In roaming the ship, out of an increased sense of irritation and impatience, Zetta had discovered someplace new to him.

Most of the murals and paintings and sculptures in the place, disturbing though they might be to a mortal mind, gave the Overlord no pause whatsoever. In his thousands of years, he had seen the death of worlds, the descent into madness of some truly great minds, the greatest depravities of the Netherworlds, and Mickey in a feather boa. These 'alarming' sculptures couldn't dare disturb the mental integrity of the Overlord! Hyaaa ha ha ha ha!

...What DID shock him, though, was the statues beneath a giant head-sculpture thing. Two of them, in fact: the first an obstinate Overlord, arms crossed and looking stubborn, his back to the second; the second a woman walking away, stoic despite tears.

"What the... What the HELL is THIS crap?!" Zetta demanded of the room in general and the cosmos at large.

Between security patrols, nocturnal crew members (or whatever passes for nocturnal on a ship with no normal day-night cycles), and those who do not need regular sleep, the halls are rarely devoid of activity. But there are times of day when it is less likely that a friend will notice a pair that appears to be completely healthy making their way toward the Med Bay well outside normal visiting hours.

Billy has chosen one of those times to shuffle through the halls with his girlfriend's hand in his, doing his best to keep himself and Ronnae unnoticed. Unfortunately for them, the exact behaviors he is using to attempt to avoid confrontation peg their activity as suspicious.

This is going to end well, isn't it?

((ooc: So this is mostly closed, we have one character ready to confront the pair and accompany them to their destination, but we're open to the hilarious possibilities! Just PM this journal or otherwise contact me and ask to be shot buddies please.))

The really great thing about crawling across the ceiling was that people were less likely to notice him up there.  That meant easier eavesdropping and a greatly lowered occurance of screaming episodes.  On the ceiling, he could be quiet, secret and stealthy.  Like a ninja.  A ninja made out of blood.

It got boring up there after a while.  His mind, such as it was, wandered, and soon he had stretched into a long, thin river that chased itself  around and around on the ceiling, coiling in spirals and arching under himself in giggling fits of glee.