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Quayhoggr picked himself up, hand on pool table as leverage with the other to adjust his trench coat, only to be shoved from behind by one of the bouncers. Nearly losing his balance, hoping to not have to meet the dirty floor again, he hurried his pace, unfortunately listening closely to the boos and insults from the people within. Though they faded in volume as he was shoved once again out through the door to the outside, the words still echoed loudly in his mind: [i]”...freak… go home… get lost… useless…”[/i] 

Quayhoggr rubbed the shoulder on which he fell, face looking down to note that there were fallen people on the ground, prompting him to look up to see his fellow crewmates. Quickly forcing a fake smile that looked so genuine, he pulled a face and facade of nonchalant cool from being thrown out. 

“Yes, ship! Onwards to the Absolute Magnitude, where adventure, knowledge, and criminal activity awaits us!” He galloped to the lowered bay doors, revealing the dirty metallic cargo bay within, way in the back the door that led to the main body of the ship. On the side of a support beam in the middle of the cargo bay was a speaker, a part of the communication systems in the Absolute Magnitude. He pressed the green button and checked in: “Quayhoggr Deevee, checking in.”

Paper lanterns hung from the ceiling, illuminating the very tight-spaced, almost prison-like hallways. While not gruesomely disgusting, it is certainly not the cleanest either. The hallway system itself was not difficult to manage, and the routes to everywhere was clear and direct, signs adorned on the walls with giant arrows - some vandalized, but still.

The path that Deevee had to take to arrive to his room was also the path that would take the crew to the pilot cabin. Thus it is the route with the most traffic, explaining the old photographs, taped newspaper cut-outs, and other miscellaneous amenities to remind the crew of their experiences, be they fortunes, tragedies, successes, or failures. Nearest to Deevee’s room was the giant, glass trophy cabinet with gravity stabilizers to prevent the trophies from moving about and breaking. Being the collector of the team, there was responsibility and pride in the role he has in maintaining the cabinet and to continue collecting for remembrance and history. Quayhoggr has spent many hours on the cabinet, him now staring at each piece, and he will continue to spend many more. 

Enter his room, and Quayhoggr was blasted with the familiar smell of his very old, crusted books and sheets of paper. They are all worn out, used and studied dozens if not hundreds of times, and all lay scattered and unorganized, messy and spread out all over his work table and floor. Dirty plates and decaying food waste add to the odour of the room, perfuming into his equally filthy bedsheets. His walls reflect a different kind of messy, however, for they are drawn on with markers, paint, and chalk coupled with maps, notes, sheets of scribbled sentences - the whole wall busy with a well-organized, beautiful design that contained his research, study, discoveries. What with the rest of his crewmates being the way they are, the wall remained as an actual option for Deevee to talk to and communicate his powerful brain to. 

Not that he did not want to share his thoughts with the team, he just knows - feels it deep in his gut - that they would just give him the coldest arctic shoulder and maybe even profusely reject him. The world was huge with so much to explore, yet the dejection that he has to bear feels even bigger. As he closed the door of his room, he remembered that they came to Southern Mars to rest and resuscitate, what with their failure from their most recent mission.

A light whisper to himself and the wall: “Ah, yes, of course. They hate me.”