MSNPC Zebba: I think I'm going to stop asking questions for a while.

[Darwin Awkward]

((Bridge - Deck 1 - USS Eagle-A))

Soon enough, the jellyfish in a robot suit left to his mission, leaving Zebba to mumble in his seat.

Zebba: Now, could someone tell me what you people are doing to our moon, exactly?

Stendhal: We were trying to save your #beep# ... I can't say that, well your bottom.

The Alomian looked somewhat nonplussed by that exotic turn of phrase.

Zebba: ... I have no idea what the sea floor has to do with anything. Try again?

Stendhal: Something is abusing your moon, not us, and the fallout will be catastrophic for your planet and everyone on it, Brotherhood included, everything included, even batteries.... Forgive my lack of diplomacy; that mind connection attempt left me with a massive headache and very little patience for formalities. :: She shrugged.:: Are you ready for your kind of Sto-vo-kor, mr Zibbo... ::evil grin.::

Drex: Are you sure you’re ready to explain to him what Sto-vo-kor is? ::A tired smile tugged at his lips.::

The Disciple waved his hands in surrender, a slightly panicked look on his face.

Zebba: You know what? I understood until about the middle of the first sentence, and I'll take that as a win. I'm good. Please stop.

Could telepaths kill brain cells just with their voices? Because it really felt that way. For the next few minutes, Zebba tried to fade into the background, in hopes that he could snatch some information from the chatter on the bridge without feeling like his grey matter was trickling out of his nose.

As time went, he made peace with the feeling that he did not know what the fresh brine was going on, mostly because from what he understood, the aliens did not have the murkiest idea either.

(OOC: Zebba does not see the text messages)

Drex: =/\= Good job Mister Gnai. We’re getting a lock on your position. =/\= ::Glancing at the security officer waiting for confirmation:: Do you have it?

Zebba turned towards His Toadness, who was looking at something on his console hard enough to crack the glass.

Caris: Sensors are flickering... but... yeah, the mechasuit is a solid target. I’ve got both locked.

The alien's fingers danced over the console, and soon the machine emitted a contented chirp.

Drex: One gone, ten to go... 

He turned towards Zebba. Oh merciful Gods, they were going to talk to him again.

Drex: They handled the spores... You mentioned rituals, people dying... but there are chosen ones. They might have a natural antidote encoded in their genetics. I’m asking you, tell me about the rumors you heard.

Oh, that actually made sense. Whew. Zebba's head bobbed eagerly in relief.

Zebba: Oh, sure. Some piddle about "welcoming the Gods inside them" and "transcending their flesh according to Their will". Frankly, I think they're taking stuff, and that it gets them either dead or brain-fried enough that they're happy with it. Guys are a couple of fish short of a school at the best of times, you know?

In fact, if they even got around to interrogate the Sethites with him in the room, Zebba would do his utmost to shut up and stay out of the way. He'd had enough insanity to last him until the next ice age.

End act 2

--

Zebba

Befuddled Disciple of Efon

As simmed by 

Lieutenant-Commander Kettick

Chief of Engineering

USS Eagle-A

G239107LR0

Your Engineering department kindly reminds you that you are supposed to read the flakking manual.