Commander Root shuffled into the bar.
"A drink," he shouted hoarsely at the bartender.
"Coming right up," replied the somewhat harried barkeep.
As his drink arrived, he stared at its purplish hue, not drinking it yet. It had been a bad day.
The fairies had been, as painful as it was to admit it, outwitted by some snot nosed, snivelling Mud adolescent. That wasn't so bad. The fairies, and maybe even the Council could deal with that.
What they couldn't deal with was the fact that his outwitting exercise had cost them half a ton of gold.
He took a long drink then.
But was that all that had put him in this dour mood? Was that all that was making him feel so depressed, so down? Was it?
Yes, said his more stubborn side.
No, replied another, the usually out-voiced by the other alter-ego voice.
Mulch Diggums had di-
Don't think about that, he was reminded.
But he asked Mulch to come on the mission. He had persuaded the smart mouthed dwarf to break into Fowl Manor. And there the dwarf had died, due to an unfortunate cave-in. It was his fau-
No, it wasn't. Mulch knew the risks and took them. It's not your fault. It's not. It's not. It's not.
It helped if he kept repeating that to himself.
Hmm. His glass was empty. Strange.
"Another," he called brusquely.
The drink came, and he gulped it all down in one shot.
You always despised that convict. He was nothing but trouble, a nuisance. What do you care if he was gone now? Aren't you the one who always complained about him, who always wished he would just go away?
"Another," he said, his voice trembling slightly.
And anyway, it's not like you haven't had your share of bad days with Mulch. Remember when Mulch nearly decapitated you with his laser cutter? And that was only one of the many instances with that unruly dwarf. He had been nothing but bad news.
He gulped down the next drink that the barkeep brought to him quickly, like an elf bent on losing consciousness as soon as possible.
Yes, no more hassle for you. Its all fine. Everything will be all ri-"Hey, buddy, you look in a right state. Anything you want to talk about?" Asked the barkeeper sympathetically.
Root regained his composure. "No, nothing, Bob. Give me a flagon to go."
He paid his tab and took his alcoholic drink with him outside. He quaffed down a large gulp. And as he looked at the artificial stars in the synthesized sky, a solitary tear found it's way down his cheek, quickly brushed away, and remembered no more.