First of all, I’d like to make mention that these small stories are in no way meant to copy/imitate Netbug009’s “story puppies”… I just decided up and out of the blue to begin a collection of small pieces based on the “reject bots” as humans. 
(After drawing them out on paper, these guys have a whole new meaning to me.) I had a feeling that if I did not make that disclaimer, I would have some people saying, “Oh these remind me of Netbug’s stuff…” 
The first few will cover each of the characters and take a peek into their personalities and thoughts. After that, it’ll be a montage of stories depicting random events that these guys go through together. I’ve got some high hopes for these stories, and I hope you’ll be as excited about them as I am! 
So for now, enjoy the first one…
Impressions
Speckles in shades of blue began to cover up the bare, white wall that served as an artist’s canvas for a nineteen year-old painter named Vincent. His work was far from simple, yet never borderlining complex. More than an outlet to express his feelings, his paintings on the wall told in impressions the colorful story of his life. He was born with a paintbrush in his hand and raised in a world of creativity and color - until his life took a turn for the worse, and his world was immersed in a dim shade of grey. Right now though, he was feeling rather blue.
Blue - it was such a lonely color. Vin honestly couldn’t remember the last time one of his friends had paid him a visit since the massive supership exodus of 2105. Heck, that was five whole years ago. Most likely, they had become just like every other passenger on the Axiom - outright lazy, over-dependent on automated assistance, and complacent with the idea of living their life in a hoverchair. No wonder they had forgotten about him.
Soon enough, those sad, blue tones began to mingle with light green as memories trickled slowly into Vin’s thoughts. He remembered that day like it was yesterday, and every time he felt as if he had no more inspiration left in him, his mind would wander back to that one day of his childhood that would stand out for the rest of his life…
[i]“You know why I named you Vincent, don’t you?” he remembered the sweet voice of his father asking. The tall, handsome man was currently in the process of sketching out a rough composition resembling his four year-old son, and with a smile he paused from his work to look back at little Vincent. The boy shook his head, furrowing his brow.
“No,” he honestly replied, shuffling his feet. He stood on his tiptoes to take a peek at Leon’s work, but his father kept it well out of Vincent’s sight until it was finished.
“Vincent Van Gogh was an incredible artist,” Leon replied, continuing his work. “There’s no doubt that artist’s blood runs in your veins - I sensed it from the moment you were conceived. One of your great grandfather’s paintings hangs on the wall of a New York studio, your grandfather worked on over twenty Disney classic films, and I was raised in the world of art and animation my whole life. Not to mention your mother, who is an extremely talented cartoonist. I have no doubts that some form of artistic ability is going to show through you as well.”
Vincent smiled, sensing the passion his father had for art. Something welled up inside of him as he listened to Leon speak - he wanted to have that same passion.
“I was named after Leonardo Da Vinci, who painted the Mona Lisa and designed inventions too far advanced for his time,” Leon continued as he finalized the drawing; erasing the sketchy lines and defining details.
“What did Vincent Van Gogh do?” Vincent timidly wondered.
“He was an impressionist,” Leon replied. “He painted pictures based on how he felt. In fact, once in an attempt to portray pain through his painting, he cut off his ear!”
Vincent’s eyes grew wide.
“Not that you’ll go cutting off your ear someday, trying to express pain,” Leon finished, laughing as he spoke. “What I’m saying is this…” He turned around again and handed his sketchbook to Vincent. “You paint [/i]your picture based on how you feel. Every feeling and mood can be matched to a color; and the events of your life are your inspiration for what you decide to paint.” Vincent stared wide-eyed at the accurate drawing of himself for several moments, then gazed up into the tender, loving eyes of his father. “And if you ever feel like you have no inspiration left, just think of me. You are my inspiration, so I can be yours.”
Those green strokes on the wall turned into yellow bursts as Vin fondly recalled that intimate moment with his father, and how it had first sparked the desire to become an artist just like him. Even though his father had passed away when Vin was a child, thinking about him always brought a strange happiness to his heart. He left the lonliness of blue behind and dove into a joyful realm of yellows and greens; barely paying attention to the dexterous movement and fluidity of his strokes.
Despite his mood, Vin was continually painting. He had a story to tell, and every moment that passed inspired something new to add to this blank canvas.
Unfortunately, he was unaware that his constant painting was quickly becoming an inconvenience to the other passengers in the cabins closeby. Paint fumes never bothered him, but they certainly bothered other people that passed by his cabin.
Kepp going! People will visit this thread!
Well, enough with the intro already - hope you enjoy the next story. 
) So yeah, the entire post got erased… however, I took your advice on making a “promo-sig”… I hope it helps. 
She’s really easy to do the dialogue for; all I have to do is think of how people talk all the time. Simple stuff. If I can hear it in my head, it makes it onto paper.
Poor Van, stuck in a ship where they can’t change the atmospheric conditions.