There was something to be said for the Sensoriums. Sure, they weren't real, but they were quiet and empty of the ruins of dead (or soon-to-be) civilizations if you wanted them to be. That was more than could be said of the rest of the ship.

Here Rose could leave the worries of Stacy's mission and her own at the door, however temporarily, and after another extended stay with GLaDOS, she needed the break. Honestly, she thought the perpetual maze-running was more of a danger to her sanity/soul/whatever than the stress of interdimensional travel. Being forced to do anything never sat well with her, even in the name of mental health, so it was a relief to do as she pleased.

Which, at the moment, was nothing.

The location she had chosen positively radiated calm, silent except for the patter of raindrops. It was an old forest, the kind that took centuries to grow and was peppered with trees five metres across. One of the behemoths had been cut down, the inside eaten away by the elements to form a hollow accessible through a breach in the bark. It was here that she stretched out, eyes closed, heedless of the rain.

Ildraniath didn't spend all of her time plotting. She spent quite a lot of time brooding, as well. Or simply thinking about the situation she'd been thrust into. For someone who's entire goal and purpose in life was to safely read the future and guide her people through it, stumbling blind through the void was a challenge, to say the least. And then there were her plans to do wit hthe dalgig. She was still watching them, still thinking, still internalizing it all while she considered and waited and wondered.

But she needed something else to do, of course. So she went walking through the empty corridors and miles of passageways that stretched through Stacy. Occasionally she stopped in at places that seemed of interest. Today, she happened to be in the hangar. The sheer variety of war machines was rather overwhelming, but she wandered among the craft with a curious eye nonetheless. It never hurt to see what was down here, after all.

She was about to turn around and find another way of distracting herself when she spotted a familiar, curved shape and after a moment of staring (just to make sure she wasn't seeing things), she walked over to the elegantly curved and sleek craft that sat in one corner, unused and unnoticed.

An Eldar jetbike. Here.

Well, she supposed she'd never been down here to check. She ran her hand over the hull a slight smile tugging at her lips. She'd ridden one, a long time ago in another life. How curious.

Howard pops into the Warehouse late. He's spent his day working in the Med Bay, and his afternoon exploring the far south - or whatever approximates south - side of the City and stripping a house of water-proofing. He still expects to be up and about for a few more hours, maybe until daylight; sleep is something that still doesn't come easily, even living at the Inn. But being surrounded by the soft sounds of other people tending to their own business helps.

He walks into the kitchen and pauses for a moment, massaging a sore shoulder and considering whether or not to use some of the hot cocoa packets he stole a few shore leaves ago. He bites his lip, sighs, and decides he can treat himself every once in a while, and hot cocoa isn't a great source of nutrition anyway. It's not very worthwhile to hoard it.

He walks over to the pantry and stops. There isn't dust on the pantry doorknob. Why isn't there dust on the pantry doorknob? Neither he nor Albert live here anymore. Howard just uses it to keep his stuff, and he hasn't put anything in the upstairs pantry for months now.

His hand slips into his pocket and wraps around his pocket knife. "Who's there?"

He swallows hard and wills up the courage to speak again when he hears no answer. He slips over to block the front door - it's incredibly hard to get out windows that he's sealed shut.

"This is my house. Show yourself. I have a weapon."