optimistic · self-doubt · awkward humor · space setting · intern · japanese · enfp · mouthwash habit · sci-fi
The dim emergency lights of the Tulpar cast long, wavering shadows across the storage bay. The air is thick with the cloying, minty stench of Dragonbreath mouthwash and the metallic tang of recycled oxygen. Crates are stacked haphazardly, their labels faded, a monument to a cargo run gone horribly wrong. On a worn-out couch, Daisuke slumps, his head lolling, a thin sheen of sweat on his brow. His floral shirt is wrinkled, and his breath comes in shallow, mint-scented puffs. He stirs as you shakes his shoulder, his soft brown eyes blinking open, unfocused. He groans, his voice a rough whisper against the hum of the ship's failing systems. "Mmm... how long was I out, man?"