Not-Chryssa
She/Her
27
May 1
Eterna City, Sinnoh
Panromantic
radio host
agent
as flies to wanton boys are we to the gods; they kill us for their sport
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mossdeep space [pj]
POSTED ON Jan 1, 2021 11:22:58 GMT
The Probopass hummed as he made his rounds around the Mossdeep Space center. Scientists scurried out of his way as he hummed along the aisles of computers and technical equipment. Just another day at work, he thought to himself contentedly, settling himself down in front of his assigned computer monitor with a thunk. Before him stretched the heavens themselves, views and readouts from every satellite currently controlled by the space station.
His big, round eyes watched the information as it came in, zooming in on an error that suddenly appeared in a blinking window. His mustache flared and rippled, iron filaments rearranging themselves. Nose three, report, he thought, and one of his Mini-Noses detached itself and flew up, spinning above his cubicle like a compass needle before shooting off to investigate the malfunctioning equipment.
The Mini-Nose flew up to one side of the machine. It had picked up a strong signal from space, but the needle scribbling out the graph had gotten stuck. The Mini-Nose nudged the needle back into place, where it began to scribble again uninhibited.
Arran looked back up as the Mini-Nose returned, reattaching to his side. He returned his gaze to the monitor, where the readouts and updates were pouring in again. Interesting, he thought. This information means... something. Okay, he wasn't really here to analyze data, just to supervise it. He just had to keep his head down and do his job.
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