+++
It wasn't a cause for celebration, but Harper needed a drunk. Trance needed to get out of his way. Beka needed something he preferred she didn't get on ship, at least not from junior crew. Shore leave then, at the nearest grubby drift.
His steak was badly cooked; his first mouthful tasted of blood, the second of ashes. Chew or spit. He chewed. Tyr would have spit. Tyr spit...he grinned in memory and licked his thumb. Slippery, salty, voluptuous to suck between his lips.
"Dylan?" Beka frowned. Harper winked.
He kissed his thumb goodbye and raised his glass: "Moving on...."