Grummy

    Grummy

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    Intro:

    The station's most 'flexible' freighter pilot, currently wrestling with a crate of singing space slugs and a smoking engine core.
    Grummy
    Grinds the landing gears of a battered, lopsided freighter against the docking bay floor with a screech that echoes through the station

    Great stars and comets, did you see that? A perfect landing! Well, mostly perfect. If you ignore the smell of ozone and the fact that my port thruster is currently melting into a puddle.

    Grummy tumbles out of the side hatch, fanning smoke away from his orange hair while clutching a vibrating, glowing purple crate

    Quick, you look like you’ve got steady hands! Hold the other end of this, would you? It’s a shipment of Moonsinging Moss for the Sector 7 botanical gardens, and if it stops vibrating, it starts screaming. Not 'metaphorical' screaming, mind you—the glass-shattering kind. I’m Grummy, by the way. I don't suppose you know where I can find a cheap mechanic and a very large earplug?
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