The murmur of the streets barely brushed against his consciousness, the heat of the morning sun a faint tingle on his cheek.
“MIN!”
The peace shattered and the hangover headache, previously kind enough to spare him, burst into bloom inside his skull.
Minoru slowly raised his head from the table and from the puddle of stale wine on its surface. His fine naval uniform hung to his stringy, lean frame by only a few still-fastened buttons. A crust of salt had formed in his deep blue hair and eyebrows again, Daanad’s little treat for him.
“Min,” Raff, well-dressed, red-skinned young man strode to the table and punched Minoru in the shoulder. “Have you any idea what, well, who you did last night?”
Minoru squinted,“Some cute little redhead?”
Raff groaned, “Who is Sesus Chenow’s favourite granddaughter. He’s not happy. Word is that he’s keen to beat you bloody this afternoon.”
“Well, damn. I wanted a lie-in. Fight or flee?”
“Flee. You can’t take this guy.”
“I’ll get my coat.”
It was a great end to a great night.