[indent][indent][color=934641][h3]Ｅ ｉ ｍ ｉ  Ｎ ｏ ｘ[/h3][/color][/indent][/indent]
The cushioned couch in the lounge was frayed a bit.  It really wasn’t much, and someone (probably Poole) had sat on the right side several times too long and caused a permanent crater to dip uncomfortably into the cushion.  Eimi had draped herself over the couch, facing towards the ceiling.  Her feet swung nonchalantly over the arm of the couch and tantalized the air playfully if not in an annoyed fashion.  Smoke was rising from her cigarette, pressed between her lips, and a dance beat was thumping electronically through her earbuds.  The sound of the music playing could be heard beyond the device,  but Eimi was mumbling something or another to herself, and no one was around to hear, assumably. The music might as well have all been inaudible to anyone who happened by the lounge.

Jeremiah’s wallet had nothing of true importance to Eimi in it.  It was remarkably amazing how transparent the man could be without ever really mentioning his past in any truly edifying way.  It was as if his transparency was all a facade, which was, of course, nothing short of the type of character that would happen upon Xaara’s ship. Shocker of shockers. There was not much she could do with his Fake IDs aside from holding them ransom, which seemed childishly delightful. Maybe, she could nudge a story or two from him.  The bastard had to have something interesting to say, like how he survived this far in life without [i]The Absolute Magnitude.[/i]

In some ways, she was not particularly sure how she had survived this far. It did not feel as if she had. There was a deadness inside of her that felt dry and hollow and empty, and the feeling was unshakeable and growing, as if some worm was munching a hole through the fiber of her being. The worm was birthed after Wes died, and no amount of anger or depression could make kill it. But, she kept trying. She was a fighter, and Wes would be disappointed in her if she gave up. Unfortunately, it seemed to be a losing battle.  She was tired and out of touch.  In fact, Eimi was not even fighting anymore.  She had succumb to it, and in some way, her body felt like another gadget her techie mind was operating. She was merely a shell of a human, devoid of any real meaning aside the whisper of some memories that kept haunting her.

Eimi closed her eyes.  She hated doing this, imagining Wes lying next to her.  It helped nothing, but it was all she had.  No, that was a lie.  She had her cigarette.  She had her music.  She had [i]The Absolute Magnitude.[/i]. But, none of it was enough.  It never was.  She was too young to feel this old, unlike Lynnette. She was too old to be so [i]perky.[/i] A hint of anger flustered in her fantasy.  Her bust could interrupt [i]anything,[/i] Poole’s hammering vocals, which was kind of cute, if only they didn’t interrupt romantic thoughts about Wes, as well.

[i]Dammit, Lynnette.[/i] It’d been a while. Two cigarettes and a room ghosted with the foggy smell of nicotine, and Lynnette’s tablet was still broken. If Eimi had to choose her least favorite crew-mate, Lynnette would get two marble trophies. One for each peak. Her body shifted and pulled her legs forward; she turned her torso and swiftly planted her boots on the metal flooring. Two silent footsteps clinked at her landing, and her body stood upwards. Eimi made a small frown as she stretched her arms with her GiP held in one hand.  The cigarette dangled ribbons of smoke with her motions.  Wes liked her size. At least, he never complained.

Thoughts aside, she left the lounge and headed towards her room. Her eyes focused on her shadow that lead the way down the corridor. It was long and dark, contorted by the illumination of the ship’s lighting.  The gloomy reflection nagged a thought in her mind, but she could not quite grasp what that thought was.  It was so close to clarity, yet all she could do was frustratedly fumble with the dying cigarette between her lips. That was it. Everything was at her fingertips, but she could grasp none of it.  Not even those child games she loved so much were holding out on her.

It was making her crazy. Not like Deevee.  He was too happy or looney.  She could never decide what his feelings were.  His eyes seemed concentratedly dreary, but despite such actions, his idiosyncratic whims seemed to allude to other options.  Although, Eimi could hardly imagine being content in the stench of his room.  The stench had been a decent guard for keeping Eimi away from him, even if in her rare moods of elation, she was able to withstand his idiosyncratic extrovert outbursts. 

Jeremiah, Lynnette, and Deevee all had those extroverted qualities.  Poole did, as well, at least, in his massive presence and staunch backbone for religion. They seemed to get along better as a whole, not that Eimi really cared.  She did not care for them very much, secretively interested in them all as she was.  There was a lot about them she did not know.  She had not seen Lynnette’s nipples, yet, for instance, and considering how much they hung out, it was another shocker of shockers. 

Xaara had a tough demeanor.  Eimi joked to herself that Xaara was in the running to be [i]Who is the Hardest to Get-to-Know?[/i]  Except, appearances were not everything. Xaara was, after all, [i]Otousan[/i] of [i]The Absolute Magnitude.[/i]. If that fact wasn't a good skeleton key, then Eimi would… probably do [i]absolutely nothing[/i] because it really honestly did not matter in the end. Just like Poole and his perpetual need to ritualize some Zombie God or whatever.

By the time Eimi reached her sleeping quarter, she was more annoyed with things than when Lynnette trespassed her thoughts.  Her mind was no longer on Wes, but she was too distracted with her aggravated racing emotions to take more note of this.  Her hand slipped into her blazer’s pocket and pulled out her room’s key. The digital device shifted a bolt, and she nudged the door open, entering.  The door was quickly shut, complemented with the lights flickering in the room and revealing the contents inside it.  

Lynnette’s tablet was still lying on her bedding, slightly creased from her body having been resting on it an hour earlier.  Jeremiah’s wallet was still shuffled away by her computer. And, the music in her ears was still playing some dumb dance music. Lynnette’s technological woes were irritating. They were perpetual.  If anyone else needed some sort of help, Eimi would have been less annoyed to help them, but sometimes, it seemed like some diabolical ploy. So yeah, Eimi’s curious itch was about to be scratched, and Big Boob’s tablet was about to get screened for something good. Eimi plucked the cigarette from her mouth and walked over to the ashtray on her desk.  Lighting up another one was tempting, but Jeremiah was broke.