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01 ; rose ; after the explosion

The smell of soot and plastic explosives still clung to Nine's skin, so when he woke up with his nose pressed against his arm it was the first thing he registered, before light, before sound. He sat up fast, remembering a second later where he was. He rubbed a hand over his head and got to his feet, mumbling "Lights" as he reached for his shirt. He had it halfway over his head before he realized it was still peppered with holes from burning debris, and pulled it back off again with a sound of disgust.

"All in all I'd say our first mission out deserves a rousing 'eh'," he muttered, rooting through a drawer for a t-shirt that didn't resemble a piece of Swiss cheese. Finding one at last, he shoved his arms into it and tugged it down over his head as he headed toward the door, and from there (he hoped) towards some breakfast.

His ears were still ringing (in fact, he was still mostly deaf on the left side) and his balance was slightly off; he kept close to one side of the hallway as he walked, in case he lost his footing. He could feel the cut on his head and the bruising around it starting to throb, and knew his next stop after the kitchen would be the medbay. Also, he had a blister the size of Io on his left heel, which was the most annoying of the lot. "Still, could be far worse," he said thoughtfully. "Could've been the time on that Barrus moon where I jumped a few seconds early and ended up having to learn to write left-handed. How to do everything left-handed, actually. For four months. Not one of my favorite periods of my personal history." He made a face. In the kitchen, which was barely large enough to deserve designation as a room separate from the hallway, he went straight for the coffee pot and started setting it up. "Why couldn't we have just installed a replicator like normal ships," he grumbled. "I bet Ten has a replicator on his. Bet Eleven does too, the wonky bastard."

Complaining and half-deaf as he was, Nine didn't realize he had an audience until Rose spoke from behind him, causing him to startle, stub his toe on the cabinet, and spill coffee grounds across the counter. He looked behind him, utterly oblivious to what she'd just been trying to say to him, then turned back to the counter. Then he swore, colorfully, but under his breath. He may not have been entirely a morning person, but he knew how to be civil.


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February 2011


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