I'm just a singer in a rock 'n roll band
In the time that he had been on the Dreadnought, Lancelot had learned a great deal about how one would go about operating it. He had spent... well, years and years wasn't the right way to think about it, but there had been a great deal of time (whatever time was) to watch Cipher work and pick up a few tips and tricks of the trade. So even though he had his feet up on the table and a thick copy of War and Peace spread out in his lap, he still kept an ear out, listening to the familiar sounds the ship (ship?) made around him.
Cipher was doing... something. He didn't know what. She hadn't seemed particularly pleased when they'd gotten up this morning, and had huffed at his offer of breakfast. He made a mean stack of French toast when the muse struck him. Her mood had darkened the atmosphere of the ship, though, and he'd contented himself with a bowl of gloopy oatmeal and raisins and coffee. Now he was trying to make himself as scarce as possible without actually hiding.
Cipher was a grown woman. When she wanted to find him and talk, she would.
