Its meditative, like flying, like finding your way between the spots of light amidst a sea of blackest black. Pack, pinch, set aside, pack, pinch, set aside-

The scent of rich, savory, spices permeate the whole of the mess hall, having long since sunk into every porous material therein.

Nick's lips quirk up in a crooked half smile, though he doesn't look away from his work so that Tonic can't see how much he enjoys getting the genuine laugh.

"I could ask you the same thing, you know," Nick replies. He knows that something went badly, knows what horrific injuries look like. Nick has seen many corpses in his time - plasma burns, asphyxiation, hypothermia.

He's seen corpses that look better than Tonic