Drinkin' usually got a man through the day without much incident.  Especially when the<i>Chwen</i>of a captain insisted on sailing on an outdated<i>Mi Tian Gohn</i>.  But that was the job.  And a man had to work.  And there were precious few jobs that a man like Matthias Roan could still get behind.  Alliance was still moving farther out and making thing complicated, but that was teh way of things these days.  They were a factor, sure as the turn of the worlds.  Which was why Roan had looked for work on a ship that mainly played the rim.  Ever since the fateless had been impounded, he'd been drifting.  Found some good work here and there.  Shot a few deserving folk, and maybe one or two that weren't quite as deserving.  THough he had to admit to himself if he ever found the<i>Lio Coh Jwei Ji Neong Hur Ho Deh Yung Duh Buhn Jah J’wohn</i>who had decided that a change in ownership hadn't mattered for whether a ship should be impounded, there was going to be a reckoning.  Roan down his glass, savouring the burn as the liquor worked it's way down his gullet.  Nothing fancy, just the cheap rotgut that was brewed locally.<br/><br/>Baeumonde was a nice enough world, provided you didn't think much of the sun.  At least if you needed the spaceport.  Which they did.  The mechanic that the captain had found was good.  Tristan.  Roan just called him Red.  The compression coil on a Firefly could be finicky in the older models.  You could run a finicky coil, but something told Roan that Red wanted to make sure nothing went sideways once they were in the air.  Which suited Roan just fine.  And so, thusly, here sat Matthias Roan, working through his petty cash fund on cheap booze and a bowl of onion rings.  At least he'd avoided much in the way of local colour.  Of course, that was liable to change if he stayed in this dive of a bar for too much longer.  But Roan was feeling pretty settled, adn not inclined to move without a very good reason.