<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: times new roman;"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 12pt;"><br/>The brief bath had been refreshing, kept short because Syn was sure that they would hear soon enough exactly what the Captain had in mind at this stop. Hopefully not another simple trade stop; that always left the wych with nothing to do, except perhaps follow along behind the Captain and look dangerous if Avorn wanted to put a little menace into her negotiation tactics. Truly, that was almost worse than doing nothing, being unable to follow through on the fear she felt in the other parties.<br/><br/>Syn kept to the center of the dark passage, as cavernous and empty as the rest of the ship away from the workstations and crew quarters most of the time, as she dragged her armour and weapons behind her, almost carelessly tangled into bundle. She was still naked, not wanting to put her dirty armour and it's sweat soaked pads against her freshly cleaned skin, as she made her way towards her quarters. She'd find something to wear, then perhaps wander off in search of drink to divert herself until the Captain called.<br/><br/>But not too much alcohol, Syn didn't want to get drunk and accidentally murder a crewman or twenty. Like they'd even be missed, she sighed, among these thousands. All this restraint, so tiresome. How could the Eldar have managed all these millenia? <br/></span></span>