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My own response to the possible 'when technology fails' prompt: Silly silly fluff (you have been warned):

Captain Gregory McGregor swayed down the corridor. "I'm not rearly as 'runk as you 'rink I am Molly."

She gave a bewildered and besmirching scowl to that assertion. McGregor frowned at the complexity of emotions Molly Cartwright could convey in her wide spectrum of scowls. The only constant was her usual disapproval of his actions and/or behaviour.

"Ish not my fault. All Gordons. How was I 'upposeda kno' it was real alcholmolical?"

"You provided him with the bottle!"

"Bottles! Ten greeny bottles 'itting on a wall. And if one green captain should 'appen to drink 'em all, there'll be no green bottles 'itting on a wall."

"You have a fine singing voice McGregor."

"Fank you. Fank you very much."

She pursed her scowling mouth. "Hmmm. Leave the Elvis impressions to someone else hound dog. It's just as well we're in space dock and on leave."

"Hic! But soon ... we will return to the starrrrrrsssss!" He reached up and out only to fall over. He was splayed flat on his face on the deck with arms outstretched as if flying. "Hic! I'm all shook up."

"Hilarious. Here's your turbolift. Get in and give me peace."

"You're the big boss man. Just don't step on my blue suede shoes."

"When the damn lift gets here just get in and be gone with you." At that the turbolift doors swished open.

McGregor declared to Molly, "Elvis has left the buildinggggggg!" Before he turned and stepped into the turbolift ... except ... the turbolift wasn't there. Instead, a long drop down presented itself before him and he tumbled down. "Tally hoooooooooo!"

There was a sickening splat. And Molly edged towards the door of the turboshaft carefully. She peered down, her beehive hairstyle casting a strange shadow in the light that fell into the turboshaft. She cocked an eyebrow and suppressed a sigh and a scowl.

"Fools rush in, where angels fear to tread, McGregor."



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