The woman, her hair ashen and riddled with soot, sits down her quarters, swirling a glass of whiskey around repeatedly, staring at how the object reflects the tan liquid which sits inside. Her concentration on it is acute, eyes narrowed in, her perplexed. She slowly takes a sip from the glass, feeling the fiery drink slide down her dry throat, into the depths of her stomach. Her clock ticks, the red hand slowly inching forward as it hits the 4, 2 hours since she had initially sat down with her drink. Slowly returning from staring into space, she gets up, stretching her back and walking to the ship's bridge. [spoiler]Open[/spoiler]