Since coming onto the ship there had been many things that had captured the young navigator's attention ranging from his Captain being there and an older version of Spock to the various tech stuffs that were throughout the ship. Needless to say he hadn't even made it to the city that was within the ship yet either having found his calling being in the upper level so far. These areas mostly included the labs and the library.

But presently he found himself sitting in the Observation Deck with his PADD in hand working rather intently on some project or another he had managed to pick up in his few adventures about the ship. With stylus pen in hand he navigated through the screens sometimes stopping to scribble something down or move a file elsewhere. Pavel hoped down the road he would be able to take a look at one of the devices that Billy had told him about- the ones that were like the PADDs. If he could figure out a way to help upgrade them..

"Ah.." the youth said as he dropped the pen to the table and rubbed at his eyes. "Zhis is going to zake a vhile.." Eye strain much, Chekov?

"Did you ever walk into a room and forget why you walked in? I think that is how dogs spend their lives."
- Sue Murphy

Those first hours, after he got back from meeting the returnees from the mission--he slept. In the warm, soft hollow of his tiny sleeping nook he slept the sleep of the dead, and Stacy left him with the firm knowledge that no one would disturb him, he wouldn't be woken for a mission or testing, and he could just rest. For as long as he wanted. He slept until he couldn't anymore, until his legs and body felt cramped beneath him, and the need to stretch was unbearable. So he went exploring. Nose to the ground, with that permanent fleshy scent filling his nostrils, he went about the myriad caverns of the meatship.

The only possession he'd reclaimed was a bright red collar; there was a faded copper tag, with the name 'BANDIT' in big, blocky letters. On the flipside was the name of his owner, but the letters were smaller and faded with wear. John? Jane? And a telephone number: 5something5-23somethingsomething. The collar had come with a box. A big box. But Bandit knew what was in the box, and so he left it alone. He never wanted that again, and Stacy knew. He went back there only once--and the box was gone. So maybe it was for the best.

His first stop had been the mess hall--the food dispenser was his new best friend for life. It scanned him once, and produced the same good-sized portion of kibble it had given him previously. Once that was done, some three-odd seconds later, he made it scan him again, but the ration was smaller this time. I refused to scan him again, stating sufficient fulfillment of nutritional requirements. It would not be swayed--not even by puppy eyes. Made by an actual puppy.

This thing was on to him. So Bandit moved on.

Bandit found his way to the media library, and was busily examining the various terminals. They weren't coughing up anything of note, however; they just did things like play music or start talking at him, which he was pretty sure was a Bad Thing because the last time he'd made something make too much noise he had been punished. Cautious dog is very careful.


ooc. Feel free to come upon Bandit either in the mess hall, the sleeping halls, or the media library.

[OOC: Closed to Sam Winchester, Connor MacManus, Murphy MacManus, Paco Guzman, Kate Bishop, Xander Harris, Tim Drake, and Tony Stark.]

Following his chat with Master Chief and his talk with Dean, Sam sent a personal, secure message through his omnicomm out to the other seven people who had been infested by the Yeerks the longest. It'd taken some doing--and some yelling--but he'd managed to get the Chief to back him (and them) up for the time being. Now, all he had to do was get as many of them on board as possible which, he hoped, wouldn't be all that difficult.

As the appointed time--or as close as they could get to it considering time seemed to be rather difficult to grasp on the ship--Sam made his way to the city to the place that he'd selected for them to meet. It was a place that was bound to stir up bad feelings, things that many of them may not want to face. It was the place where it all began: the Clock House. Or, outside of it, rather, since the actual house itself had been sealed up per Cybil's orders.

Sucking in a deep breath, Sam walked over to the wall and, folding his arms over his chest, leaned up against it. It was as if he were defying anything that might be left alive inside to come out and try something. It was a small gesture, a tiny act of defiance that, despite its implied bravery, still caused the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end. But even though it seemed overwhelming at times, he stifled the urge to flee, burying it deep down in his stomach and remained where he was while he waited for the others to arrive.