Later Claire is coming out of her room on the twenty-eighth floor, having quickly realized what the numbers on her arm had signified with some sort of minute relief. While that hasn't erased the overarching possibility that these numbers are for more nefarious purposes - something she's gotten the impression happens a lot around this place, given what she's picked up from others and sussed out on her own - it's at least given her a spot to drop her stuff. Sitting in her room and staring at the walls isn't exactly her style, though, and while she might not be able to find too much out during her first twenty-four hours aboard the Tranquility, she intends to determine what she can rather than siting idly. Not to mention the inherent claustrophobia she feels in being shut up inside that room. It's like being back in the dorms but without the added knowledge that she had actively chosen to be there.
So she's got her little communicator flat in the palm of her hand and is working on shoving it back down into one of her pockets as she steps out of her doorway. At least the jumpsuits are kind of cool, she thinks, and maybe once she can get a better handle about what's going on, she might be able to allow herself one momentary admission that being on a spaceship with a bunch of people who she's never met before is as exciting as it is horrifying. She walks at a comfortable pace, neither hurrying nor taking too long.
There are people scattered throughout, but Claire recognizes that face and the cagey posture without having to look twice. Maybe because it was one of the more interesting encounters she's had in an otherwise overwhelmingly eventful day, and maybe because he looks possibly even less pleasant than he had when she spoke to him the first time. "Hey!" she calls out, looking to get his attention more than anything else, coming close with every step. Claire has her hand up in a little (embarrassing) wave before she realizes that he's got blood on his shirt, which is about when the forcefulness of her approach drops down several degrees. "Is that blood?"
no subject
So she's got her little communicator flat in the palm of her hand and is working on shoving it back down into one of her pockets as she steps out of her doorway. At least the jumpsuits are kind of cool, she thinks, and maybe once she can get a better handle about what's going on, she might be able to allow herself one momentary admission that being on a spaceship with a bunch of people who she's never met before is as exciting as it is horrifying. She walks at a comfortable pace, neither hurrying nor taking too long.
There are people scattered throughout, but Claire recognizes that face and the cagey posture without having to look twice. Maybe because it was one of the more interesting encounters she's had in an otherwise overwhelmingly eventful day, and maybe because he looks possibly even less pleasant than he had when she spoke to him the first time. "Hey!" she calls out, looking to get his attention more than anything else, coming close with every step. Claire has her hand up in a little (embarrassing) wave before she realizes that he's got blood on his shirt, which is about when the forcefulness of her approach drops down several degrees. "Is that blood?"