Late Breakfast [Afternoon :: Frogerio Zander]

As it turned out, skipping on breakfast wasn't the best idea. Though she ate very little, the fact remained that Nebula had to eat something from time to time. Deciding she didn't want to spend too much time (Especially since she overslept) in getting from one district to another, Nebula decided to eat something at the Vagabond Inn. She was pretty sure they provided food to people who weren't staying overnight as long as they paid for it, so it shouldn't be a problem, right?

Arriving at the homely place, Nebula would go to the dining area and order two fried eggs, then sit down alone on a table with four chairs, as every other table was taken. She began to draw, without a clear mental picture of whatever it was that she wanted to draw. The result was a macabre abstract landscape that began to take form in the paper in front of her, complete with a few somber, lankey figures.

As soon as her eggs arrived, she would thank the waiter in a low voice and begin to slowly but surely peck away at the eggs with her fork.

Nebula continued to pour her mind into the paper before her through the wonderous and ever-useful magic of graphite as she stopped to peck a bite out of her eggs from time to time. She knew she wasn't supposed to eat while she drew, as she risked dirtying her work, but these fried eggs were particularly yummy. It had been a long time since she had gotten to eat something that tasted so good; Prison food was ...passable at best. However, her dedicated musings would be cut short by the arrival of a new face. He was definitey not in the same plane of reality as her or any other person in the inn was. "Um... E-Excuse me, sir, but are you... drunk?" Her voice shrunk as she finished her question, unsure if whether she was being rude or not to the newcomer.

"Oh... d-did you just want my eggs? Y-You can have them if you want..." She slid her plate to the man beside her. She had a few cups of instant ramen waiting at home; she could always eat those, and it wasn't like she was poor and homeless anyway. She could always buy another plate of eggs if she wanted to, she just didn't particularly feel like talking to the person behind the counter again after she thought she saw them give her the stink-eye. It might have (and probably was) only her imagination, but she wasn't usually the type to go against her better judgement.

And now, something Nebula hadn't dabbled in for a long time: laughter. Well, more like a consecutive short streak of blowing air out of her nose while her mouth scrunched up. Though Nebula found it near impossible to be happy under regular circumstances, she was perfectly capable of finding things funny, and contrary to popular belief, laughter is not related to happiness. Depressed or not, funny was funny.

"I'm... not your mom, sir. Are you... alright?" She'd say as she gently poked the stranger's cheek to see if that woke him up from his stupor any. "Do you need me to call someone? I think there's a nurse's office here, if you're not feeling well..." She knew plenty of people whose judgement became severely altered after varying amounts of drinking (Nebula herself was extremely lightweight when it came to alcohol), but she'd never met anyone drunk enough to confuse her for their mother. That is, of course, assuming this stranger was indeed drunk, which seemed like the most plausible scenario.

Nebula's hand shied away as it was poked, retreating a few inches back to its owner's chest. "I-I'm sorry, it's just... you looked like you're having trouble keeping yourself together..." And he certainly acted like it too. It wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence for a stranger to join you while you're eating brunch and cofuse you with their mother. Nebula wasn't even that much older than this boy, from what she could see at least. Either he was way out of it, or simply lousy at telling people's ages.

Nebula was passively drawn in by the stranger's miniature rambling about his life and situation. From what little he mentioned, it seemed to Nebula that his social situation was similar to her own, albeit very slightly so. Nebula would respond with but a sad little huff at the specific adjective the stranger used to describe her. She knew perfectly well she was disgusting, but she wasn't exactly joyous to be reminded of it. Still though, her mood remained relatively unchanged. "S-Sir, you really need to snap out of it. I'm not your mom. You're at the Vagabond Inn, not your home!" She would pull out her cell phone in concern. "If you don't snap out of it, I'm gonna have to call an ambulance."

Nebula was... confused. This stranger clearly had some issues that needed to be taken care of, but she doubted that she herslef was the correct person to help him with them. She didn't even know the true nature of his stupor, so she figured it would be best to leave him alone for now. With agentle yet timid patting of the strnger's head, Nebula would stand up and leave the stranger be. "Umm... good night, I guess..." She approached one of the inn receptionists and told them that the man currently occupying her table probably needed to be brought to a room, and left the expense of the room on the reception desk. Waking up to find you've been charged unconsciously wouldn't be the most pleasant feeling, she though. With all that said and done, she would quickly recover her sketchbook from the table without waking up the man, and scuttle out the front door.