location: the derelict halls time: i dont fucking know, they should be sleeping counterpart: @oflegends
there’s a certain quiet about the ship when most passengers sleep, though quiet does not equate silence. the sounds of the ship moving can be loud when too many parts are unaccounted for, the floor sometimes creaks, and the insomniacs not unlike himself will wander or sounds of music or shuffling can be heard from their quarters. personally, he prefers this to a horribly muted world; the reminder that life still exists even when he finds himself feeling dead with exhaustion and needs to consider the air in his lungs and the feeling of his own heartbeat.
he spends the time trying to create makeshift parts and weapons from what scrap metal he has and when that becomes too tiresome he just lays down, chewing on his nails, a nasty habit, and staring at the ceiling -- thinking. usually he can’t recall what it is he thinks about afterwards, either his past or other people on the derelict, but mostly he thinks about travels, the places he’s been recently or long ago or will be to soon. the different landscapes, the different people or species or plant life. the different technology and builds, sometimes near lack thereof. he thinks about reality, because what else is there to consider when the hallways are dark and there’s a rare need to talk to someone while they all sleep? no, loneliness, while something he’s come to terms with in recent years, is a weakness only when called attention to. so he bothers no one.
eventually the restlessness gets to him and laying or pacing ceases to do the trick, so he takes to the hallways, still fully dressed in day gear and without a proper destination, but he doesn’t get quite that far before sounds of other footsteps meet him around a bend. he pauses, considers turning around, but before he can he sees bare feet come around the corner, inhuman feet at that, and then she comes into view, even in the muted lights.
he doesn’t consider himself someone easily impressed by looks, thinking it shallow, but he couldn’t pretend she wasn’t beautiful. it wasn’t fair, even if just in the confines of him own mind he had to think it because ignoring it entirely seemed wrong. there was something ethereal to her, something delicate but strong and glowing, her bare feet and the hollowed, darkened atmosphere only heightening the awareness, and still his eyebrows furrow, not surprise but contemplation on his features. she’s made of all of the light of the stars and he’s embarrassed by the thought as quickly as it rings in his mind. still, his voice comes unaffected, the low register baritone always on the brink of monotonous teasing. “forget your socks somewhere or just couldn’t find ‘em in the dark?”
