Re: Dining room
He was a doctor on his good days, and a monster on his bad. Scientifically speaking he couldn’t quite be sure which side this all happened to fall upon, though he was a doctor when he slipped through the door and into the depths of a very old and fascinating ship. There was no white coat, but a pair of spectacles sat upon the bridge of his nose, and the fingertips that he trailed over the intricate moulding and tarnished banisters were scarred here and there with the fading evidence of chemical burns and the occasional, clumsy nick of a scalpel. It was the slow, mechanical grinding of the ship’s intestines that drew him down, you see, like the grumbling of some great beast that simply yearned to be left to its own devices. Longed to hide from the prodding tools of scientists and their wide-eyed curiosities. A misunderstand beast. A monster who just wanted to sleep.
He knew the feeling.
Even as he wandered through the hallways, he found the peculiarities to be both innumerable and irresistible in their tantalizing existence. He understood the science, you see, of each tilting sway to starboard and port, fore and aft. He could comprehend the way in which the swelling waves of ocean water that rocked beneath the ship would send him stumbling into one wall and the next, could picture the physics of pitch and yaw. He had a firm grasp on the why, when the motions had a sour taste of bile rising in his throat. But it was the whats, and the hows, and the innate beauty of it all that had plastered a lopsided grin on his face when he eventually staggered into the dining area. It was the splash of water flowing over his saddle shoes as he made his way to a table that had him chuckling aloud, falling rather than sitting into a chair at random. And it was with this sparkling delight that he turned to the figure sitting across the aisle, clutching his hands together in his denim-clad lap.