Rhiow was beginning to think that this mission was doomed to fail. Despite the fact that she'd been quietly following the Daligig ever since they'd been on board, she had yet to hear anything of real substance. Even when they didn't think they were in any danger of being overheard, they were remarkably tight-lipped.

Still, she continued in her mission despite how hopeless it seemed. She currently found herself near the site the Daligig had been working on for the past few weeks, rolling around in the middle of the hallway in an attempt to get to a very stubborn itch between her shoulderblades.

She had to be very careful not to speak Ailurin around the Daligig, knowing that Stacy would translate her words. So she had to string together a series of nonsense that would confuse the translators, purrs and small meows that didn't mean anything even in her native language.

Now she just had to hope none of the crew would show up and try to be social. Their visitors didn't think she was anything special, and she needed to keep it that way.

((OOC: The thread between her and the Daligig is closed. If any other characters come up and attempt to talk to her, she'll quickly inform them that they'll have to communicate telepathically or they'll blow her cover.))

Day 3 and 4

The remaining hours of the night are tense and ugly, marred by the smell of blood and the complete distrust sewn by Bridge's death. When the sun finally rises, it feels as if the night's been far too long and yet their chance to rest was cruelly short.

The sun peeks over the horizon and onto the parched desert. In the bright sky, if one squints, it's possible to make out that lights are still flashing on the radio tower. The rest of the town is dead, as usual.