[right][color=eedf58][h2]Pᴀx[/h2][/color][/right][hr]
For a moment the commons room was quiet—although it was never truly silent on a ship, the lights were on low, the main monitor was blank, and the oversized refrigerator hummed along on standby. The [i]Excursionist[/i] was a quiet enough ship in the middle of the artificial night, except on the rare occasion when there were a bunch of drunk aliens listening to invariably terrible music at full blast and no one got any sleep.

Then the intercom crackled with the Captain's voice, and the hush was further broken by a loud crash as the heavy central table jolted, followed by a gravel-rough voice spitting curses.

[color=eedf58]"Hashfed shattin' [i]tchytkis—"[/i][/color]

There was a low stream of invective, curses ranging from mild to nauseating, as chairs were shoved to the side and Pax emerged. It was quite a sight, a seven foot bright red monstrosity extracting itself from under a table built for much smaller creatures, but she managed to crawl out on her hands and knees, sliding out between Rigger and the newly arrived Z.

[color=eedf58]"Fuckin' A,"[/color] Pax hissed, hand on the smooth scales of her head as she unfolded to her full height. She ignored the others as she continued to mutter to herself, making a beeline for the small kitchen off to one side. She smelled like a distillery, but there was no trace of any booze under the table or anywhere else in the kitchen—if there was one thing Pax knew well, it was hiding the evidence of her benders. She scratched at her nose as she dug inside the fridge, eventually emerging with what looked like a gallon bottle of disgusting green slime—what passed for protein ration on the Picker ship. 

She sat heavily in an empty chair, a few spots down from Z and across from Rigger and the Captain. The chair creaked under her and squealed as she shoved it back, having to bend nearly in half just to put her elbows on the table—for once, she didn't envy the fishboy his size. A yawn split her face as she popped the top off her morning ration, her gold-yellow pointed teeth gleaming in the slowly brightening lights.

After taking a swig from the gallon, she began with a belch. As usual.

[color=eedf58]"Since I'm not late,"[/color] Pax went on, wrapping an arm around the gallon jug—she had plenty of experience with Z's appetite, thank you—and propping her cheek on her other hand. [color=eedf58]"Why the tchyt are we awake?"[/color]