Chapter Text
------Day XX27, 2:09 AM, U Corp:Sea, Mephistopheles, Main Cabin ----------
Briefly after she had left the main cabin, Meursault was questioning the events of what had occurred moments before. He never pinned her as the caring type, as most of the thing she did was for her own ideology. But then again, she did everything in the name of helping others.
The view in front of him was eerie, but not in the unsettling way, more in the lonesome type. With the half crescent moon bowing at the helm of the boat, the only source of light came in at somewhat of a forty five degree angle, leaving for part of the cabin in stark darkness. Where she once stood seemed more empty. Meursault took some steps forward and leaned back into the captain’s chair.
Her embrace was alas, unexpected, but not out of character, however the touch of something he had not felt for so long, had him….
He had not reciprocated the action in any way, for he was frozen with turbulent emotions, but after the matter, he partially wished he did. The other half of him chastised his breakaway from standard thought, ‘We are simply coworkers, who work with each other and care for one another as needed. This is nothing more than business.’ He thought, concluding there was no emotion behind such, nor did there need to be.
------Day XX27, 2:25 AM, U Corp:Sea, Mephistopheles, Sinner Room #5----------
Don Quixote had hit her bed like a bag of bricks, and as much as she wished, she did not sleep like said bag. ‘Thou is a fool, a jester of thine company.’ She said murmuring into the pillow she was cuddling with. ‘Thine intentions twas purine! Yet ‘Sir Brickwall’ cannot see thine humility!’
Flopping over to her back she sighed. Thinking rationally was not her strong suit in the slightest, Every action of hers had some meaning to it, most with good intentions, however her delivery at most times was rather poor. This was no exception to it.
Looking back on it afterwards, she could well see that her actions could heavily be misinterpreted in a romantic light. But what else was she to have done? Run to her room and grab a blanket for him? Make some coffee for him?
Sure they seemed more logical but it was the middle of the night!
She stopped shifting around, giving up on her lament. Looking up at the ceiling she could see familiar faint specks of color in the pitch black darkness. Her eyes hurt from being awake for longer than she typically did, but there was no rest for the sinner as she laid in her misery for the night.
------Day XX27, 9:27 AM, U Corp:Sea, Mephistopheles, Sinner Room #5----------
The morning daylight pierced through her curtains, and with that colour returned to her world. With dazed eyes, the familiarity of the many posters dotted the concrete wall along with her sword. Dust floated tauntingly in the rays dancing onto her face, to which Don Quixote groaned and burrowed herself deeper into heaven.
Thick covers were a must to her to survive the frigid nights, as the sinner preferred to bundle herself up as opposed to strip, however they did not provide the best circulation in the fight against the light.
Surrendering the losing fight, Don Quixote begrudgingly unsheathed herself from her heaven. She had barely slept through the night, after being tormented by something silly she couldn’t remember in her dreams. Slipping visions of arithmetic nonsense pained her head as she fought her way out of the blankets.
The sunlight definitely warmed up the room but a mere step on the floor had herself in turmoil to jump back in the bed.
Braving the feeling of frost accumulating in her feet, she groggily made her way over to her dresser. Chills started creeping over her body like cold fingers hatching on to every bare skin cell. Shakily taking breaths, she could feel her lips starting to chap again.
‘Thou shalt make a humble request to Manager Esquire to up thine’s thermostat… later.’ She thought to herself.
There was a process. After removing the night’s fixer-themed nightwear set, she would first put on socks, left then right. The day’s shirt would then be buttoned up to the next to last hole, then pants. She never particularly liked the feel of them on her skin but they were somewhat do away. Rocinante would come next, being double knotted, sometimes triple if the laces felt too long, then her tie, which was normally the hardest part, belt and jacket.
She normally left all of her pins on her jacket, since taking them off was more than a pain in the ass, though sometimes she rearranged them.
After finishing dressing, and even with the sun well into the sky, sluggishness seemed to pour out of every bone in her body. As much as her mind ached to rest, greatness was calling her as always.
Murmurings of justice and duty, puppeteered the young sinner out of her room.