The Norse medic patiently observed Isa as she fumbled around with her bag. He considered the handy-woman to be a rather charming character, with her determined, almost stealth-like nature allowing her to instantly solve problems and complete duties aboard the ship that Fiske could always count on. A quality they seemed to have in common concerned their observant and protective attitude regarding their crew mates - going out of their way to watch out for their friends definitely came into play here, especially considering the nature of Hiro’s mission being so unpredictable and risky. As Isa reached out her hands to carefully outline the important details of her message to the doctor, he studied her symbols carefully, murmuring the translation to himself while she signed to ensure the message came across. “Mm, really? Þǫkk, that’s quite thoughtful.” A slight bow of the head accompanied his message before he shifted towards the dining room’s exit, turning back briefly to thank what was left of the crew for the meal.<br/><br/>Several paces ahead of him, Fiske noticed Ragna’s figure as she started off into the vessel’s training room. Shifting his eyes to her gestures, he observed that the negotiator seemed a tad annoyed this afternoon; knowing how she preferred to deal with frustration, he felt it important to not bother her for now and simply waddle off into the side of the ship, where his little medical sanctuary thrived and perhaps talk to her at a later time.<br/><br/>His cosy office, whilst situated somewhat centrally length-wise for easier access between most people aboard, sat to the left-hand side of the ship, allowing Fiske to have a couple of windows at the back of the room. Such windows seemed to peer into eternity, into the dark yet colourful abyss of galaxy in which they floated in. Opaque, white silk curtains protected the outside world from being too contrastingly overbearing to the eye, and an abundance of ferns and vines crawled along the medical room’s walls to add a homey sort of fragrance to the earthy colours of his wooden furniture and decor. Today felt…<span style="font-style: italic">Cosier</span>than usual in this room as he slid through the door, to say the least. Last night’s battle between blade, medicine and dignity caused an excessive output of thick, bounded books splayed across the floor, open jars of all sorts of scents and chemicals scattered along the shelves and inside cupboards, and of course, a decent pile of wood shavings resting on his ‘carving desk’ and falling onto the floor. “Poor, unhygienic office, fyrirgef mik,” he laughed with exasperation, “though I’m positive I’m on the right track about this ointment.”<br/><br/>Walking towards his desk, he picked up the tiny yet prized jar of ointment that had been the product of last night’s hard labour. His innovation was a faster paced treatment for open cuts.<span style="font-style: italic">I don’t know yet what Kri was in need of today, but if his stitch work was somehow broken, the gods may have just blessed us with a good luck sign</span>, he thought with a smile, doing what he could to pack away the books and copious empty jars as to not create too much of a fuss for Isa.<br/><br/>These days, Fiske’s strict routine of studies seemed to curve towards his crew, even if only by unconscious decision. The memory of the time Captain Alfhild had approached him all the way back at the Village still struck so vivid to him. At first impression, the woman seemed sort of overwhelming, almost daunting to him, starkly contrasting with his own reserved demeanour… But she spoke. She was open, welcoming, influential, powerful, strong, brave, hearty - the qualities that the Osmond family always wanted out of Fiske, qualities he could only dream of. Such warriors were admirable to him. Ever since that fateful day in which her dreams to pursue the gods persuaded him to join, Fiske’s attitude could never be happier to tend to the brave crew and fighters that he could never hope to become.<br/><br/>Sinking into his office chair, his hand graced upon an untouched computer. Modern space age technology was only becoming the future of medicine these days; with his friends at stake, he prayed to Eir that his new concoctions would compete with the rest of the universe. He would not abandon the traditions of the Norse elders, but a mixture of past and present, he found, worked well to serve both the gods and his peers.<br/><br/>(Old Norse translations: ‘Þǫkk’ = ‘thank you’; ‘fyrirgef mik’ = ‘I’m sorry’)