“Captain!” Ned shouted through the intercom, “an Andromeda-class cruiser just dropped out of hyperspace!”
Celine groaned. “And I just dropped my vibrator.”
Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include Hrmm… and LifeShop. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
Note: Today’s tale spoofs the low-budget (but often entertaining) space opera series on cable networks.
On the bridge, Ned spat his Finengi juice onto the navigation panel. “Umm, excuse me, boss?”
“Never mind,” Celine said as she laced her imported Nocturian red leather corset before slipping into her trademark skin-tight slacks and tank top. “I’ll be there in a half-hour.”
“A half-hour?” Wei muttered at her weapons console. “We could be dead by then.”
“Blame the set designer,” Andy said in his surprisingly human android voice. “They wanted a huge ship for our exterior shots, so that meant lots of long hallways for the interiors.”
“Speaking of that,” Dana offered, “I have this huge med lab with gobs of gadgets, but there’s only five of us on the crew. And shouldn’t my med lab be brighter?”
“The producers could only afford five regular cast members,” Andy explained. “The lighting designer says the dim interiors are moody and the set people like them because they don’t need as many fine details.”
“Oww!” Wei said as she turned from her console and stubbed her toe on a box. “The whole ship should be brighter, if you ask me.”
“It’s about to be,” Celine said, 4″ stiletto heels clicking as she strode onto the bridge. She pointed to a green sheet on the wall as if it were a holographic display, which it would be after the CG artists did their stuff. “That cruiser just opened her gun ports.”
“I’m supposed to say that, boss,” Wei objected as she rubbed her toe. “It makes me look useful when I’m not doing martial arts routines with swords, in my penthouse-sized suite with fully-equipped dojo.”
Ned held up a crusty, foil-wrapped grayish-brown bar. “Yet we have only this dried gunk to eat.”
“Enough griping,” Celine said, squirming to resettle her cleavage in her corset cups and extract her pants from her butt crack. “Battle stations!”
Photo Credit: QingQing (Flickr)