[OOC: Fair enough.
Incoming drama![/OOC]
The bridge was quiet. The sun was well down at this point. The tea had gone cold quite some time ago. Fayna sat motionless on the lushly upholstered couch behind the helm, gray eyes fixed on the star-flecked darkness outside, mouth flat, expression cold. Her fingers were knotted around an ivory comb set with chips of malachite.
Jerecht stood nearby with a quiet air of patient resignation, hands folded.
Bryce sat on the floor, elbows resting on his knees, jaw tight, green eyes sharing Fayna's same focus on the horizon. It was hard to tell if he was praying, worrying, or brooding.
"Helm?"
The address was the same, the question behind it unchanged. The dark-haired young man at the console rubbed his eyes and glanced over the crystal displays, fingers sliding as he rechecked what his instruments were already telling him. "They haven't yet heaved to, Miss. They appear to be still running at full burn. As near as I can tell, we aren't falling behind, but we don't seem to be catching up either. The model may be a decade old, but if those engines are the same she was built with, they aren't showing their age."
Fayna stood, and looked down at the comb in her hands for a long moment. "Crew is relieved," she said finally. "Get some dinner and head to your bunks. Six hours, everyone. General alarm will sound if we come up on the other vessel."
The three crewmembers filed out past her, each with a dip of their head and a mumured "Miss Cleiviein." Fayna appropriated the elevated stool the helmsman had occupied. Jerecht laid a hand gently on her right shoulder, gave it a light squeeze, and took over one of the other consoles.
"It shouldn't be that damned
fast!" she snarled suddenly, balled fist coming down on the console in front of her with a loud bang.
