Worra momentarily leaps to his feet, nearly spilling his celebratory glass of Corellian Whiskey. For a moment, Worra suspected he was going to have to have a crash course in engineering, if the ship had been hit by debris in hyperspace.
Slowly realizing that the commotion was no more than a bit of tom-foolery between Yorik and a statue, he took his seat and began to drink again.
"Yorik, sounds like you've fallen victim to a parlor trick. They make all kinds of noise makers and prank-in-a-boxes at Flerbos. What you're looking at is probably a droid brain and a pinch of commercial-grade detonite. Probably an illegal use, though the vendor's surely been punished enough. Now wouldja turn the **** thing off?"