Fiske had recently started to practice a habit of staying up late the night before, studying until exhaustion prevented him from further reading a single word, and snoozing well into the late hours of the morning... Though this time, he hadn’t even made it to the bed in his room. Splayed onto a table, he found his face planted into a hard surface, falling back into awareness as he heard the footsteps of his crew pace along the long and grand hallways. A deep growl resounded from the young man as heavy eyelids ever so slowly filtered sunlight into his vision. His eyes depicted long, diaphanous digits curled around an intricate carving knife, resting onto his working table as its skin pressed firmly onto the wooden surface below. Why did it feel so sore, all of a sudden? He groaned, taking more effort than expected to push his palm away from the table. And at that moment, he realised the deep, red marks that had been stamped onto his hand.<br/><br/>Oh, gods.<span style="font-style: italic">That’s</span>what he was doing last night.<br/><br/>His wits began to liven. Memories of yesterday evening recalled that he had been successful in using a combination of space-age and Norse technology, a recipe of chemicals and natural ointment, to bind and heal cuts more efficiently. In his excitement, he scribbled his findings into a leather book, as well as turning to his desk to forever mark his findings. By now, a quarter of the table was covered in the handmade various symbols, depicting tales of his successes almost in the same elegant fashion as the carved walls that donned the ship’s interior. With each stroke of the blade, Fiske carved his own identity, forged his own path, subconsciously verified his abilities as a doctor worthy of looking after the people he holds dear, as well as gluing him to his seat from being so absorbed in the intricate act to the point of passing out onto his own carvings... He breathed a laugh through his nose as he finally managed to get up to his feet and glanced at himself through the mirror adjacent to him. It appeared that the carvings had printed their way onto his face, his right cheek covered in shorthand writing and pushed in so deep they were determined to stay put, no matter how much Fiske prodded and smoothed the area with his hands. Fiske slowly shook his head to dismiss his agitated aesthetic as he left the room. There were greater things to worry about, especially seeing as he didn’t show up for breakfast and knew how much the crew liked eating together and conversing about morning plans. Argh.<br/><br/>He practically hovered towards the dining area, sore limbs and sleepy eyes hunching him over. His cape, or in other words his sleeping blanket, crumpled behind him, locks of light brown hair combed by his fingers to rest onto his shoulders. Looming over to Kole and his cooking, he nodded with an apologetically-toned greeting, and quietly sat to the back of the room to dine. His eyes haunted over to the other members as they filed in and sat down, smirking at Isa’s eager notions for thirds. One mealtime previously, when Kole had joked about Isa having the appetite of a woman in stages of pregnancy, Fiske snorted in amusement at the cook’s winking gesture and mused back; “Aha, naw, but who knows? I’ve not much experience at determining that sort’ve thing yet. Also, weyard scanning technology is weyard.” Fiske was never really one for straying beyond old-fashioned, traditional remedies, but then again, becoming a more modern man was in order if he wanted to improve his abilities.<br/><br/>Their enthusiasm, coupled with such fond memories, did wonders to work energy into Fiske, as he found they usually did. When everyone eventually met to the tables, he worked at a soft smile to reflect back at them. “So how’s everyone doin’? Not hurting anywhere? Well, not like we’ve had much to fight to get hurt from recently.” He shoveled a chunk of baked potato and nettle soup into his mouth, its warmth soothing and tasting of distinct Hrið comfort. “And, uh, my apologies for waking up so late. You lot know me.” His words openly spoke to no one in particular as he ate, reminding himself with a smile of why he boarded this ship in the first place. Next time, he thought, he’d try to work on being prompt to morning meetings, for the sake of his friends, no,<span style="font-style: italic">family</span>in a dangerous spacetime.