Skye O'Connell - The Painted Lady
Interacting with:
@EurmalEyeMORNING
Skye stared at McCaffrey for a moment, before she remembered the grime. Quickly, she grabbed one of the washrags, and wiped the soap suds off of her forearms and hands. Once they were almost clean, she accepted the fabric and the salad bowl with a smile. Running a finger over the embroidered words, a smile spread across her face, satisfaction evident in her exhausted eyes.
"McCaffrey... you do know I'm gay, right?"
She let out a little laugh, that melted into a yawn.
"Thank you, though. I do really appreciate this- I was just doing my job."
Lifting a hand in a wave of thanks, she sighed. Adjusting the straps of her overalls, she carried her little bundle under her arm, leaving the kitchen with a spring in her step. However, with each turn of a corner, each passed door, the exhaustion became more and more evident, pulling on her skin and causing each movement to sag to the ground as though the gravity had been increased.
Once she reached her room, she collapsed onto her cot. Her residence was little more than a broom closet, really. One wall was just large enough to host the door, one other held a sink, a mirror, and toilet, another, her cot, which could be lowered from the wall. The final wall rested on the outer edge of the ship, a window that revealed the beauty of the universe outside. Right now, though, it was all too bright.
She sat cross-legged on her cot, and set the salad bowl in her lap. With the provided chopsticks, she began to enjoy her meal. It was the first time she had gotten the chance to eat in over ten hours, and the nourishment was enough to help her relax, filling the void she had not noticed in her stomach. Fulfilled, she placed the empty bowl on the edge of her sink, making a mental reminder to return it to the restaurant whenever she woke.
Setting an alarm for nine hours, Skye curled up onto her cot, and pulled her blankets up to cover herself entirely. She closed her eyes, and in seconds, fell fast asleep.
EVENING
Skye woke an hour before her alarm went off, and laid in bed for several minutes. Still groggy, she stared out of her window with wide eyes, watching a nebula pass by in its cloudy ambivalence. With a yawn, she finally stood, and set her cot back up against the wall, revealing a trunk beneath the bed.
Stripping down, she analyzed the contents of the trunk for a minute, before producing from it a set of clothes. Like the rest of her wardrobe, her selection was old, and splattered with paint. A little blue dress, a few shades darker than her hair yet lighter than a blueberry, it was loose fitting, and splattered with little marks of red and orange paint at the hem. Slipping the dress over her head, she debated whether or not to shave her legs. Voting against it, she stuffed her feet into some tall combat boots, and walked out.
The halls were bustling with activity now, and she still had two hours before she would be on the clock. Bowl tucked under her arm, Skye walked along the wall with her head held down. No one seemed to notice her, even as she hummed something softly, a familiar aria she had heard in the lounge a few nights ago.
She arrived in the Painted Lady, at the service entrance, with the bowl, and a grin. Looking around for McCaffrey, the grin disappeared, and she left, leaving the bowl in the sink. Hands in her pockets- every dress should have pockets- Skye watched the rich people as they laughed and lounged, her eyes taking in the sights and her ears taking in the sounds, looking for inspiration.
Instead, she found two rude girls, one audibly insulting the service. Frowning, Skye thought about approaching them, but decided against it. She did not need another mark against her, on her record.
She asked around for a little while, friendly faces who might know where the man was. Searching for McCaffrey, so that she could properly thank him, Skye stumbled upon his hiding spot in one of the common rooms. Taking out her sketchbook, she hid in the corner for a little while, unusually quiet. After a few minutes, she finished sketching something- a little picture of McCaffrey's knives, juggled by delicate hands. She cleared her throat, and stood, presenting the picture to McCaffrey.
"Hey, thanks for dinner. I appreciate it- I was fucking starving, exhausted to boot. So thanks. You ok?"
