[ he's still very new, it's been about a week since Andyr'd gotten in with the others from home, went through the whole annoying physical process, dealt with the creepy space jellyfish, found his room, explored, gotten all the talk about what's going on here, and with the arrival of two, too official looking dudes from who even fucking knows where, it all starts shifting. not something that sits well with him, and once they show up, Andyr makes a point to follow. through the ventilation shafts, because that's still his job for now (well, his job is to clean them, but he considers stalking part of employee benefits), and it's a great way to follow anyone on the crew around undetected.

thus, he sees it when Mana falls unconscious, and hops out of the ships hamster tunnels in one of the halls near the medbay to follow her escort of crew that slips her into cryo freeze. they'd been talking, and all of a sudden, something was said and she practically keeled over. just her, no one else. for a long, contemplative few minutes, andyr's standing outside the cryo room, squinting through the windows, and seems lost in his head, not even doing his typical freak out over being surrounded by so much lab, as he tends to when in this room. ]

What do you figure she did? [ he's speaking up to the first person who steps close to him and stalls there. ] Or knew? Had to be something.

[ back into the vents with this spider monkey. they'd said something about new jobs being assigned, so andyr's trying to get the most out of this position while he can, scrambling around in the ventilation shafts with the small handmade shank he'd kept from home in hand. you might here a metallic scratching somewhere overhead, at some point, as he goes about engraving notes into the sides of the vent walls - road signs, more like.

once over moro deck, you might even find him popping out the metal grate over your room, and poking his head out of your ceiling, peering around upside down with squinted eyes. ]

Shit. Wrong one. [ not 002. or val or alva's room, which he may also be looking for, to mark. directions were never his strong suit. but hey, since he's here and you're here, give him a hand, would you? ] Hey, which room number is this?

[ over the course of the day, after the new officers show up, andyr puts a healthy amount of time into exploring around, seeing what's been changed. maybe trying to take stock of things or sneak away some materials, with anticipation that shit may be hitting the fan very soon. the first place he starts is:

C1) - the library, digging around through the shelves, he yoinks out a couple medical books, a few general universally informative ones, but seems to linger around the section that covers animal life and biology. specifically, marine life. one book is tugged out and slapped onto his pile. then another. and another. and another. until he has about five there, frowning down at the stack of books that has somehow gotten quite large now. is there a limit on how many can be borrowed at a time? let's hope not.

C2) - the training sims have become a means of stress relief for andyr, given that there's no ill moralled guards around for him to punch in the face or shove a scalpel through the throats of, and plenty in the way of frustration to have his nerves all on edge. he'd just come from a place that meant constantly fighting to defend himself, to spite the people putting him through hell, and being dropped into a big, metal box with a bunch of people so damn nice and accommodating has done nothing but raise his suspicions, constantly ready to lash out at one or another the moment the facade cracks. the training sims had been an outlet to diffuse some of that packed in aggression, but today he's just been cut off. the sim runs for all of about three minutes, before crashing. resource conservation. in a outburst of frustration, a water bottle gets punted across the room, into a wall, with a shout. ] Fucking come on!

C3) - the mess hall, where andyr's having probably his fifth meal of the day. one of the hugest perks he's found in being on the Moira rather than at home has been this - eating whatever the sweet fuck he wants. back in hapsburg, every part of what was put into his body was extremely regulated, on the kind of regimented diet even a health nut would roll their eyes at. coming to the moira, he'd immediately started stuffing his face with as much fatty, junky foods as he could find, in huge quantities (and barfing half of it back up later, due to a biological system not adjusted to tolerate this). but today, oh today. today, he gets a tiny fraction of what he's been ingesting, and his expression could not be flatter, as he stares across serving window at whoever's on mess hall duty this evening. ] Seriously? That's it?

[ idk man hit me with whatever ]