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More new arrivals but her business was elsewhere, and she figured she would be meeting them soon enough anyway.

The Sensoriums were set to look like Central Park as a pleasant spring day. Gentle breeze blowing while Kate lined up her shots toward the targets 50 feet away. It was very nice and pretty. A nice contrast from the ugliness of late. She had been feeling so mixed lately. Between being angry at Paco, nervous about Brenda's arrival, and then that whole last moment as the Yeerk died, it's been a very confusing time mentally and emotionally. She took her shots.

Still off. She went to go fetch her arrows, but then paused before find a place near a tree to slump down. She drew her knees up to her chin, and set her bow on the ground by her. She then lowered her head face down, and drew in slow shuddering breaths. She wasn't crying at the moment, but only because she wasn't sure how to feel at the moment.

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"You've got to be kidding me. So, Sergeant Tinker Bell issues orders and you all just follow 'em 'cause the ship that kidnapped you says she's in charge? Well, hell, with all the sheep on this ship, those dang wolves I ran into down in the city ought to have a hay-day."

"You obviously didn't get the tour. Just don't ask for a sedative," She wryly replied.

Kate went to put her arrows away, but then turned back to him, "What's this about wolves?"

"Don't worry," Sawyer assured. "If I get the urge to be sedated, I'll be doin' it the natural way." He then lifted the bottle of Jack Daniels in what appeared to be a toast, then took a drink.

"I just ran into a couple of big @$$ wolves down in that city thing and, well, let's just say that if that's what this Stacy b*#@% calls 'crew mates' then I think I'd rather work alone."

Kate considered his words as annoying as his attitude was. She felt too drained to get angry just yet.

"More like soldiers than crew mates. Current theory is she might looking for an army. What can you do? Besides be an angry and insulting drunk?" The last question held traces of her more typical biting tone.

Sawyer pondered her question for a moment before giving her a beaming grin. "I can make a mean gumbo," he answered proudly.

That got a small smile back from her.

"Yeah? Should have been popped sooner. Ship cafeteria only serves this tasteless slop on an edible tray. Tray's like stale taco shells."

"Sounds tasty," he said sarcastically. Pushing off the wall, Sawyer stepped further into the sensorium and took a look around. He paused a tree and rested his hand against it while he took another swig from his bottle before, surprisingly, offering some to Kate.

"So, ya got a name, Robin Hood?"

Another smirk at that and she considered the offer. Kate then stepped forward to accept the drink.

"Yeah got a couple, thanks." She took a swig, and a brief grimace at the burn before handing it back to him.

"I'm Kate. Kate Bishop."

"Well, what a coinky-dink. So do I," he replied, taking the bottle back and downing another shot.

"Sawyer."

"Nice to meet you then."

Sawyer simply nodded then reached into the pocket of his creepy leaf suit and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. Sucking in a drag, he held it for a few seconds before finally speaking again, exhaling the smoke as he did.

"So, Kate," he said, looking over at her. "How's it feel to have a worm in your brain? Inquiring minds wanna know."

That smile dropped away to an annoyed look in no time flat.

"How do you think? The pool's probably gone, or I'd suggest going for a swim yourself and find out."

"No thanks," Sawyer said. "I'd rather keep my deep, dark dirties to myself. At least, for now anyway." He took another swig then offered the whiskey to Kate again.

"Ya ask me, it looks like the snails did a number on ya."

"It tried," she allowed, and accepted the whiskey again before handing it back. The burn wasn't as noticeable this time.

"Oh yeah?" he said, apparently unwilling to let the conversation drop any time soon. He leaned his back against the trunk of the tree he was propped against and then slid down until he was squatting at the base.

He puffed on his cigarette. "How?"

"Digs out all of your worst memories." She found a patch of grass to flop down on while she spoke. "Over and over again."

"Like what?" Isn't he the nosy one today...

Kate eyed him, "Bad ones, I don't need to explain anymore about it."

"Sure ya don't," Sawyer answered in a tone that said he just was not buying it. "That's why you're hidin' away in an imaginary park and gettin' drunk with a total stranger." He downed another shot and, again, handed the bottle to Kate.

"Because I got control over this," Kate remarked, taking another swig and handing it back. Her voice was steadily getting more slurred as the conversation continued.

"Can turn it off whenever I want. Not like before where you can't turn the mental ipod video from hell off."

Sawyer eyed her quietly for a few seconds before replying. "How old are you? Sixteen? Seventeen? What memories you got that are so painful?"

"Seventeen, and even kids can have painful memories. Some people don't care about hurting kids."

"Oh yeah?" Sawyer snaked another drink, handing the bottle to Kate. "We talkin' 'perverts and pedophiles' kinda people or 'beat ya with a car antenna' kinda people."

Kate's expression stiffened a little, more so on the first part, but she just had another drink instead of answering. The buzz was helping.

Sawyer nodded when she didn't answer, automatically assuming he'd hit the nail on the head with one or both of the options. Taking the bottle back from her, he downed three or four huge gulps of whiskey, wiping his mouth off on his sleeve before handing it back to her.

He ashed his cigarette in the fake grass.

"When I was kid, my daddy killed my mom right in front of me. I was in my room with my mom and dad was downstairs, outside, tryin' to get in. He beat in the front door. Then my mom left to take care of it and he beat on her for a while before he finally got pissed off enough that he shot her in the chest with a twelve-gauge shot gun," Sawyer paused to take a drag of his cigarette.

"Then he came up to my room, lookin' for me. I'd hid under the bed and he was drunk--even layin' on the floor I could smell the alcohol on him--so he didn't even think to look for me there. Then he sat down on my bed, put the barrel in his mouth, and blew his brains out."