The purity seals layering the armored dome of the Navigator's compartment ceased their humming, dissipating the concentrated psychic energy that protected its priceless occupant from the Immaterium's ravenous denizens and settling into the low clicking of standby power. Inside, the priceless occupant in question shuddered in esctasy, all three eyes opening and closing rapidly as he shook off the euphoric effects of warp-space. The Captain said something, pulling him back down to reality a bit faster than he would have normally as he processed what she said, and he smiled. Through the vox-speaker that let him communicate with the bridge while locked in his protective pod, he replied with a wobbly laugh, "Captain, you know the day I steer us off by more than a month, I'll already be dead and you'll be pumping shells into whatever's decided to move in and use me as a hab-dome."<br/><br/>It was true, too. the famed trait of his particular bloodline, the one that had eventually ended him up where he was now, was their reliability. Other Houses were at home on the fastest currents, or more skilled at conducting a smooth transmission between realities, but his legacy was his family's ability to intuitively sense and avoid the eddies and other mishaps that often plagued less cautious vessels. Well - his ex-family, technically, but that wasn't relevant to the situation. Recognizing the signs of a wandering mind again, he reached for the rack of injectors he kept to one side and selected one at random - stimulant this time. He depressed the needle, pumping the drug into his bloodstream, and shook his head violently as the world abruptly spun back into focus. Like almost everything else about him, his blood chemistry didn't function according to human standards; drugs, no matter if they were stimulants or hallucinogens or depressants, failed to follow their function. Instead, they deadened his warp-sight, anchoring his mind in the real world and breaking him free of the high that followed every trip through the Warp. Better than any drug, it was, and far more dangerous, just the way he liked it.<br/><br/>He stretched as much as the tiny compartment allowed, retrieving the leather skullcap hanging from its hook above and pulling it tightly over his head, covering the hairless dome and the deadly third eye on his forehead (already drooping sleepily in response to the injection). Properly secured and safe to interact with 'normals', as much as that term applied to this crew, he hit the release button for the hatch and began to unfold out of it. It took a long time - he was tall, even for a Navigator, and whoever had lived in that pod before him, they had been much shorter. He finished and brushed off his mismatched and colorful clothing (today, a long cherry-red shirt and blue pants, offset rather horribly by his tattered black sash and skullcap, just in time to see the Captain disappear through her stateroom door. He knew how she always got after a successful trip - the Warp had its influences even through the Geller field, and in Capt. Avorn's case, sent her already exceptional libido through the roof. For a moment, he considered following her by the customary round-about route, but decided against it...even with the injection, he was still warp-happy, and would be for at least twenty minutes. It made for...distracted...lovemaking, to say the least, taking most of the fun out of it for both partners. Better to let some poor non-commissioned fool who decided to come report to her that Deck Thirty-Seven's life support was recharging successfully (Praise The Emperor) end up with the most exciting and confusing hour of his life to date. Benidal was fine with waiting, letting his energies refocus, and going to see the Captain for a 'private debriefing' later.