Welcome to Gaia! ::

"That depends," came a response from behind a particularly high mountain range of miscellaneous junk, "on how vell you encrypted your lightsaber practice recordings."

It only took a few minutes to retrieve her coffee, but that was all it took for her unattended phone to mysteriously have a conversation without her. When Mimsy returned to the room, she caught the very end of Robert talking to someone, and narrowed her eyes.

"Who are you talking to?" she asked, tugging the phone out of his hand to check for herself. The answer was not anything close to what she might have guessed, but it did explain why it looked like he was trying to smash the phone in his hand.

"Oh." She frowned, thinking. "I will handle this."





With that (temporarily) handled, she looked back to Robert and pat him on the head.

"Amusing, but I capitalize my 'I's and spell out my 'you's. He did not seem to notice, but it might aid you next time."

"The encryption code changes every single character on the password in a like, extremely randomizer numerical value every second, you'll never guess it." He didn't have a password for them, this could be very bad news. "Besides, don't you have like, someone else to bother. Like, maybe for the next hour. Or two. Or possibly twelve, if things go right?"

He leaned over on his hammock and tapped the speakers back to life. "Daft Punk or Queen?"





"Hey, bro, have you seen my Princess Leia bikini set?"

Lucky placed the last of the runic salvage into a box, and pushed it aside with a small laugh at the idea of an uncrackable code. "Daft Punk."

"Okay, I get it. I'll be back in tvelve-" He paused in his rummaging-slash-trash navigation for one moment too long. "Your vhat-?"

An avalanche struck the junk mountain, burying Lucky in an assortment of decommissioned runic tech, jedi robes, and an assortment of old pizza boxes, takeout containers, and beer cans whose collective mold colonies were beginning to form ancient, warring civilizations.

"Uh." There was a slight metal grating noise, which was probably the debris settling back into a solid, interlocking mass over him. "I think I'm stuck."

The unavoidably loud song was not familiar to Mimsy, who was not fun enough to enjoy most media or popular culture. She smiled in amusement, because it sounded like a song about capturing Lucky, which was a very silly theme for the lyrics to address.

Mark's display of the wonders of physics made the smile give way to a short, abrupt laugh. It distracted her well enough for her to miss what he handed her; she took the bikini from him and pressed the money into his palm in exchange.

Then she looked at what he'd given her.

And raised her eyebrows.

"Queen of queenness," she mused, turning it over in her hands. "I will accept that title. Thank you. I appreciate your astute observational skills. Is this attire truly befitting of royalty?"

There was very clear doubt in her voice, paired with hints of curiosity. The curiosity began to take hold, and she straightened up and craned her neck to see if she could find what she had come here for.

"Where is the construct?" She tilted her head, gaze wandering back to Mark.

Though Mimsy still made no indication that she intended to put the garment on, she did hold it up to herself, nose wrinkling as she continued to seriously doubt that a queen would wear this. Highly impractical, even in this climate.

She glanced up again when Mark indicated that he'd found what he was looking for.

"Are you certain that this is in a state to function properly?" she asked, leaning forward to get a better look. "Is its durability substantial enough to withstand an existence in a junk pile?"