Snippet #941645

"Oh, goodmorning," Cristov muttered goodnaturedly, a tip of the head the last evidence that he was still paying attention, even if his gaze had turned to the ink well temporarily. He had already noticed the entire room, of course, and pondered the absence an hour before and mulled over what circumstances could rid their roommate of her bed. Was it an illness? A transfer? A ship back home? And then, when Cale had found the paper, he was certain on which it had been.

Without looking up as he finished the page with a flourish, his free hand was thrust forth beckoningly for the paper. Curiosity killed, and he had to see it for himself. Was there a fine print or something in the way it had been written that screamed a true testimony? Cristov had long been interested in handwriting analysis, but he couldn't ever be sure without conferring between a book, his mind, and the object in question. "I would imagine she was transferred back home given the previous night. What would you concur, Master Townsend?"

A brow was lifted in silent repetition of the question at hand, head shaking with a sigh as his book was shut and pushed aside. "It really is a pity. It's only the second day here, but better soon than later when we'd all have grown into much more than aquaintances, such as we were with the Earth, and found the detachment unbearable." Shoving the pen, ink well, and book aside without much concern as he spoke, Cristov was on his feet in mere moments, dusting off his suit as if it had been dirty and sighing. "I didn't think anyone would go home so soon. Did you?" Of course, he felt he should have pegged it all from the start. What good was he as a recorder if he couldn't assume what would happen and know without a doubt? Thus, a mental note was once more put into order that he would have to confer with the behavior and handwriting analysis books to better his skills. What room was there for slip up on such a large ship? Afterall, there were only two recorders, and he aimed to be the best.