"Oh, I was thinkin' we would talk while we talked, but I don't mind either way." Mo looked at the ship. She was a beaut. Presumably. The Roleplayer had no idea what it looked like. "Luckily, I'm pretty good at not gettin' lost, but the sheer distance between places is a lot. Good exercise, but bad for my old knees."
Mo may have been 54 chronologically, but he was mentally and physically 38 - he really needed to stop acting like he was on his deathbed. Hell, with how long-lived modern healthcare made most humans, 54 wasn't even half their life expectancy these days. Then again, he hadn't had the benefits of Starfleet medical growing up. On Ferenginar, if you wanted the luxuries of not suffering and/or dying, you had to pay for them.
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