For the b7friday what if list challenge; set at the beginning of an AU season 3.
"Oh, dear," Krantor said, setting his bag (genuine warg skin with a prominent designer label) down on the flight-deck couch. "White on white is so passé. And all those hexagons!"
"I rather like the hexagons," said Toise. "They provide a unified theme." He looked at the blinking one on the wall. "I wouldn't have gone for brown and gold though. So very minor-planet suburban."
"At least they used leather." Sister Mary Sue dropped onto the couch and put his combat boots up on the control panel, hoisting his habit to reveal extremely hairy legs. "None of that faux rubbish that sticks to one."
Barbara the Baroque Pirate, who was largely dressed in the aforementioned substance, shot him a venomous look. "How d'you steer this thing anyway?" she asked, stabbing experimentally at another button.
"I have no idea." Krantor looked at the display which showed a rapidly moving starfield. "And who cares, as long as it's taking us away from the war zone. Battle sounds very exciting but it does pall rather."
"And I don't think I'll ever get the green slime out." Toise picked disconsolately at his jacket.
"Who the hell are you lot? And what are you doing on my ship?"
They all turned to see a tough-looking man in black who had stubble on his face and head and three troopers behind him.
"My dear fellow." Krantor stood and put a hand on one hip. "Do observe the niceties. We haven't been introduced."
The man sneered. "Section Leader Klegg."
"Charmed, I'm sure. I'm Krantor, this is Toise, and that's Sister Mary Sue, and over there is Barbara."
Toise bowed, rather too elaborately. "It's your ship, is it, Section Leader? Are you responsible for the décor by any chance? White shows a lamentable lack of imagination."
"Eh?" A succession of expressions chased each other across Klegg's face. "Yer right. I rather like pink meself." He turned to glare at his men. "What? You want to make something of it?"
They shook their heads quickly.
Avon materialised in the teleport bay and looked around disbelievingly. There were drapes in a broad gold and white stripe to one side of the controls, and a plinth with a gilded cherub on top to the other. Behind the control, the seat was piled high with satin cushions in several colours, far too many of them pink. "Vila! I'll kill him."
"Vila Restal is not on the ship," Zen's solemn voice said. "The ship has changed course to retrieve him and Cally."
"Then who... No matter, I'll find out." Avon strode towards the flight deck.
There were several strangers on the couch, all with brightly-coloured drinks in their hands. Where the hell had they got those little paper parasols? "Just what are you doing on my ship?" Avon asked icily.
"Oh, it's yours is it?" The one in stripes and a towering wig stood up. Krantor and Avon recognised each other at the same time. "I'd have thought," Krantor said reproachfully, "That you'd have spent some of the ten million you took from my casino on a decent decorator."
"I like the panels in that outfit," the tough bald one said to Avon. "Satin? Very nice with the leather."
Avon closed his eyes briefly. Up until now, he had always assumed that he could not have ended up with a worse crew. He had been wrong. "Zen. We are on our way to pick up Vila and Cally?"
"Just make it as fast as you can."