Another girl approaches the<em>Fuzz</em>, this one in a full bodysuit, face half-hidden by large anti-glare lenses.<br/><br/><em>"Hangovers suck, don't they matey?"</em>she asked an imaginary parrot, that just happened to float inside the head of a passer-by.<em>"Watch out! You'll... ah. Nevermind. Sorry." </em>She smiled at the rather alarmed man.<em> "I thought it'd eat your eyeballs. Sorry."</em>The girl winked to the imaginary parrot hovering inside the man's head, turned on her heels and hastened towards the docks.<em>"You'll lose them soon enough anyways."</em><br/><br/>Perhaps it was a cigar in the girl's mouth, perhaps just a rolled-up wad of waste paper. Nobody bothered to ask as she walked right past the 47 gate a few times, looking for something. Finally, she got the "cigar" out of her mouth, unrolled it, and tapped the numbers scrawled on the wet paper onto the access code pad next to the iris leading to the ship. There was something magical in the way the iris disintegrated into distinct plates to allow passage to the Fuzz, so she did it a few times.<br/><br/><em>"Time to earn a new pair of boots. These have given their all already." </em>She looked sadly at the worn outfit hugging her like a second skin. Once inside, the captain is given a disjointed wave and an equally misconstrued greeting, before the new pilot lost herself in the corridors. Because, the engines needed some polishing, and some friendly words, if she was to work with them.