✪ the aft:
[Nice view, yes. Pleasant and open, a bit disorienting if you were the type to be disoriented by such a thing. He's not. No, he can't be bothered to worry about something so small as the possibility of being flung out into space with no way of being pulled back. He's got more important things to do. Like, patrolling the aft. It's not technically Nicholas' job, he wasn't assigned this, but here he was.

Making certain everyone was doing what was right and not hinting at doing what was wrong.]

Stay away from the divider.

[Hands clasped behind his back, lips pinched into a firm line.]

Really, too close and you might fall out.

[Or up. Or away. No need for specifics, they'd know what he meant.]

✪ the mess hall:
[Cranberry juice. That's what he wanted, but that's not what they had. Water that looked as if it came from a rusted tap, nothing else. He swirls the cup, frowning, takes a light sniff.]

No.

[Nicholas gestures to the cup in the person's hand queued directly behind him.]

Unless you plan on getting pissed before ten am, I would stop.

[He sets his plate of green pancakes down. Who here was trying to get them all drunk?]

✪ the delirium:
[Nicholas hadn't gone far from the ship, The Moira, why would he? If they required him to explore, to participate in manual labor, he would. If it were necessary, but he believed his skills were better utilized here. Especially now that there was a ruckus, crew stumbling back towards the ship in varying states of distress.

Wide eyes. Sweating. Disoriented.

He notes their states, disheveled and slow, and quickly rushes forward to help. One after the other, waiting in between.]

Here, let me assist you.