[ We're going to skip the whole wake up in shock because you're in space thing, and skip straight to the important stuff.

These fr*ckin jumpsuits.

You'll find Eleanor staring forlornly at however much of herself is vaguely reflected against the windows of the observation deck.

She tugs weakly on her clothing. ]

A dreary outfit for a dreary place, I suppose.

[ She's quiet for a moment, a thoughtful expression on her face. ]

All I would need is a pair of scissors, a thread, needle and perhaps some extra cloth. And maybe— though the color may be the worst affront and unfortunately there's not much that can be done about that.

[ How do you keep yourself busy in space? Sniff stuff I guess. You can find her unscrewing bottles and popping off lids, and giving the liquids inside (some she recognizes, some she doesn't) a big ol' wiff.

Most of them she cringes at when the pungent smell of liquor hits her nose, but a less familiar bottle surprises her. It smells sweet, actually?

Curiosity killed the cat and stuff but if it smells good it should taste good, right?

Wrong.

She spits it right out, sputtering it everywhere and every which way. Nasty.

Maybe it hits you? Hopefully it doesn't? Either way she's mortified. ]

My apologies I was—!

[ Tasting mysterious space liquor. ]