Light awoke to the distant twang of string instruments. A floating weed adorned with detritus from the docking pan rustled underneath him.

Underneath him? Oh right. He was curled up on a lawn chair that creaked under his weight. The spiky branches poked through slats in the seat.
Smacking his chops together, he realised he was starving hungry and that he could smell kedgeree. He sat up.

Ruk sat stretched over the other lawn chair, snoring with beak wide open. She seemed to wake herself up with a start.

“I feel like I’ve been hit by a bus.” She moaned.

 In front of them the dockyard was waking up; tenants went about their business without paying them any mind. Behind them yawned the cargo doors to his ship, from which Senjen was now speaking.

“I feel fine.” Light said, surprised.

“Must be this fancy suit. You didn't have to make us breakfast.”

“Yes he did. Gimme.” Ruk reached out without opening her eyes, feeling the air as if expecting to find food there.