A rather beat-up and oddly modified Firefly transport had landed some while ago, and its pilot - Cadmus - was had slipped inside with a few words to his kindly hosts. He never really was too good at being social with anyone, he didn't always see the point. Ages ago, when he wore a suit and looked good, he might have cared more about the social aspects of his life. Now, though, he was a bit more reluctant to ingratiate himself with anyone, as that usually led to conversation, which generally hurt his ears - if the past was anything to go on. Zoners tended to not get out of their ships much, and, well, could do plenty of talking if given the least room.
He'd been somewhat obligated to this meeting, but he supposed everything couldn't be all bad about it, past the Zoner garrulousness - drinks, for example. Drinks were good, they made him happy. Not that he needed to be happy, as he was much happier with life now that his ship was smaller, and devoid of life other than himself, his fish, and the occasional disruption of Eris. Less voices and thrown objects, when Eris wasn't around, anyway. Fish made good crew members. Never did anything but blow planets up.
He took a gulp of the whiskey he had, listening to some of the conversation that the Zoners were telling.
He was suddenly struck by how absolutely boring he found the story - at least, compared, to some of the gallivanting he'd done in the past.
He realised then that he had to do something more dangerous than he'd done before, though. Something that he had never dared attempt, nor dreamed he ever would have to. Across the room of Zoners, all waiting with their hours of speech, just like verbal predators, there was the bottle of whiskey. And he had just run out.
With a deep breath and a silent prayer to a god without a sense of humour, Cadmus set off to refill his glass and hopefully keep his ears intact.