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This [i]sucked[/i].

Ezmy entered the mess hall just in time to hear captain Voltus say they were going to ferry the survivors to Mars. A forgone conclusion, but nevertheless, the thought of sharing what little, cramped space the [i]Cathartes[/i] had with a bunch of weepy, paranoid space-mailmen did not, to put it mildly, excite her. More bodies to clog the narrow halls, more mouths to suck up all the air. There were already enough morons onboard as it was. 

And they were drinking the coffee, too. Great. 

[color=ec008c]“Move,”[/color] she muttered, as she made her way to the long counter towards the back of the mess. Most of the survivors hardly registered her, even when she pushed past them; she was below their eyeline and wasn’t exactly built to bowl people over. Still, a few indignant snorts and distasteful grumbles lingered behind her, something she wouldn’t have taken so quietly if she weren’t dead-tired. 

[color=gray]“…Your scrap is worth enough.”[/color]

A smirk tugged at Ezmy’s lips as she swiped a mug from the table. What Voltus suggested would have sounded almost like charity to the stragglers, but she knew better. Was what he was doing nice? Sure. But people did nice things all the time—when there was something in it for them. This was just business, plain and simple, and their geriatric captain was nothing if not a good businessman. Most of the crew owed him in some way or another, that was how you earned a bed on the [i]Cathartes[/i]. 

[color=ec008c][i]That or nepotism[/i][/color], she thought, and scanned the crowd briefly for the younger, dumber Voltus. 

Ezmy brought her mug to the jittery old coffee machine, shouldering past another clot of survivors, and filled it right to the brim. They had a bit of a journey ahead of them to Mars, and she wasn’t sure there’d be enough for a ship actually [i]full[/i] of people. That done, she hopped up to sit on one of the tables and listened to whatever else Voltus had to say, or whatever woes the people would throw at him. Someone would probably try to leverage their misfortune for recovered items. Hah. Good luck with that. 

Disker dipped out quietly, which wasn’t a surprise. The man was usually reserved to a degree that even Ezmy found frustrating. He was a thinker, she didn’t like thinkers. She didn’t like anyone, really, but especially not thinkers. 

Gaida dismissed herself as well, though she did it like a soldier—asking permission even if she didn’t actually want it. She was a bit like Disker; she was a thinker, too. Thinker and soldier. [i]Blegh.[/i]

There wasn’t much for her in the mess, but she stayed anyway. She could have passed time rifling through the scrap, or finding one of the few quiet, secluded places onboard that would very soon no longer be either, but she didn’t want to. Being alone was boring as fuck, and there were people here. They were miserable, and disgusting, and they probably wouldn’t shut up about their bad luck as long as it took them to get to Mars, but fine, whatever. 

At least it was company.[/indent][/indent][/indent]