Kit is pretending not to look at Honey right back.

He puts down his fork and shifts to the edge of his seat, ready to spring up at a moment's notice. His head is still pointed at Kolya, who's talking about something to do with sound wave frequencies, but his eyes follow Honey's path across the room. 

Honey would have a hard time resisting the urge to share some choice words with Kit, but he doesn't want to make mess in front of everyone else, so unless one of the others asks something of him, he'll slowly back out of the kitchen, now that the dishes have been deposited.

He might not see these people ever again, but part of him doesn't want their last memories of him to be a verbal (or physical) brawl over food.

Kit does nothing to prevent Honey from leaving, and doesn't follow him. 

Neither does anyone else. 

Alright, that's good. He'll be a hastier in beating his retreat once he's outside the kitchen, though he's not entirely sure where to go in the ship. He might just wander around until he gets tired, then find an out-of-the-way place to sleep for a bit.

Aurora, like last time, guides him to a room with an actual bed when she notices him yawning. 

You know, none of the other ships he's been on have had such a dynamic VI on-board, not even the late king's advanced science-ships. It's nice. If he ever gets a ship he'd like it if it could be like this.

He will definitely choose to sleep in a bed given the opportunity. He conks out pretty fast too.

His sleep is undisturbed for the next seven hours.

At the seven-hour and thirty-two-minute mark, not that anyone other than Aurora was counting, an octokitten oozes out of an air duct above the bed and falls directly onto Honey's face. 

Honey flings himself out of the bed in alarm, colliding with the ceiling and then falling to the floor as he orients himself, before realizing it's just one of these critters. As long as it doesn't start biting his eyes, he'll just calmly pet it and try to slowly, gently coax it off his face.

Good news: it doesn't seem to be trying to bite him.

Slightly less good news: his face feels like it's burning. That might be an issue. 

He would like it to stop digesting his face, please. He will steadily increase the strength he's applying to the octokitten in trying to remove it from his face.

Apparently, octokittens squeak like a dog toy when squeezed.

With the application of sufficient force, it detaches from Honey's face with a wet sucking sound. Only a little bit of his skin goes with it. 

That stings. He'll just toss the little thing somewhere out of his way. He's rested and it'd be hard to sleep with the burns now anyway. Instead he'll go back to meandering the Aurora's labyrinthine hallways. He has no idea where he could find some topical ointment or something like that, but if he's lucky maybe the lights will point him the way, and even if not he'll heal up reasonably soon.

The lights are steady and do not flicker.  

Welp, he's dealt with worse pain before. It would be nice if he had a distraction. Maybe he'll start playing a game with which turns he takes, or trying to recall and hum a tune, or something like that.

After a while of taking a particular pattern of turns, Honey comes to a dead end.

The door at the end of this passageway has had a bunch of wooden planks nailed across it unevenly. It looks vaguely familiar, as though he's seen it before in his wanderings. It also looks like he could probably get through the door pretty easily if he wanted to. 

Huh, back around here again. He's definitely still curious, and maybe a little less concerned about the long-term consequences, especially now that he's much more familiar with just how mazelike the Aurora's internals are.

Still, no reason to be destructive about it. He'll carefully and slowly pull nails out one by one until the door can open and there's a gap big enough for Honey to fit through. He'll make sure to stack the removed planks and nails neatly by the door as well.

The door opens into darkness. As Honey steps through, fluorescents flicker sluggishly to life, gradually revealing the space in which he finds himself. 

Everything is white and chrome and glass, giving the room the unmistakable aura of a hospital or a laboratory. Possibly a combination of the two: there are medical beds with restraints, and large machines that look like they should be hooked up to someone and bleeping, but there are also racks of test tubes and shelves full of unidentifiable things in jars. Some of the test tubes are growing mould in an array of poisonous colours. 

Parts of the floor are still stained with old blood. Everything is covered in a fine layer of dust. 

This place gives him some seriously rancid vibes, just like the late king's labs. He'll still give the various shelves and racks a quick look over in case there's anything recognizable or interesting, but he's definitely not going to hang around in here for very long.

Unidentifiable green goop. A probably-toxic lumpy magenta thing. A branching orangeish structure that looks almost like a tree is trying to grow in that jar. Unidentifiable brown goop. Unidentifiable yellow goop. 

...an entire severed human hand in a jar? 

It's a left hand, attached to a forearm that ends raggedly just above the elbow. The fluid in which it floats gives a greenish cast to the flesh, but it looks like it belongs on someone fairly light-skinned. 

Now that he's looking, there are a few more body parts in evidence. Next to the hand, in a smaller jar, a pair of milky, bloodshot eyeballs stare blindly out at Honey. On a different shelf, a slightly misshapen brain floats in its own container. 

Huh. Most of the crew he's met so far have had mechanical cybernetics, some more than others. Maybe these are the organic parts they replaced? Part of him is tempted to bring them out and ask, but a larger part remembers that this area was nailed shut and thinks better of revealing that he's made a way inside.

Instead, he'll search any tables or other flat surfaces for tablets, notebooks, loose leafs of paper, anything that might have some writing on it that could reveal some more about what happened in this room.

A cursory inspection reveals nothing lying around that contains any sort of writing.

There is a pile of ash on one slightly scorched table. Scattered across the table are a few tiny curled scraps of paper, blackened at the edges. 

Honey is curious but he is not curious enough to try and piece together literal ashes and scraps. Maybe he'll think of a sly way to ask about this place and its contents before he parts ways, maybe he won't.

The last thing to look for, since this does seem like some kind of medical facility even if it's pretty abandoned, is some topical ointment. The burns on his face are probably most of the way healed, but that just means they're itchy rather than stinging now.

There is almost certain to be some burn ointment somewhere in this lab! Judging from the general neatness level, it's probably even tidily stored in a logical place. 

Whether Honey can find it, of course, is an entirely different question. Most of the drawers and cabinets are unlabelled; it might be that their labels have faded or fallen off over time. The few labels that still cling to life are handwritten, in a flourishing, nigh impenetrable cursive. 

Well, he guesses he wouldn't have been able to read most of these even if they weren't totally faded. He'll just have to try every drawer, marshaling his will to not scratch at his face in the mean time. This might take a while.

Some of the cabinets are locked, but most are not. On his quest for burn ointment, Honey finds such things as bandages, syringes, empty bottles and test tubes of various sizes, and a rack of terrifyingly sharp knives. All of them are packed neatly in their own drawers and compartments, everything in its place. 

Eventually, he opens a cabinet that's full of bottles, jars, and tubs of various substances. The labels on the containers have survived better than the ones outside the cabinet, but they are, unfortunately, in the same handwriting.