The man to Bentley's left downed the rest of his small shot glass and set the empty cup back on the counter with a clink before standing up to leave. As he shuffled away, Evan was quick to steal the seat, perching himself on the top of the cushioned counter seat and leaning back against the counter edge with the sort of ease that Bentley couldn't quite manage to possess in these sorts of situations, even with a few drinks in his system (not yet, anyway - Evan was working on that). Evan's cup was only about three-quarters of the way through.

"We've been over this, doc," he explained, waving the bartender over to replace Bentley's drink with something larger, more golden-brown in color and with a bit of foam on top - something that was sure to last the doctor a few more minutes than the last one had. With no need to go into specifics (they were both well aware of the circumstances by now), he said, "It's not about looking for anything. I mean, if you put that way, technically, it'd be pretty inconvenient to find something."

Turning back around, he leveled a small, sideways smile at Bentley. "It's about being able to talk and connect with other people for a bit. You sort of lose perspective of that ability on board, seein' the same faces day in and day out, and after a while, it disappears, like a vestigial tail. I'm not saying that it's as necessary as breathing air, but it's one of those things where, if you can help it, it'd be worth it not to completely lose."

He raised his glass a little into the air as if toasting an imaginary friend. "It just doesn't hurt if it's somebody that's easy on the eyes."