Burgerlesque: Bane Bun Pun Run
We set forth with objectives:
see tacky Halloween decorations (SATAN IS NOT TACKY)
murder hamburger pinata
jump in some leaves
patrol unknown space
All were achieved. We ascended with difficulty to Tufts campus, there visiting a space elephant and an antigravity plaque, and demonstrating the wonder that is SCUL to new hu-mans. They learn slowly, and while Tufts has a pretty campus it is at the top of a fierce g-well. Antigravity is a lie.
We plunged through thickening fog to the miasmatic depths of Medford. It was absolute space pea soup. We went to an ancient place filled with dead hu-mans and peered at their strange symbols: urns, willows, and winged crania distantly kin to our own, but with way more mustaches.
We visited a strange monument consisting of an unhewn chunk of something atop a pedestal, dedicated to one Sagamore John. What does it mean? Does anybody really know what rock that is? Then we decided radiation therapy was in order, since the air was so laden with vapor as to be indistinguishable from a heavy nebula. At our usual classified location the miasma was so heavy we could make out nothing but our own statuesque forms, and the heavy nebula was so cryogenic that there was only 54% pilot immersion. Leaf concentrations weren't large, but with precision jumping skills we were able to achieve this objective. We launched well satisfied.
On to the next objective: permadeath to the hamburger pinata whose googly gaze has blighted the fort since time immemorial. At a foul-smelling, secluded black hole we tried repeatedly to set fire to it, but achieved only a delicious flame-broiled glow. Next we stabbed it with our steely knives, doing deadly damage! We jumped upon it violently. Finally Bane flayed it, cut armholes, and flaunted his runway walk, relish and ketchup all aquiver, bun and burger insouciant. Shadowcat hula'ed with the burgerlich corpse garnished about his slender hips. Finally Perilous heaved the limp remains into an immense dumpster (the source of the smell, we think) and now it has died the True Death. One eye remains, its only remaining power to amuse. You're welcome.
From there we flew casual home, the only notable event being an ST (with Massachusetts galaxy licence plate number "7") who buzzed us slowly then pulled over to take photos, a goofy little grin on his beefy Earthling face.
A fine crunchy local op in all: we added some lines to the heatmap, honored the season, did late radiation therapy, and decluttered the fort. Thanks to Bane Thunderwolf for bravely navigating on Cloudbuster and supplying some seriously prurient groove. May all your ships spark joy.
We extend our sympathies to the centurions, apparently on track to fly one of the slower 100ly routes that SCUL's ever notched up. This has got to be an epic tale...we'd have loved to intercept but we went home to bed instead. Forks be with you. <3