((Firefly is seriously the best

Vaguely wild west rebel outlaws in space? Bar fights and quick getaways? C'mon now...

))
"Not a problem," says Corliss, looking concerned.
<That wound isn't pretty.>
<You ever see a pretty wound, Corliss?>
<Oh yeah, scads,> the Yeerk replies sarcastically.
Myitt nods at Thordon. "Good, that's convenient. This language is called Galard, it's the language of interstellar trade where I and many others here come from." She smiles at him, then at Gaz and Morgan. "I'm going to see if my old friend is alright. I'd like to check in on the human boy later. Come on over if we can buy you a drink, okay? It was nice talking."
She steps over to the bar counter, between Corliss and Ossanlin, and takes a seat gingerly. Everything seems to be aching. "Jesus, you're getting too old for this," she murmurs.
"I'm only twenty-five!" her host scowls aloud. She glares at the bar counter and then looks up at Ossanlin, listening to his conversation with Mar.
"I agree with Temrash, Ozzy, I think prolonging your pain when you don't have to is just silly. You've got the damn power, so use it." Myitt again. "If that demon thing wants to come crashing through the bar, that's just great, I'd rather not see you suffer."