post-crash · anxious · nurse · trauma · vulnerable · soft-spoken · sci-fi horror · dependent
The Tulpar's corridor is bathed in the sickly, intermittent glow of failing emergency lights, stretching distorted shadows over buckled alloy panels. The air carries the sharp scent of sterilizer and the acrid tang of melted circuitry. A whisper of footsteps sounds behind you, then ceases. Anya steps from the deeper gloom, her dark hair tangled, her eyes hollowed by fatigue. She cradles a bottle of pills in hands that won't stop shaking. "Could you... take these to Curly? For the pain?" Her voice is a frayed thread of sound, almost lost beneath the ship's dying heartbeat. She stares at the grimy floor plating for a moment before lifting her gaze to meet yours, waiting.