"It is not the strongest of the species that survives, nor the most intelligent that survives. It is the one that is the most adaptable to change." - Charles Darwin

It was incredibly easy to settle into old habits. That part disturbed him, as much as he loathed the ship. Here he was, going to breakfast as if he had never been gone. Only somehow he still missed sitting across from a familiar, well-dressed gentleman.

Inevitably he'd again miss his daughter and his home, and quickly look for a distraction and a table that looked like it could use some company. Asking if he could sit first, of course...

"Daring ideas are like chessmen moved forward; they may be beaten, but they may start a winning game." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Rhade decided that he wanted to try his hand at playing someone in the common room, and until he found a willing game mate? He'd play against himself. It was his chess set rather than his go set that he had there, and he would stare, think for a while, and switch chairs, playing both sides with equal earnest.

If anyone wanted to join him, he'd reset the board. He wasn't that bent on finishing a game against himself.

"Hard work spotlights the character of people: some turn up their sleeves, some turn up their noses, and some don't turn up at all." - Same Ewing

And it was time for the dinner shift. Dinner shift, with three dangerous people. All of which he kind of liked in his own unique way. He did miss Wanda's presence a little, but supposed that she would be equally happy on the shift with Seven of Nine who seemed to have quite a liking for her.

He would try not to let any private discussion interfere with anyone else's work, and there was some private discussion that needed to be had (especially concerning that breach).

"Cowards fear to die; but courage stout,
Rather than live in snuff, will be put out." -Sir Walter Raleigh

He went to bed early for lack of anything better to do, really. He was tired. There were no emergencies. Maybe if he was lucky he would wake up and there wouldn't be a murder- it had become a favoured pasttime and despite the gratification some genetic tick got from seeing an enemy fall, he simply couldn't get behind the idea of doing it for useless sport.

It was a bad subject to have on his mind before sleeping, though. No sooner than he drifted, he found himself in Braxiatel's old room- the one that was modeled from the room in his Collection. He was coming in with the intent to kill him, because his Lady told him too. His lady lurking in the back of his mind, egging on every bit of competitive nastiness within him.

And then he caught a whiff of his own failure. You're a poor husband and father, Gaheris. A sharp pain rattled him as he shot himself in the chest as he turned a Force Lance that he had aimed at a dear friend back on himself. The second time he'd been shot in the chest after being pitted against someone he cared about.

That was what woke him, sitting up and grabbing bare skin with his hand like he was trying to staunch a wound that wasn't there. Well... it didn't seem like he was going to get any sleep tonight, despite what he'd been thinking.

He didn't lock the door before sleeping. It was hit or miss over whether he did- Nietzscheans typically didn't when they were in there, so he didn't always remember. He even left his door open during the day.

During the dream in his sleep he moved, hand tensing, looked distressed though the only sound that came from him was a soft mutter. When he sat upright and grabbed his chest in that state, he wasn't expecting to have company. He was only in sweatpants and arm wraps himself (and thankfully healed).

"You're-" he was panting. He was panting like he was trying to catch his breath after a panic (so yes, he was indeed very much breathing), and that would have made him laugh like everything else ludicrous about this situation.

[Now go listen to some Shakira....]

Rhade had one of the volumes from his own room that he'd been reading, casually engrossed in a book on sexual philosophy in Ancient Egypt, a hardbacked volume that was leatherbound with ornate imprinting. Knowing what it was he was reading would actually take glancing at the title.

He had an apple collected from the kitchen in one hand, careful to not bump into the person in the elevator with him as the doors closed all while not looking up from a fascinating section on Neferkara and Sasenet (he had just gotten done with the view of fertility in travelling dance troupes). He was about to take a bite of the apple, when he recognized something.

That smell.

He knew that smell.

He looked up, and to the person next to him. For a horrible moment, his eyes wide.