Nightmares had been plaguing Medic badly. They came regularly enough without any help, but these were more severe and vivid than normal. He hadn't slept in a number of days, so the German was twitchy and on edge far more than usual. He had been separating himself from the crew for a period of time now as he feared he'd have a sudden flashback and kill a patient without intending to. War was a horrible thing...Being a victim of a war for something you were born into was more horrible.

The horrors he had seen in that place; the atrocities he was forced to commit against his fellow kin just to survive. He could never forgive himself. The nightmares reminded him constantly. For now, he would find a moment's reprieve in exploring all of the ship he could. He really didn't want to run into someone else (especially not that insufferable Scout), but maybe a conversation could help him some. The other issues was that the stress was making him revert back to speaking almost solely German; his English was getting broken, at best. It was a fact he hated, but learned to deal with as best he could.

((OOC: Medic's just wandering, so feel free to have someone run into him.))

Tex was, by this point, pretty sick and tired of being intangible. It wasn't like it was the first time she had done it-Blood Gulch had given her practice-but that didn't mean she had to like not being solid for a long time. It got in the way of actually being able to do things.

Fortunately, there was a solution besides trying to hijack Grif or Doc.

Tex opted to pop up in the Sensoriums, calling up what looked to be like a lot of snow, rocks, and not much else. She shifted a little as she settled into solid form, checked her gun-also blessedly solid-and started to lope off through the rocks, her posture alert. She was looking for something.

He is restless, wanting one minute not to leave his castle unguarded, the next certain of some distant conflict that must require his help. The Nightmare King is strong, after all, and only getting stronger. Even Goliath is having nightmares now, flickering visions of warped horror that he half-remembers upon waking. They could get worse. They probably will.

He ends up wandering, fitfully patrolling the ship for signs of crewmates caught in waking dreams, all the while guarding himself against one. Unease gnaws at him, has been gnawing at him for days now. It's becoming as normal to him as breathing, this edgy, hateful boiling discomfort, worse for all that he cannot tell where his natural discomfort for his new setting ends and the Nightmare King's influence begins.

So he wanders, and in his wandering finds himself in the hangar, policing his thoughts for ones of defeat (worse yet: thoughts of submission), when a bright splash of red and the silhouette of a tailfin catches his eye from between spaceships and mechanized suits of armor.

It is a car. A familiar car.

He is inspecting it even as he approaches. The license plate number is correct. There - a scrape from Lexington's overcurious talon. A nick in the door handle from when he once pulled it open for her. Little details, adding up to a sudden, restful quiet settling over his mind.

The Daligig would not have gone through the trouble of saving him only to overlook the rest of his city entirely. She is strong. She is capable. She is the equal of any human here, and they would have been fools to look her over. They would have been fools to have brought him here to be alone.

This much he is certain of now - the Daligig are not fools.

Carefully, respectful of the pride Elisa takes in her car, he spreads his palm over the hood of the vehicle, ensuring its reality. For the first time since his awakening in the Statuary, Goliath does not have to force himself to smile.