Jonas stealthy approach had not gone well, as he had stealthily stubbed his toe, stealthily tumbled head over heels down a rocky slope, and stealthily narrowly avoided impaling his face plate on (as Doctor Orlov later kindly explained):
“an example of Chassigny – a cumulate rock, resembling a terrestrial dunite, consistingof about 91% iron-rich olivine, 5% clinopyroxene, 1.7% plagioclase, 1.4% chromite, 0.3% melt inclusions, and few other accessory minerals and phases. Possibly also rare amphiboles, and cracks filled with carbonate and sulfate salts. Most interesting”
These details had escaped Jonas at the time, but his tumble had not escaped the notice of the WTV occupants, who hailed him over the short range comms. Sighing he stumbled towards them, noticing that it was a hire vehicle from the ubiquitous A Plant. His experienced eye noted that the vehicle didn’t seem to be sitting right.
The vacc suited figure beckoning him was also wearing an A Plant vacc suit in their trademark garish yellow. He polarised his visor a little more, and quietly checked that his pistol hadn’t fallen out.
Inside the WTV were three other individuals. One was a middle aged man with a neatly trimmed beard and chewing on an unlit pipe. He held out his hand.
“I’m vewy pleased to meet you. I’m Kieth Joynew, and this is my wife Candice Mawie.” Here he gestured at a small mousey woman wearing an anorak, with round spectacles almost as big as her head.
“And this is Sky” he gestured at a young blonde haired woman who flicked here hair and pouted.
“Hi!” she smiled. “Would you like to sleep with me?”
“What have we said Sky?” said Keith in a school teacher voice. “This sowt of thing is not vewy appwopwiate, especially with stwangers.” Sky didn’t seem to register at what he’d said.
“I’m getting a bad feeling about this” thought Jonas looking around, and spotting the acoustic guitar, the banjo and the cuddly toys.
Candice Marie seemed to notice his gaze and picked up a fluffy cat toy thing which seemed arranged around a hot water bottle: Jonas had seen one in a folk museum once.
“This is Prudence” she said, picking up the fluffy cat. “Say hello to the nice man Prudence”. She picked up one of the cats paws and waved it at Jonas, making meowing noises.
“Errr….” he began.
“And of couwse you’ve met Twixibelle Fwou Fwou” continued Kieth, gesturing towards the vacc suited woman, who had now removed her helmet, revealing the stern visage of a woman probably in her mid fifties with iron grey hair, who probably kept lots of dogs and owned a tweed jacket and unattractive orangey stockings. Jonas did not normally like to stereotype people but as no one he knew was watching he decided to anyway.
“Probably hates men, but likes women a lot” he thought. “Stupid hair too.”
Trixibelles hair, though possibly iron grey, was in fact tied up into small dreadlocks each coloured turquoise, pink, yellow, white or lime green. Clearly an older woman trying to to be ‘right on’, or perhaps just plain Barking.
“Jonas Hoffmann” he smiled. “What appears to be the problem here?”