[ It's been almost a year since Casey last posted to the network. He works, keeps to himself, occasionally slides in to add an acerbic commentary to something someone says--that sort of thing. People who know Jayne will recognize him as a red faced version of the same; he's the one without the dodgy beard, is precious about Star Wars, dislikes animals, and despite that has a young ginger cat swinging its tail as it clambers up his chest to perch on his shoulder, furry bottom pressed against his ear. ]

Get the hell down from there, m'busy.

[ His voice is gravely, his face is a little red, eyes a little bloodshot. Casey scowls when a meow is his only response, and shifts forward and backward in quick little movements, attempting to dislodge the cat, but all that happens is that it digs its claws in. Grimacing, Casey decides to just get on with it. The feed clicks off and is replaced by an attached video file, featuring about a minute of prerecorded material from one of the Tranquility's shuttles. It shows the sparkling pinprick stars of space, the Cyllene coming into view, and a long panning view of the station as they circle it.  ]

Doesn't look like a deathtrap, does it? The real good ones usually don't. Got damn near frozen to death for a goddamned pair of sneakers. [ That explains why he looks ill, at least. ] Any of you lot get stuck on board that last day, I suggest you get yourselves checked up by the doctor. We have sensitive gear in the shuttle bay picking up trace radiation, and that means anyone could have been zapped by it, and getting cooked to death from the inside isn't a real nice way to go. Same goes for things you took that day. Might not be as safe as they look, especially if we're talking edibles.

[ Look at that, he's practically being caring. And realizing that he quickly turns off the video feed. But not before a tiny bit of blushing and another furious scowl. ]

Shut up.