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[indent][indent][indent][hr]As the captain finished up his spiel, and the survivors began to disperse, Ezmy found her interest waning. No one had tried to press their luck, or whined about their shitty accommodations—which were only marginally less-shitty than the crews’ own—they all just seemed happy to be breathing. Which was stupid. They were attacked, stranded, and now they were essentially being robbed in exchange for their lives. The fact that a few of these idiots would consider the Voltus company heroes when they got to Mars was one part hilarious, and nine parts fucking annoying. 

Some Federation roach skittered up to Cornell and introduced himself as a Lieutenant Commander. The captain shot that shit down pretty quick, and Ezmy scoffed when he winked her way. She hopped down off the table and made her way to the back of the mess again, but did it without hurry so that she could still hear the conversation. There was no reason to eavesdrop; Cornell was just telling the same story all of them had heard before about his past rodeos, and the suit just groveled compliance. Nothing special. Besides, even if Spare Change or Tire or whatever-the-fuck his name was [i]did[/i] say something interesting, even if he’d just started spilling Federation secrets, so what? Who was she gonna tell? Who was [i]anyone[/i] on this bloated iron tub gonna tell? She quickly found herself tuning it out. 

Some of the survivors followed Kellen out of the mess to where they’d be bunking. He was easily one of the most aggravating people on the [i]Cathartes[/i] and, probably, in the whole galaxy—an opinion shared by other crew-members, she was sure—however, through the doorway she caught a glimpse of first-place: Marlowe. 

He was badgering Disker about something, showing off a…toy? It looked like a toy. Had he picked it out of the wreckage? She felt herself growing annoyed with him already, a familiar feeling when it came to the lesser Voltus. Pirates ambush a pack of helpless traders, and Marlowe manages to salvage a [i]toy[/i] rubble.

With effort, Ezmy suppressed the urge to yell [color=ec008c]“grow up!”[/color] through the door, and chugged the last of her coffee instead. Her face twisted at the taste, and for a moment she thought she might not mind if the newcomers [i]did[/i] drink it all. 

But the moment passed, and she went back for a refill. There were still enough people in the mess for her tastes; she'd stick around here until that changed, or until someone barked at her to make herself useful. No one ever got away with loitering on the [i]Cathartes[/i] for long.[/indent][/indent][/indent]