You would only know the jarring experience of walking city streets at night without hearing if you were one of two people- born deaf, or recently exited a concert. The transition for Fritzi- or Frankie- wasn't as extreme, but it was as if she had walked out of her room into an elevator with the music that the ship's onboard AI had a peculiar liking for. Freshly showered and her hair done up in the standard ponytail, bedecked in a Metallica t-shirt and jeans, she licked her brushed teeth and sighed. She let the corners of her mouth droop into a frown as she reluctantly closed her door on [i]Sleep's[/i] self-titled album and let the World War II-era jazz wash over her.

She made it to the lunch-room getting by on social interaction that consisted solely of nods and the kind of smile you give to people you have no strong feelings towards on any end of the like-dislike spectrum. Her fingers lingered on the door to the ship's mess hall for a few moments, she could say she was asleep or making last-minute important adjustments to the CARAPACE suits, or helping some of the engineers turn some wrenches for something or other. Finally, letting go her second sigh of the day, she wrestled with her frown to turn it at least somewhat upside-down and stepped through the door. If anything, she'd get a good idea of the people she'd have to keep her true intentions from.

It turned out she didn't have to fight too hard for the small smile as she took in the party décor that was very much the epitome of half-assed. It almost reminded her of her Army days, half-expecting to see a tired supply clerk somewhere and a few eleven-bravos who'd been drinking for an hour but only entered the room five minutes ago. She looked to her right and all sense of nostalgia was blown away from her like a shockwave from a roadside IED at the sight of the gaudy shirt standing a few meters away from her. She couldn't say it wasn't a bit endearing. The man inside of it wasn't too bad, she guessed, a smile a few steps above hers pinned on his face. Standing next to him was someone she might just grow a liking for, clad in a very similar Metallica shirt and jeans not dissimilar from her own. Tucked away in the corner like the umbra of a shadow was a lone man glowering almost comedically next to the party hats and streamers around him and the table he sat at.

“Well, shit.” She muttered to herself, “I guess it won't be too boring after all.”