>>> Searching for Secure Port
>>> Port Found. Establishing Link
>>> Connection established!
.:: Welcome to the Fox Den ::.
> A white blog page, stark and bare of any decoration beside the blank boxes and outlines of it's posts, is all the greets the fresh connection. It seems lazy and hastily put together, all that's on it is a single holo-vid that is hosted from the site itself, using a rather carefully coded embedder and stream-source. The video sparks to life the moment the site is accessed.
> The hologram of the v-logger sits half sprawled in his chair, his legs up on the console, arms folded over his chest. His short-cropped feathery black hair messy and bed-headed from under the engine fluid-splattered workman's bandana he's tied around his head. His eyes look very green on the holo-vid, and haggard with a lack of sleep.
> He dressed in a rude fashion, ripped and torn shirt showing out from under a rugged-looking, ankle-length, one-hundred percent fur long jacket that's popular along a small minority of pilots from planet-side colonies out in the farthest planets in Sirius. The v-logger has a belt made of a pelt, including a long bushy tail that he's flopped over onto his lap, letting his hands toy with the fur. On his forearm is black and white tattoo the face of a fox, straight from old Earth, with two tails framing it; a white one flicked up in an arch over the fox's right ear and a black tail flicked down in an arch under it's muzzle. Addressing the camera, he begins to speak.
"Right, so...I really don't know whose even watching this dribble I just whipped up, but I really just needed to do something to keep my mind busy, keep the hands moving, the brain sparking, and the boredom from setting it. So, here's one burned out pilot's attempt to keep himself sane right? For those of you who've just stumbled upon this thing, I'm Thaddius Bones...but I go by the callsign The Inkfox. It's a weird name, I know, I'll get to explaining it later."
> The Inkfox coughs a little into his fist, and clears his throat.
"S'cuse that. So, I've been drifting 'bout thirteen days by my recollection. And I'll be another ten or so, before I get the rescue I need. By the starry black, how do I find myself in these messes. Right so, Ion Storms right? We all know they're bad news. But any of ya ever flew through one? Well, can't say I have either...cause what I did was definitely not flying. More like getting tugged under by the current and pitched about a bit. Then, waking to find yourself spat out on the rocks. Yeah, I was out in that last big bad one, I tell you no lie. I guess I should consider myself lucky, I survived."
> He shifted in his chair again, revealing a large blade resting on the pilot's hip. He reached into his cargo pocket next to that holstered weapon, and pulled out small soft leather pouch called a "poke" by some colony settlers. His hands deftly working with his effects to hand roll his own cigarette. He pulled a gun-metal black lighter from within the leather poke, brushing some of the clinging bits of plant-matter from the metal case, before flicking it open and lighting up the heating coil on the inside and bringing it to the thickly rolled cigarette.
"I got shunted through a previously-as-of-yet-unknown jump hole, and ended up on the far edge of the Sirius Rim. Alot of my systems are out and my engines took a heavy beating, they are disabled in a bad way. I've managed to establish a link, about my third day floating. And rescue is coming, they keep assuring me that. But, the nav-sys is down too, so I got no exact coordinates as to where I am. So, just gotta do what I've been doing since the settlement went down; buckle down, and survive. Hope I've gotten good at that by now. Guess this is the test, aye there Audience? Ha, audience, like anyone is gonna watch this damn holo-vid."
> The Inkfox rumbled into some unintelligible grumblings and mutterings, for about fifteen seconds of the video. Viewers with careful ears could hear the pilot grumbling about how stupid he must sound, talking to himself like this.
"Anyway, I've got myself rationed pretty heavy, and I think I will make it, if I am lucky. But it's perilously bored and lonesome out here in the dark. I work with the engines and the computer when I can stand it, but it's all an exercise in frustration as I try to make the blasted things work. So, I started to work some script-tying tricks, and eventually concocted this scheme to make a little blog site for myself and host it off the ship's computer and databanks. Programming took my mind off my situation, and well, you're connected to the result. Maybe I'll dress it up a little more later. Maybe put out another holo-vid if the situation changes. But for now, I think I am going to try the engines a little more...Later, audience."
> The frustrated looking Pilot sits up in his chair, leaning closer to the camera mounted in his console.
"Oh, and if you guys want to comment, I've rigged up a crude comment space in the box below the video. It should work with both written response and and video submission, that is if I did the script-tying right. I haven't been able to test it. Universe knows if anyone is watching, seeing words from someone other than that cold military comm officer would do this flier alot of good. Thanks for listenin', Audience."
> He reaches up and pressed a button above the console camera, and the Holo-vid disconnects and goes to black. Nothing left to look at here but a white and black blog page.
