(no subject)
Tycho has no idea what time it is when he gives up on sleep and makes his way down into the bar. All he knows is that he doesn't particularly want to be in the room anymore. Thus, there is a pilot leaning on a table with 1.) a hand wrapped around a steaming mug of caf, 2.) hair in wild disarray, and 3.) bare feet tucked under him in the chair. He looks like tired, composed hell. Feels like it, too.