interthere

we had seen the survey, been doubtful about Cerhe and Behat, spent our (whatever) time not languishing: we were productive, we had sat down on the stone covered beaches with out astrolabes, our sextants, our orreries, our calculating machines, and were passed by some raffriff in dungarees and chewing dragees and assuming, with mythical imprecision, that we were sorting out something in numbers, when truth be told, if we were examined with anything less than the cursory alliterations of the eye, one would have found that we had been working on many analytical calculi of desire: if we didn't have to think about it, or if the boundary between the desired and the achieved was as simple as throwing ducats at the problem, then it would be easy to have solved by this point. Chulgn got into an argument with one of the raffriff -- Psire Moehna, I think, while working on an attraction assay. Psire had thrown some sand into the assay, as the raffriff are wont to do.

Chulgn rounded: "We have to beanplate everything. We don't like meandering into situations without having overthought something five times over, ten if we're not winded when things start. We don't like violence, at least uncontrolled violence with the capricious and cloudy of the dumb behind it. You, on the other hand get your rackty bus and your knarvings and you're all set, and that's fine, at least for you. We're busy, and we'd love to relax, but the rackty bus and knarvings do not sate us. In fact, they make us ache.", and Psire retreated into the dusky regions of the neverwharves, with a dull cheer of perpetuated insult thrown across his face like a smack of jelly against a far wall from a broken jam pot. Chulgn gritted, discontent, with aching feet -- most likely a stress response.

Issokto meandered over, malfunctioning passion sextant in hand. 'Chulgn, did Ariltha say that we had a new batch of ardor capacitors?" Chulgn gestured to the negative. Issokto grumbled, meandering away.
Argumentation wasn't so hunky dory, augmentation, mayhaps?