FroYo SUNDAE Sunday sundae

Mission Summary

What's a pilot to do when the entirety of Saturnight is an absolute washout, but Sundae is looking fiiiiiiiiiine? You have indoor hang out at the fort! Fixing ships, maintianing the starfortress, and of course a fair amount of ship building...

The next day, you grab your friends and just say "froyo" to maggots.

Despite a slightly delayed start, four seasoned and space hardened pilots and four very baby maggots set out from the launchpad to experience the daystar skies of the A/B system. Grog's Hapto style antics led the band looping over, around, but unfortunately not through the Charles asteroid belt (that would be a very different mission), seeking shady relief and to avoid Dr Claw's untimely external combustion. Via swoops and swirls and around very fluffy Canada Air Force cadets and their hissing generals, dodging left and right to avoid recreational food, the wormhole dwelling fleet built up a mighty appetite that even the funk COULD NOT SATE. They hungered for frosted molecules, for refreshing tartness, for sweet, fruity toppings, colorful swirls of gastronomic delight, friends, it could only be one thing, the stuff of late summer legends, FROYO!

Pilots absconded with their weighty decisions to nearby Ringer playspace, making a splash at an out of the way dock to hoover their chilly delights. Flavors and toppings were compared and contrasted, and the maggots frolicked on each other's ships, avoiding the glassteroids of misdeeds past. After sufficient avoidance of the unremitting daystar, and with sufficient protective shielding reapplied, Dr Claw declared the crew fit to re-engage with space flight. This pilot recalls a blur of flying salad, space walking and ever more haptic spiraling in service of reaching riverbend park airspace. The crew found open skies, a floating ornament to frozen gastronomic delight, and baby's first wall formation. And, of course, a pq who just can't avoid demonstrating advanced flight maneuvers.

On rapidly expiring legs, this merry band who had not screamed even one time, emerged from a final wormhole to approach the fort. As none were crisped by the daystar's deadly rays, nor drowned in holdover radiation, or even knocked asunder by unmanageable flying salad, success was declared by all, and so ends another chapter in our log.