It had been one of the hardest few days Sinclair had had in a long time. Only on board for a few days; and today he had dealt with holograms, psychotics, therapy animals that weren’t, and… the rest he just shook out of his mind. He remembered the first time he had gone out for drinks with the other members of the Counseling group at the Academy. Their instructor came with them and said “A Counselor who doesn’t need a drink at least once a week is not doing their job.” and proceeded to drink all but the big Scot under the table.

Changing into comfortable clothes consisting of faded jeans, a t-shirt with a Warhol-esque picture of Sigmund Freud colored in neon colors under a unzipped light jacket with a sports team crest on the left breast and comfortable athletic shoes, he made his way to the Lounge. Walking in, it was slightly crowded as it was time for a good number of the crew to take their evening meal. He looked around, saw the bar was full, and then spied a table where it appeared the four NE’s currently seated were getting ready to leave. Getting a whiskey and placing a food order, he made his way to the table as it emptied and took a seat. Sighing heavily, he took a sip of his drink, shook his head slightly and looked out the window.

Sinclair, CNS