Three chairs in Medical.
"Paeira," Veyn continued, his voice canted as high as the shrug that rolled his shoulders. Oren didn't need to see it to know he'd done it, it punctuated his every word, had ever since they'd met. "T'hlho patned pra krsh thaeba."
"Patned pra krsh theba?" Eihva's voice trickled through the threshold light and sharp. As Oren came around, he saw her resting against the machine mounted to the wall and Veyn standing over the far sink, a mangled piece of dripping cloth in his hands. "Paeira, arham ri'nanov nubera' thlhom thiich na' dhiysse'."
"Riov!," Veyn shouted suddenly as he twisted to sneer at Eihva. His eyes went wide and the thin Rihann dropped the fabric with a wet slop in order to salute. Eihva was laughing as she turned to face Oren and her hand came up much more slowly. Oren watched her in bemused silence until she fell into a proper stance and then acknowledged the pair silently.
"Paeira...?" Oren prompted and set his container on the far table. The compressed metal came down against the work-surface with a hard, subdued clunk and both the Rihann at his back returned to their work as his vision left them.
"Tyyhh'ivf," Eihva answered quickly and Oren could almost hear the biting blue of Veyn's glare. "Ssuaj' thlhe."
"Is it the machines?" Oren asked as he poured his own clothing on the table. The biting fumes of coolant thinner and silicate powder met him and he frowned tightly as he closed the container. One of his shirts was melted through already. It ate organic matter too quickly, it was a nuisance. "Nah'lai i faranta?"
"Quii," Eihva answered and the room fell into silence but for the woman removing her clothing from the machine in the wall and tossing it onto the table. Veyn shifted, hard irritation spread across his greening features, and shoved his own clothing into the contraption. It took him far too long to program it, and Oren tried to pay him no mind. Eihva broke into loud, rolling laughter as he turned it to dampen instead of dry and watched, helplessly, as the machine filled with water instead of heat.
"Au quii ehlui seijea?"
Oren turned from his clothing just as Ayel leaned through the threshold. He was unladen, obviously had not traveled down to launder his own clothing, and the Rihann looked surprised as he noticed Oren. His easy smile fell into a startled salute and Oren let out a short, bright laugh as he turned and leaned back against the table.
"Vaed'rae," he began, ignoring Ayel, leaving him waiting listlessly in a salute. "Arham ri'nanov ernra thlho tyyhh'ivf."
Oren motioned to the clothing at his side and folded his arms across his chest as Veyn paid reluctant attention and Eihva watched him with long-suffering amusement. "Diamn, diamn, thlei aihr horael." His smile was wide as his eyes drifted back to Ayel and the Rihann stared back at him dryly as he broke salute.
"Ie rekkhai." Ayel's dry glare was only equaled by the clatter of laughter that escaped Eihva. Her shoulders quaked and Veyn looked affronted enough for everyone as Oren clapped Ayel on the shoulder and left.
Nero's eyes drifted open as he passed through the threshold. It slipped by him, past him, and away. He could almost hear them, scraping and laughing, and it went away. He was staring at the ceiling. It wasn't his. His brow furrowed hard. The smell of broken aefnumna was strange, forgotten. It circled in his throat and his stomach twisted with blind want.
He could hear them. They were talking about Narada, about her hunger, and Spock's voice threatened to bring up the bile in the back of his throat. He forced his eyes shut, removed the light that slid past the thaessu from his sight, and took a slow breath. He would wait, Narada needed food.
That he would could feed it Spock did not escape him.
He tried to sleep, to press himself back into the non-color of remembered thought, the whorl of unconsciousness, but it was fruitless. All that beckoned him was the smell of soap and the idle banality of the past.
It was too open here. Not safe.
Not with him.