The subtle hum of the Rabbit coated the silence as she occupied the middle compartment at the table, tapping her pen to the table as thought. It had been a good month or more since the fall of Ramdeau, though she hardly remembered it as anything past a weird dream, surmising that the experience there was far less real than the new world she occupied, with real sunlight and weather patterns far less cold, albeit more sporadic and tempered in nature. It was a particularly calm day, cloudy but warm in its own way, with wind just strong enough to keep the Rabbit moving. She had taken to keeping logs as she had before, but far less analytical and more suited to keeping her sanity as well as allowing herself something she never considered previously—creative output.
She still dressed as she always had, but found with the new rise in temperature, the tight leather corset had to be ditched and opted for a loose tunic-type shirt made of soft, thin fabric dark gray to suit her usual shadowy style. She had rolled the sleeves up to her elbows and pensively stared down at her pages, palm resting on her jaw. She barely moved when she heard the door slide open. Without too much deduction or glancing, she could tell immediately by the mechanical steps that it was Pino, who walked with a skip and hummed very quietly to herself. She entered, tore through the storage for her piano whistle, and skipped about, taking only a moment to look at Re-l and smile before leaving her alone again.
Re-l looked up and furrowed, her darkened eyes keen on the slight whisper of air that blew through the door of the compartment from an incomplete shut and decided to rise from her chair. She managed to get her fingers inside the handle just as the door flew from her grasp and she found herself compromised, recoiling as she leaned backward a bit to meet the gaze of Vincent. His green eyes widened in surprise, the apology forming on his mouth as he made an attempt to back step and allow her a bit of personal space. He had his immigrant garb peeled down and tied around his waist, leaving only his sallow-colored undershirt. He was modestly muscled, but still very strongly-built—sturdy—but altogether far more masculine now that once previously thought.
His face, however, remained sheepishly downturned as he muttered, "Sorry, Re-l."
"I was just fixing the door," she deadpanned, stepping backward. "You can come in."
Vincent livened and stepped past her, making sure to secure the door behind him with a crooned head. He then smiled at her timidly and continued forward. She knew his reactions were due to her spiny exterior in the beginning, but sometimes his oversensitivity to her needs weighed on her. She furrowed and returned to the table, picking up her pen. She found herself glancing at him as he went straight toward the storage and rummaged about for a moment before picking up a very old roll of tape.
"There's a side bar a little loose," he explained. "It's not dangerous, exactly, but I'd hate for it to become a problem before we have the supplies to mend it." He smiled, waving the tape around in a conversational manner. "I remembered we had tape. It should keep it secured long enough to last us getting to another fallen dome."
Re-l nodded, placing her jaw in her palm. "Not a bad idea."
"Kristeva said we should reach civilization in a couple days. If there are no people, at least there will be supplies. Or scrap. Could use extra metal lying around considering the Centzon is only getting older," he continued, making his way to the door.
"We could also use a bit of a dietary change. I know I made such a fuss before about the beans before, but changing instead to canned meats has done neither of us good," she said, making a face as he offered a warm smile in return and fixed his position to be more comfortable, leaning halfway on the wall beside the door. He folded his arms, tape now tucked underwing.
"Are you saying you miss the beans?" he asked, scrutinizing her for a moment. It was playful.
"I retract my hatred of the beans—I think what I really hate is the meal repetition," she said having her hand at him. "You're so complacent. How can you eat the same thing every day and not grow to hate it?"
"Well, starving generally makes you not so picky," he said with consideration.
"We've starved before," Re-l retorted.
"No, we've rationed before. We've never starved," Vincent clarified. "Luckily for us, we've never run out of food. And I have no plans to run out of food again, it's not a gratifying experience even if it makes beans and canned meat seem like luxury."
Re-l quieted, returning to her thoughts. He wasn't wrong. While they were not well-fed, they were substantially far from starving, and she recalled a couple times he had gone without eating to keep her starving. She eyed him as he remained, leaning against the wall watching her. He knew he watched her often, and although it bothered her previously, she expected it now. He was careful to keep his boundaries set, touching her only lightly time to time to satisfy his need for human closeness, and while she had defrosted considerably from her unbearably exclusive self she still felt most comfortable when he held her in his eyes.
He stirred from his position from the wall and shook the tape at her again. "Alright, better go fix that rail," he muttered, breaking eye contact. He opened the door, smiling to himself. "By the way," he started, and she perked from her seat, attentive, "you look very comfortable in that shirt."
It was an odd sort of compliment, and he left immediately after. But somehow, her skin felt warm as she allowed the compliment to mold in her mind, and she found herself plucking and smoothing the shirt as she looked down to see what he meant. She did appear more casual for once, with her spine relaxed and her forearms exposed. The dip of the shirt was not low, exactly, but it rested nicely below her collarbone. Indeed she felt comfortable, easily more relaxed in less layers. Perhaps even less rigid. She looked to the door, but it was closed and the only thing left to the room as the hum of the Rabbit.