Zoë tends to keep to herself, leastways in places where folk can turn rowdy at the drop of a hat. Particularly if the Captain is the one dropping it, and he usually is. Don't invite trouble, and trouble won't come knockin'.

It's a nice idea, anyway.

She's watching the young captain from a table in the corner, nursing a drink she ain't sure actually qualifies as alcohol, but it's better than the zhu fuen chse she drinks back home. There's something about him. Not trouble, no; something else.

Loss.