Eli Purvis sighed, checked his Omega wristwatch and took another too-small sip from the too-small bottle of rum they had allowed him to bring aboard. It had been a sampler set, little 50 mL bottles. A necessity for him. "James," he said levelly, "will you be an absolute doll and chill the fuck out? You walking around the plane isn't going to make the ride any smoother."<br/><br/>Truth be told, he had his own worries. The same gnawing little worm in his belly that was always there. The fear, the doubt. The little voices in the back of his head saying<span style="font-style: italic">you fucking idiot, Eli</span>for every decision he ever made. Eli didn't need that voice. He already knew for a fact that he was stupid and worthless and pathetic. The booze made it easier to deal with, took the jagged edges off his thoughts and made it possible to sleep at night. It was a comfort in life. He worried about his drinking sometimes, like he worried about everything. Eli occasionally harbored concerns, mostly after one glass too many at 3 AM. But he couldn't be an alcoholic, right? A real alcoholic would drink anything, anything at all, not the top-shelf brands he exclusively favored. He was way too discerning to be an addict, right? That's what he told himself every day.<br/><br/>Though lately, there had been another comfort. The dreams. The nightly visions of cold and pines, fresh crisp air, towering mountains. And of course the thing, the creature, whatever it was, softly calling his name, gently beckoning him deeper into the forest where the branches folded lovingly around him like a familiar blanket, and the thing caressed his cheek and told him it would, at long last, all be okay in the end. . .<br/><br/>He smiled at the thought, lost in reverie. The dreams felt right. He often went to bed early, just to have more time to experience the soothing sensation, the absence of ants crawling around in his skull.<br/><br/>Eli's daydream was interrupted when the stammering, petite little guy calling himself Nino practically fell into his lap. The little guy was clearly way more nervous than James. "Jesus, Nino," Eli said. "You need to calm down yourself, chief," he said teasingly. "Think I got just the thing for you," he said as he rummaged through his little baggie of 50 mL bottles. He finally found his weakest, sweetest liquor, some butterscotch schnapps coming in at a whopping 30 proof. The stuff tasted more like candy than alcohol. "Yeah, I think this is about your speed," he said with a carefully practiced smile that to all appearances indicated confidence and good humor. He handed the little guy the tiny bottle. "Name's Eli, by the way."