"Yes, it is." Hugh takes his place at Cassius' side, hands folded at the small of his back. Shoulder to shoulder, now, unbothered by that soft murmur of motion at his side, just barely not touching. He stands straight, as if there were an iron rod in his spine. Old habit. His mother was always so strict on posture. Chest out, chin up - well. Head tilted a bit in Cassius' direction, maybe. He was never the best student. "I forget how stunning it is to see for the very first time. Spend long enough up here and it becomes... almost mundane, you know."

And it's true. After long enough, the beauty of open space becomes nothing more than a backdrop to the mundane drudgery of life. His life, in particular. Easy to forget about the painted cosmos outside his walls when he's too busy crawling around in them fixing things, burning himself on pipes. Battling the roaches.

Cassius' wonder reminds him that it is wondrous. Is beautiful. Hugh breathes in a chestful of over-sterilized, dry spaceship air and lets it out in a gentle lull against the glass. Only bothers to glance over when he sees motion in the corner of his eye, tilting his head to watch Cassius turn, hands brought in and folded politely. Turns to face him halfway, a hand on his cocked hip.

A monster, he calls himself. But he's hardly anything monstrous. The build and shape of him may be strange, but the rest? That demeanor of his, the way he carries himself? It's so... normal. So very quiet, so contained. Certainly not the black-eyed beast fit to devour them all that terrified crew were crowing about left and right. They didn't bother to give him a moment, to listen to him. To understand. Didn't want to.

(Hugh knows the feeling.)

"Of course, Cassius. Everyone should see it at least once, hm?" A little laugh, warm and faint. "Including your Hunter. Once we find them, we'll bring them here to take a look themselves. Do you think they'll appreciate it the way you do?"

(They have to hunt the Hunter first, of course.)