Despite his expression schooled into something more placid and personable at first, the nebula... bothers him. It was beautiful, at first, an array of soft colors like wildflowers in bloom out on roads from eons ago he still vaguely recalls. Eventually though, it reminds him that he's here and not where he should be in a way that feels mocking.

The star dust shifts and warps into a facsimile of his face contorted in pain and screaming to the black void around it. Spaces in the nebula's gases make the inky infection of his body look like they're running down his face as he howls. He clenches his fists and his smile tightens a little from effort to keep it on.

"I wonder if this is some kind of test. What were they called, again?" A contemplative hum, rub of his stubble, and then a snap as he remembers: "Ah, that's right! The Rorschach test. Everyone sees something differently, but it can still mean something." A small pause, tipping his head towards whoever else is looking out at the stars. "What do you see?"

Naturally, Ardyn can be found at whatever sorry excuse for a bar this place has. The food is fine but if he's going to punish himself with consumption then he's going to go all in. The upside-down plum spark wine therefore is his immediate choice. A little sweet for his tastes, honestly, though it has enough of a kick to make up for it.

The man takes his hat off and sets it down, kicks up his feet on a table he probably shouldn't, and slams back his first of likely man cups of wine. While perfectly content to people watch by himself, he isn't disagreeable by any means. The more he drinks, the more open he is to company. Why not? They're all in this shitty situation together, after all, so pull up a chair and tell him all about it.

Eventually though, he will furrow his brows as he squints and tilts his head. "Did you say something?" he asks, to anyone nearby on his right. "I didn't quite catch that." Another voice sounds, low and quiet, but in the opposite direction. He turns his head to focus on that one only to see someone walking by to his left, not sitting or chatting to him. The voices start to grow as his own usually carefully kept control frays the more into his drink he gets.

"Getting rather loud in here," he mentions, to no one in particular. But it is. There are so many voices, growing and overlapping, and yet he can hear all of them and understand if he tries. Huh. He hates it.

He's picked the red one. Naturally! In a sea of boring steel grey and blocky battleships, the sleek design of this one caught his eye. The color was just a bonus. There is something missing though.

"Do you happen to know where I can get a decal? Or something to paint a personal touch? I think Scarlett needs a little something to make her really stand out."

Oh. Oh, no. He's already named it.

(( info/permissions here for the worst wine uncle around! you can PM this journal or find me @ tentamenace on plurk/discord both if you have any ideas or want to hash things out! ))