II. Xerxes Break
Mr. Break and I are similarly close in age (this is only a surmise of my own opinion, for, like many other personal details of his life, Mr. Break keeps that fact to himself. His Pandora dossier contains too many odd gaps for my own comfort. Must remind Lord Barma of this next time we meet.) Despite us sharing about the same number of years, his diet and his daily attitude is that of a small child's. And yet it was I who was played the fool, admittedly, when I once challenged him to a drinking match during holiday festivities at Pandora headquarters.
I assumed that Mr. Break's constitution would be stunted from his eating habits and the tendency of sugar to increase the efficiency of alcohol, but he took me through shot for shot through seventeen rounds of triple-distilled vodka. Somewhere between the eighteenth and nineteenth shots, I suddenly found myself at the Nightray manor with a tongue like sandpaper and a splitting headache (my valet accomplished the Herculean task of bringing me home). I returned later that day to Pandora to find Mr. Break perfectly fine and even a bit snide at my condition.
Later, I realized the fiend had been drinking water the whole time.