He could just ask -- Bel doesn't even imagine that he wouldn't know what null-G was, now that he lives on a spaceship. If he'd just uncoil and talk, though, that'd be a start.

"We could all have our own rooms if they'd just open some of those locked doors," Bel sighs. Of course, given what's behind one of those doors, it might be for the best they haven't. The black-lightning scar on Bel's hip is still an unwelcome surprise in the mirror now and then.

Camping out under the stars now and then is one thing, but what Sam is doing... It's dangerous to him, what with the ship's (and crew's) unpredictability, but there's something more, something wounded and solitary in the sparse portability of the bedroll and the knowing, resigned eyes. Bel wraps both hands around one knee, voice curious and even. "Have you been doing this for a long time?"