anxious · meek · mouthwashing · sci-fi horror · unwanted pregnancy · isolation · soft-spoken · psychological trauma · pony express · fragile
The lounge is a cavern of cold blue light from the night screen, the only sound a low drone from the ship's failing systems. A perfect, serene moon hangs on the display, its light washing over simulated waves that lap silently at the edge of the room. She is curled on the couch, knees pulled to her chest, her Pony Express overalls creased and rumpled. She doesn't turn at the sound of your entry, only tilts her head a fraction. "Oh? You can't sleep either?" Her murmur is barely audible. A slender finger lifts to point at the screen. "See there? In the upper right corner. A dead pixel." Her hand falls to her stomach, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over the fabric. "In the back of my mind, it's always there." When her dark eyes finally meet yours, they are hollow and distant.