Using the needle nose pliers, she coiled the copper wire as tightly together as she could manage, using a coin as her guide. If she could make this as small as a bottle cap, she was doing amazing and it would be her goal. She doubted it, however, because with development came compromises and size would be the first compromise she'd make. She wanted this particular model to have around forty-five milliamps of current. That way, if she tossed it at someone and activated it, they couldn't continue to chase her or anyone else. That kind of amperage was enough to cause terrible muscle contractions and burns, but surely wouldn't be bad enough to fry or kill someone… unless of course they were standing in water.
But then again, that was a lot to ask of a smaller version of her own pancake model, which was around a hundred twenty milliamps in itself and was the size of a frisbee. However, with lots of work and problem solving, maybe she could make it work. Of course, she would have to account for the size of the sensor and she was using the smallest processor chip she could get her hands on. Her supplies were limited right now, but if she could make a prototype and know exactly what she needed, she knew what that first paycheck would go towards. Of course, that depends on how quickly she had to recycle materials and if she would have to start from scratch and-
Her stomach growled. Lowering the pliers, she leaned back in the uncomfortable metal chair to assess how she felt. Tired? Yes. Hungry? Definitely. She sighed and fished her phone out of her pocket, flipping it open and watching as the dull screen came to life. The time was 5:23 am. She pushed the chair back and realized that her music had stopped long ago and she hadn't noticed. Maybe it was the perfect time to take a peek in the kitchen and see if there was anything stocked up. Surely there would be, right? If nothing else, coffee would help tremendously.
Taking to her feet, she stretched and shook away her tiredness the best she could, ignoring the fussiness in her brain from lack of sleep. She doubted she would be able to sleep if she tried and there was no use in wasting time laying down only to rise a few hours later with no progress.
Pushing open the door, she stepped out of the room and into the lounge, hoping it was empty. With her hope came disappointment and her "babysitter" lay on the leather sofa, the red cloak a sharp contrast against the dark grey surface. He stared up at the ceiling and didn't bother to acknowledge her appearance. She wondered if she should bother, but she opened her mouth anyway as she passed by the couch.
"I see you're an early bird." Stella observed and scanned the kitchen.
"I never slept." Vincent's short response confirmed her suspicions. She quickly found the coffee grounds and carafe among the kitchen appliances, all shiny and new.
"That makes two of us. Coffee?" She asked and heard the man shift on the sofa, his tangled mess of black hair shown as he leaned up and looked over the back of the couch.
"Don't fret over me." He gave and she began to spoon the coffee grounds into the paper filter.
"Fret? I'm not fretting. It's easy to put more water in if you want some. It's not a big deal." Stella almost scoffed. She paused by the sink and waited, her hand on the handle. The man took a moment.
"Okay, go ahead." He permitted and she filled the carafe up accordingly.
Silence lingered as Stella worked to brew the coffee and she felt a small tinge of familiarity. Around this time, she would be doing the same thing at the Kalm Inn, begging Damien not to cook the eggs. She wondered how he was coping now and how quickly a new person would be hired to replace her. It was unreal, being anywhere other than the inn with the monotonous ticking of the clock and the worries about room keys and property damage. She almost felt homesick, but that was ridiculous.
She was working on what she wanted to work on and even if she was in unfamiliar waters with new, unfamiliar people… she could manage and it surely would be better than remaining in the dull routine that was sapping her happiness. Would it be easy? No and the members of AVALANCHE made that clear, but she was already getting the easy way. All she had to do was hang onto her position and continue to make things to help out. She wasn't like the others and she doubted she'd be thrust into any position besides a developer behind the scenes.
And that was perfect for her. She could help out and maybe make a difference without getting in the way, yet still was able to tag along and have her own sense of adventure. Just knowing that she was halfway across the world now felt so much different and really spectacular to her.
Before she knew it, the carafe was filled with steaming black coffee, the rich nutty roasted aroma met her nose and she already felt more awake. She opened a few of the cabinets and found the one with a few mugs. The plates and cutlery were really basic, most likely only suiting the need for this ship, but a few of the mugs were interesting. Almost all of them were "come see Rocket Town" tourist mugs that had hand painted lettering on them.
She poured up both mugs and dumped a considerable amount of sugar into her mug. Checking the refrigerator for any milk or coffee creamer, she surveyed it's contents. A few basic things like hamburger meat and eggs and a head of lettuce. Enough to make dinner. She decided she would think of a meal plan later. Pouring a little milk into her coffee, she left it on the countertop and pulled out the case of eggs. Breakfast sounded amazing.
"Hey, Vincent? Do you want sugar or milk or anything in your coffee?" She called and the man answered back from behind the couch.
"No." Simply put.
Nothing to add, she took the "Rocket Town: out of this world hospitality" mug in her hand and stepped around the bar and to the couch. She set the mug down on the metal coffee table and Vincent looked over at it from where he laid.
"I'm going to make eggs. How you do want the-" Her question wasn't fully out before he answered her.
"Scrambled. With cheese." He knew what she was going to ask. Pushing himself up, he pulled the mug to the edge of the table and closer to his grasp. "Please." he added. At least he was polite. She pressed her lips together and nodded as she stepped away.
Once at the countertop again, she took a long sip and the coffee and silently willed it to clear her head. Eating something would help and the eggs beckoned her. Now it really was like cooking for the inn.
She let autopilot take over and she quickly found the skillets and pans, taking the skillet and whisking the eggs in a bowl. These were chicken eggs, so they didn't need to be cooked as long as hearty chocobo eggs. In no time, like a code carrying out a function, she had a skillet full of scrambled eggs, a nice layer of shredded cheddar. She looked around and only found basic seasoning in a cabinet above the stove, which she frowned on. Her mother would yell if their pantry at home lacked so much seasoning salts, pepper rubs, and spices. Still, she lightly salted the eggs and called it finished.
Dividing the eggs up, she shoveled them onto the bare plates, which paled in comparison to the colorful tourist mugs. Making sure she had a good hold of everything, she brought both plates and her own coffee mug into the lounge area. With care, she set Vincent's plate down in front of him. He sipped his coffee and muttered something incomprehensible, but she liked to think it was a thanks. She could save herself the trouble of a strangely quiet and awkward breakfast, and she even took a step towards the workroom, but she resolved to just sit on the sofa opposite of the man.
He didn't look up and pulled the plate into his lap. Like she thought, none of the silence from before was broken and instead the sounds of forks against plates and quiet sips of coffee was all that graced their ears. She wondered why exactly he kept the, strangely costume like cloak on when he had to pull the high collar down from his face to eat.
She had compared this to her mornings at the inn, but realized now that it was nothing like that.
Once she was finished, she set the plate in front of her and took the mug in her hands, planning to finish it off first. Vincent had finished far before her and peered into his mug, avoiding looking at her. Understandable.
"So… what do you do at AVALANCHE. Cid said you were a good marksman." Stella began, offering to ask and break the ice a little. The man looked up, his strange brassy gauntlet tapped on the side of the mug.
"I am. I help out and do what is needed." His response was vague. She took a sip on the coffee, which was growing lukewarm.
"Anything specific?" She asked and he paused, looking down into his mug again.
"I have skills in fighting. That's where I'm most helpful." He offered, giving just a little more. She didn't know if he just didn't want to talk to her or if he was shy, but she tended to think the latter as he didn't look annoyed with her yet.
"That's a common trend here. It seems like that's everyone's deal." She sighed out, swirling the last sip of the coffee around in the mug. The man returned a hum in response and she figured that's all she would get from him. It was worth a shot anyway.
Downing the last bit of her coffee, Stella grabbed her plate and pushed herself off the couch only for Vincent to stand up with her.
"I'll take that." His statement took her off guard. He held out his hands to take her plate and mug, but she needed to make sure she didn't misunderstand.
"What?" Her question was short and he took the plate and mug from her hand anyway.
"You cooked so I'll clean. It's common courtesy." He gave simply, stacking her plate on his.
"Oh, well I won't argue with that. Thanks." She gave and he was silent as he took the dishware to the countertops. She watched for a moment and spoke up, "Hey, i'm not gonna be in the workroom for a while. I'll be back later, if you… um, need anything." She said and his next statement paid her no mind.
"In a few hours, when the sun rises and it's warmer, you're getting in shooting practice." He gave as a soft order. That's right, Cloud had asked him to do that. She wasn't entirely happy to hear that and the thought of shooting a strange gun with a strange man wasn't ideal.
"Okay. Thanks." Her response was lackluster as she turned on her heel and went into the workroom.
Closing the door behind her, she rummaged through her suitcase and found an outfit, sweatpants and a black tank. She pulled some toiletries that she kept in a makeup bag and brought them along. Taking her leave out of the workroom, she saw that Vincent was in fact serious about washing up everything, his gauntlet lay to the side of the sink. Again, he paid her no attention.
Taking the route that she remembered, she continued past the lounge area and down the hallway where an open area displayed several doors. One led to the sleeping quarters that everyone shared, a bunch of bunk style beds. She hated the idea of sleeping in a bed under someone, but no one had called their beds yet and Stella hadn't either. She didn't even know if she snored and she didn't want to embarrass herself like that. Another door led to the new gym, which before was a room used for an arsenal, if Stella remembered what Tifa had said correctly.
The last door was to the community style shower room, which Stella was thrown off by. Like a sports gym, a bunch of showers lined the room and everything was tiled with a changing stall in the back. Tifa had said it was left over from the ship's use before, being more of a military vessel. At least now shower curtains separated the showerheads, but Stella would make sure only to come in here when everyone was accounted for in other parts of the ship.
Opening the door, the slow drip of one of the leaky showerheads was heard echoing through the room. She would definitely take the shower in the back of the room as a precaution. She slid her boots and socks off at the entrance and made her way towards the changing stall near the back. She'd put her stuff on the bench in there, she decided. Walking past the cells of showers created by the curtain walls, one thing caught her attention.
In the second to last shower, the source of the dripping, the sides of the curtains had beaded water droplets clinging to them and water pooled up on the tile. Among that was a grated shelf system that hung from the showerhead and in it lay… a bar of soap? It caught her eye, the red of the soap, which actually displayed a rose frozen in it's center. Strange, it must be her babysitter's left behind soap, she reasoned.
Giving it no more thought, she went along with her business and decided to lock the shower door, which she was more than glad was an option.