When Braxton arrived at the galley to take his meal, the first thing he noticed was…Serenity. The companion had thrown herself into a purple gown that was so elegant, so out of place on the outer rim that it elevated her above the others sitting around the table without even trying. And yet, despite her narcissistic fineries, she somehow managed to be friends with everyone around the table, from cook, to tourist to…slave.<br/><br/>Braxton’s eyes met Serenity’s and they glared at each other for a long moment. True, he had invited everyone to the table…and yet, her presence seemed like an affront, a provocation. He honestly wasn’t looking for a fight this time, but he felt uneasy in her presence. The primal need to defend his territory rose strongly in him. Just by being there, Serenity had put him on the defensive.<br/><br/>The captain let his gaze circle over the assembled crew and passengers. He nodded to his men and greeted the tourist, making nice and hoping the feeling of anger towards the companion would pass before he said something uncivilized in front of everyone. It just wouldn’t do to poison the atmosphere on board just half an hour after takeoff. No, Braxton preferred to start his unprovoked fights in mid-journey like any civilized person.<br/><br/><br/>People were still coming in to eat and he noticed Mya quietly slipping into the room. She looked a bit flushed, probably still embarrassed from her last encounter with him and she lingered about for a moment, trying to decide where to sit.<br/><br/>Though not entirely dissimilar to Serenity in that she had a certain elegance and class to her, Mya was nothing like the companion. Serenity was a problem, a danger even while Mya was a welcome distraction. A good way to vent his feelings and keep his territorial manliness otherwise occupied.<br/><br/>While Serenity<em>appeared</em>to be tender, fragile and yielding, Braxton had learned to his troubles that quite the opposite was true. Sure, she would use nicer words, but talking to her always felt like talking to the doorman of a fancy ballroom for which you were not quite well-dressed enough.  The woman knew exactly where she stood and wouldn’t yield an inch.<br/><br/>With Mya, quite the opposite was true. Sure, she would<em>pretend</em>to be indignant and determined to put an end to whatever game he was playing with her. But in truth all it took was another brazen touch, another dirty word in her ear, another little push and she would trip over and fall into his arms again.<br/><br/>And the game was on again.<br/><br/><strong>“Here Mya!”</strong>Braxton patted the seat of the chair next to his.<strong>“You may sit at the table.”</strong>he offered, and none to quietly, fully aware of how it sounded: Like an<em>exception</em>.<br/>