As each gleeful announcement reached the Marksman's ears, his anticipation grew. A hand briefly braced itself on the nearest stable object as the ship veered away from it's platform and took to the air, but afterwards he was home free stumbling upon a one of the crew quarters that appeared to be still empty. Duffle bag tossed inside, he surveyed the small space where he'd be spending a decent amount of time, all things considered. The bland, but no-nonsense style was reminiscent of the military academy, and as such - he wasn't overly fond of it. So, perhaps one of the least expected to spend time interior decorating, Nixon slapped up some lame posters he'd somehow managed to gather during his tenure training for this very position. One in particular was a starmap, and given they were in space, it seemed a little silly to spend time staring at a doctored photo when he could quite literally just take a peek out the window. Regardless, it was up, clothes were tucked away, and his spare mask hidden from all the apparently curious hands. Feeling somewhat situated, he sprawled out on the cot and shut his eyes enjoying the stir of motion of the rapidly moving vessel.
Truth be told, the man might've dozed off for a minute, or ten - but when he got back up and peeked out into the hall - not much appeared to have changed. The typical bells and whistles of the ship perpetually did their job, and it was only now that Nixon bothered to drag his lethargic ass further through the ship, pass the brig, infirmary and engine room, towards the training facilities, if only to get a lay of the land.
Oddly enough, the sharpshooter wound up in the Galley. Amber orbs continued to observe his surroundings with dulled curiosity as he began peeking around through the cupboards and draws. He wasn't exactly sure what constituted as 'Space Food', but it didn't sound terribly appetizing. Might as well see what ingredients they had access too, and what he could potentially, albeit haphazardly, throw together to form some semblance of a meal.