Swirling Confusion

Posted on Mon Jun 1st, 2020 @ 11:08pm by Jacob Lara
Edited on on Mon Jun 1st, 2020 @ 11:22pm

Mission: The Milk Run
Location: Jacob's Shuttle and Common Area
Timeline: Day 2 Evening

It was early evening, and Jacob was sitting on the bed in his shuttle, the book of poetry he’d been enjoying lately open in his lap. He was dressed in a pair of loose pants, a deep shade of grey, and a white button-down shirt with short sleeves. He’d dimmed the lights, casting most of the shuttle in a sort of twilight haze, and leaving only the bed brightly lit. The colors were vibrant, with lots of jewel tones, aqua, and deep blue, with some vibrant coral, and even some striking white mixed in the various fabrics that made up the bedclothes. He had a small cone of incense burning on the bedside table, filling the air with a spicy perfume that soothed him. With his nerves on high alert anticipating Tristan stopping by he had figured he needed it today more than usual.

It wasn’t until he heard the rest of the crew moving around in the common area that he realized he’d gotten a little absorbed in the poetry and that it was already pretty late. He could smell them cooking and realized also that the incense had burned out quite sometime before. Standing up he went to the entrance to the shuttle and peeked out. He could hear the crew more clearly and smell the delicious aromas of the food, but the catwalk was empty, as was the cargo bay.

Furrowing his brow, confusion at what could be keeping Tristan weighing on his mind, he went back to lay down and read while he waited. He had seemed so excited this morning, and it had even been his idea for them to get together for dinner, so he wasn’t too worried. He’d be there soon.

It wasn’t until he’d felt his stomach rumbling with hunger that he finally started to think maybe he was wrong. He’d only just stood up to go ahead and go join the crew when he heard the distinct sounds of them beginning to clear up for the evening. Stopping just inside the entryway he slapped his hand on the doorframe, frustrated at himself for being so stupid as to miss dinner. He could still go down, but not without feeling like he would look like a fool.

Waiting a while, until he no longer heard any noises, other than the odd clinks and clanks one usually hears on older ships, he quietly slunk down and scrounged for some food. It wasn’t any glamorous, and he once again kicked himself mentally for missing dinner. He’d likely have eaten a hell of a lot better, but still, it was better than nothing, and by the time he’d gotten back to the shuttle he’d managed to get his stomach to stop complaining at him for neglecting it.

It was another few hours before he realized he’d dozed off. Jerking awake he realized it was very late. Checking the chrono he realized it was damn near early the next morning. With a sigh he stood, grabbing his shirt and pulling it back on as he reached out and grabbed the pot he kept water in for when he made tea. He’d used the last of it earlier in the day, and if he was going to go back to sleep he was going to need something to calm his mind. In its current state of swirling confusion and anxiety, he knew it was hopeless to try.

As he walked down the steps into the shuttle bay he realized that the small flicker of hope he’d had even as late as when he’d come to get something to eat was no longer that. It had snuffed itself out sometime between there and when he’d woken up.

Passing through the cargo bay and up into the common area he glanced back towards the quarters, his eyes drifting to the closed door of the room Tristan had been given. There wasn’t even a sliver of light coming from underneath it, and suddenly, for some reason that made him feel even worse. Walking into the kitchen area he placed the pot down on the counter, and then leaned against his, bracing his palms against the hard surface, arms extended, and his head down as he took a deep breath and released it to clear his head.

As the pot filled he found himself wandering, and before he realized where he was going he’d made his way into the corridor leading to the quarters and come to a stop outside the door he’d glanced at just minutes earlier. He strained his ears, wondering if he’d even be able to hear if Tristan was snoring, or listening to music, or anything really. A sudden memory of his voice from earlier, asking if they could have dinner passed through his mind, and he reached out, tenderly brushing his fingers down the frame of the door as silently as the air moving through the passageway.

It wasn’t until he heard the water start splashing as it overflowed the pot that he jerked back to reality, and with one last glance at the doorway made his way back to the kitchen. He was just replacing the lid, after cleaning up the wasted water he’d dribbled on the counter when he heard the soft sound of someone sliding one of the doors to the crew quarters open, or at least he thought he did. When he’d looked up there had been no one there, and every door seemed to be closed still. He dismissed it as a trick of the mind or yet another of the various sounds ships made as they shifted and settled around you out in deep space. But there was no denying the small spark of hope he’d felt when he had thought he’d heard it.

Turning to head back to his shuttle he took one last small glance to the doorway he’d stood in front of, and gave a slightly sad, lopsided smile. “Goodnight,” he said quietly, and then, with a shake of his head he left, wondering how many cups of vanilla chamomile it would take to get him back to sleep.