"You have poison in your room."
You turn to face Price, the captain of the ship, and the expedition you'd signed up for. He was surprisingly your biggest ally in defending you against your cultural ignorance. Mostly because he had misinterpreted your handshake and smile upon introducing yourself to him as a sign you wanted to mate.
Price's alien species reminded you a lot of if Drax and a werewolf had a baby; though you would never tell him that. "Poison? Is this another engery drink situation?" You probe as you set your clipboard down. You always volunteered to do the weekly count. It brought you a sense of peace.
"No, it's bad poison. You know it's poison, and you still have it." He scolds, pulling your hand finished bottle of whiskey out of his belt.
"Oh, my whiskey. It's alcohol."
"Alcohol belongs in the medical bay." Price was getting more frustrated with your replies and the lack of care for your well-being. "Do you enjoy drinking poison?"
"Well, rubbing alcohol and drinking alcohol is different. It's not good for me, that's for sure, but the effects are nice. I'd have to drink a lot more than I'd be comfortable drinking to really hurt myself." You explain as John raises an eyebrow skeptically.
"You are microdosing on poison." He mutters in disbelief, his tail wagging slowly as he thinks. "That's not good for you."
"Just give me back my whiskey."


















