Shackleton Fitz IV poked at the contents of his beef and broccoli noodle bowl with his fork, not quite eating. He had his chin resting on his hand, but wasn"t quite looking at either Kristof Wyss sitting across from him eating his own noodle bowl with gusto, nor out the open shuttle window at the total blackness of jump space that pressed in all around them.
He toyed with the thought of turning on some music, but wasn"t quite in the mood for that either.
The spicy, salty smell of his food was reminding him that it was just the sort of thing he absolutely needed to indulge in now, before he returned to the Oymyakon Foreign Service Academy and its wide array of far blander meal options, but he just wasn"t hungry. Or rather, he didn"t have any appetite. For anything. He pushed the bowl away
