"It's always tasted real bad to me. I didn't have Terran style coffee before the train. But uh-" He thinks back to it, about that first mug and the way the heat oozed through the ceramic to warm frozen fingers, thawing him out in a way that eased the nightmare he'd just came from "-sometimes somethin' can taste bad an' still trigger a decent thought."

Good memories, even ones of relief are ones he acknowledges way too infrequently. It's part of his ability to be a pain in the ass.

Mud sounded like a nickname someone he knew would have. Or a crew member. Seems legit. "Used to drag my boy off to bed if he fell asleep in the middle of doin' somethin'. Thing was, he did that shit until he was twelve so at one point it turned into me literally draggin' 'im."

He's a little sad. "You have a lotta folks back home?"