He couldn't remember the last time he'd had such trouble sleeping. It must have been years, at the very least! Soysauce had always been the type to work hard and rest well -- waking up early, keeping himself busy throughout the day, performing at bars late into the night and falling asleep the moment he fell into bed at the end of the day. The longest he could remember it took him to fall asleep was maybe ... ten minutes? So in a way, the insomnia that everybody on the Tranquility seemed to be suffering from was almost somewhat novel. A unique experience! Something new to learn and grow from!
-- Or at least, this was what Soysauce tried to convince himself was true. His natural optimism certainly did a lot to bolster his willpower, but unfortunately even his fiercely cheery attitude couldn't neutralize just how tired he was, physically.
There was hideous dark circles under his eyes, and Soysauce seemed a little pale, a little more gaunt than usual, rather lacking the usual bounce in his step, his movements significantly more sluggish than was normal. Try as he might, Soysauce couldn't get proper rest at night, and even an increased intake of coffee didn't do much to ward off the lingering exhaustion. From time to time, he found his thoughts drifting off to nowhere in particular, his footsteps meandering without direction even as he tried to remain diligent about his security patrols -- simply unable to focus his thoughts, too tired to concentrated.
So he tried to keep himself occupied. Spent all that time would have been wasted tossing and turning in bed in the kitchen instead, cooking up a frenzy. He was too tired to have too much of an appetite for himself, and he wasn't much of a bit eater in the first place -- which meant the extra food mostly went to other people. He left fancy dishes packed up in the fridges for other people to plunder if they didn't want to cook, delivered portions to some people, tried to keep himself occupied and energetic in this way. What better way to try and stay coherent than by helping (or at least trying to help) other people?
That evening found Soysauce standing by AM's room, rapping smartly at the door with his knuckles once, twice. There was a still-warm container of pasta in his other hand, a bottle of water tucked into the crook of his arm. His fingers were plastered with bandages, little nicks and cuts from where he'd spaced out exhausted in the kitchen, but Soysauce tried not to think of it too much -- trying his best to sound chipper as he called out, "Mister AM!" Pause. "I, ah -- was spending some time in the kitchen. If you haven't eaten yet, would you perhaps like to share a bite?"
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-- Or at least, this was what Soysauce tried to convince himself was true. His natural optimism certainly did a lot to bolster his willpower, but unfortunately even his fiercely cheery attitude couldn't neutralize just how tired he was, physically.
There was hideous dark circles under his eyes, and Soysauce seemed a little pale, a little more gaunt than usual, rather lacking the usual bounce in his step, his movements significantly more sluggish than was normal. Try as he might, Soysauce couldn't get proper rest at night, and even an increased intake of coffee didn't do much to ward off the lingering exhaustion. From time to time, he found his thoughts drifting off to nowhere in particular, his footsteps meandering without direction even as he tried to remain diligent about his security patrols -- simply unable to focus his thoughts, too tired to concentrated.
So he tried to keep himself occupied. Spent all that time would have been wasted tossing and turning in bed in the kitchen instead, cooking up a frenzy. He was too tired to have too much of an appetite for himself, and he wasn't much of a bit eater in the first place -- which meant the extra food mostly went to other people. He left fancy dishes packed up in the fridges for other people to plunder if they didn't want to cook, delivered portions to some people, tried to keep himself occupied and energetic in this way. What better way to try and stay coherent than by helping (or at least trying to help) other people?
That evening found Soysauce standing by AM's room, rapping smartly at the door with his knuckles once, twice. There was a still-warm container of pasta in his other hand, a bottle of water tucked into the crook of his arm. His fingers were plastered with bandages, little nicks and cuts from where he'd spaced out exhausted in the kitchen, but Soysauce tried not to think of it too much -- trying his best to sound chipper as he called out, "Mister AM!" Pause. "I, ah -- was spending some time in the kitchen. If you haven't eaten yet, would you perhaps like to share a bite?"