She looks at him now, her head very slightly inclining to one side. On someone else, the gesture would make her look curious, but Aberdeen's expression remains oddly blank and intent in that blankness. Her attention lingers at that crease between his brows and there's an impulse to reach up and smooth it away with the tips of her fingers. Absently, she teases the piercing in her lip with the tip of her tongue, the hoop jostling, relieving the itch that's settled there ever since she woke up from stasis and her body has taken up the task of trying to heal up the holes without any degree of success. After a moment, she indulges that impulse (if there's one truth about Hallah Tawse, it's that she does what she likes on the terms that she wants to do them) and presses her fingertips to Durham's brow — pushing one way and then the other way, re-establishing that contact for another passing moment.

"This is a colonization ship, though the colonists are missing. There are passenger quarters in the lower levels of the ship." Aberdeen's hand leaves Durham's face again to peel back the sleeve of her leather jacket (truly the only thing right now keeping her from full-blown nakedness). Down the inseam of her arm are a bunch of numerals, tucked neatly beneath an older tattoo of hers (the first 100 digits of pi written down along the inside of her arm from wrist to bicep). "There are corresponding rooms below."

002 » 200 reads her tattoo. Now he knows where to find her if she's not here in the arrival area. Aberdeen's always been something of a 'stay at home' type, anyway.