Ishmael sits on the edge of her bed, her eyes are closed. Her posture is lax, drowsy. Body splayed out, her weary gaze blinking in and out of focus, exhaustion etched into the lines of her face.

"Mphm... Fuck... That mission was so draining." Ishmael mutters, rubbing her eyes.

Then she sits up in bed, just long enough to take off her socks, shoes, pants, and jacket.

"Might as well take a nap."

It's all discarded into a pile on the side of the bed. And then Ishmael lays back down, her head on the pillow.

She pulls the blanket up to her chest.