Nanaki had attempted pretty much everything. He put his paws over his ears, he turned his back, he even politely asked. But did his impassioned pleas work? Nay, nay. The infernal chatterbox kept going, prattling on about everything that flooded his tiny robotic mind.

It was enough to drive a civilized beast back to ferocity.

"... And it's so nice havin' another cat on-board to jaw at, 'cause none of the others ever really understand or listen or nothin'! Don't you just hate that? I mean, I ain't a real cat, leastaways how people think of real cats, but I got feelins like a flesh and blood fe-line too! I like scratchin' things! Sometimes I even lick m'own ars--"

The image of poor, demented Reeve in that position finally drove Nanaki over the edge. He did the only thing he could think to do in such a situation: he clamped his mouth over the entirety of Cait Sith's face, muffling out the mosquito drone voice to a reasonable degree. It obviously wasn't a long-term solution, but Nanaki sure did enjoy doing it.

Captain Highwind strode by on a midnight trip to the loo. His eyes flicked over to the pair sitting by the campfire. Without missing a beat he pulled out a hip flask from inside his jacket and tossed it carelessly into the bushes.