species.
Iām not clear on this whole mechanic, nor why itās a Discourse thing. Iām used to using @gwwarās @discbot random-die-rolling bot, but can someone point me to an explanation of this whole pick-some-of-six-dice thing? I donāt mind using it, and Iām only asking out of curiosity, but itās not familiar to me.
1 Like
