“Unless you’re buying me a drink, the answer is no.”

Commissioner Kelly raised an eyebrow. “I never said I was asking.” He glanced at the empty tankards on the counter. “And don’t you think you’ve had enough?”

Special Mage Eijiro Tokuda shrugged. “Your tax dollars at work.”

He tipped his fifth pint upside down, gulping noisily as he drained it. He set it next to the others. Beer dribbled into the stubble of his chin, and he wiped it with his black Mage’s cloak.

Kelly winced. “Toks, that’s your uniform.”

“Your uniform. Not mine,” Tokuda corrected. Then–and Kelly knew he was doing this to spite him–he blew his nose into it. “Now order a beer or get out.”

Kelly sighed and slipped into the stool next to his intoxicated friend. Tokuda eyed him warily, bloodshot gaze full of hostility. Rolling his eyes Kelly gave in. He flagged down the bartender.

“What can I get for you, sir?” the young man asked. His blonde hair was pulled into a stubby ponytail and his green eyes had flecks of silver in them. Kelly wondered if that meant he, too, was a steel mage. Of course, the flecks in his eyes didn’t necessarily have to tie in with his magic—it could’ve been something he inherited from his parents, or a total coincidence. With the advances in the synthetic serum nowadays, it was always hard to tell.

“I’ll have a club soda, and something light for my—”

Kelly was interrupted by a loud belch from Tokuda. He shot him an incredulous look, but Tokuda was busy staring off into space. His eyes were glazed over, and Kelly thought he saw tears welling in them. He leaned closer to the bartender.

“Make his a virgin if you can,” he said, sliding a twenty rann bill across the table.

Tokuda snapped out of his stupor. “I heard that,” he growled.

“Oh, good. So I can stop whispering.” Kelly cleared his throat, “Here’s a good tip for you, lad. I’ll throw in extra if you cut off my friend here.”

“What?! Now, wait here you–“

“I’ve been trying to do that all night, sir,” the young bartender said with a grin.  He snapped his fingers and Tokuda’s empty tankards popped off the counter.

Kelly’s eyebrows went up. So, not a steel mage, he thought, but glass.

With a wave of his hand, the blonde-haired bartender floated the dirty mugs back to the dish pit before summoning two clean ones from under the counter. He caught the first one and filled it with ice water. The second placed itself on the counter as a bottle of club soda popped off the shelf behind him. The bartender reached for a bottle opener, but Kelly held up a hand.

“Allow me.”

He flicked his wrist and the metallic bottle cap twisted off.

“Much obliged, sir.” Said the bartender.

Kelly watched the young man lift his right hand. The bottle of club soda mimicked his actions, tipping itself in order to pour Kelly’s drink.

“That’s a good way to use glass magic,” Kelly remarked.

“It makes mixing a lot easier,” the bartender said. He placed the drinks in front of Kelly, his green eyes appreciative. He passed back the rann bill Kelly had given him, “It’s on the house.”

Kelly wanted to protest, but on the opposite end of the counter a bearded man called for another round of shots. The young man snapped his fingers and a bottle of whisky popped off the shelf to make the refill.

“Duty calls,” he said, his stub of a blonde ponytail whipping behind him as he left.

Kelly took a sip of his drink. “Mmm, the club soda is good. You should try it, Toks.”

Tokuda scowled. “And you can try shove that right up your entitled–“

“Language, Toks,” Kelly warned, “You might not like being a Mage of Zaram, but the people still see you that way.”

A black fabric coil snaked out of Tokuda’s pocket. It twisted midair, contorting itself into what Kelly assumed was a hand making a rather rude gesture at him. He glanced at it, unconcerned.

“Now I know you’re drunk,” he said, “I can’t tell if that’s a hand waving a certain finger or a crude attempt at human genitalia.”

Tokuda scoffed. “I can make a pair of those, no problem.”

The coil unraveled, rolling itself out into a straight line before it started twisting again. Before it could even remotely resemble what Tokuda had in mind, Kelly snatched the fabric and stuffed it under Tokuda’s cloak.

“Enough,” he snapped, “Honestly, Toks, you should be happy I don’t arrest you. Do you have any idea how many bars I’ve been to looking for you? Cotte wanted to file a missing person’s report.”

Tokuda rolled his eyes. “Cotte would report me missing if I needed an extra minute to take a dump.” He drank his water, lips pursing at the lack of taste. “Out with it, Kell. What do you really want?”

Kelly took another sip, trying to choose his words carefully. Tokuda had enough of a temper when he was sober, he didn’t want to see what that could escalate to with him drunk. Still, something had to be said. With his disheveled hair and grease-stained tank top, Tokuda looked less like a trained specialist in the Zaramian military and more like a middle-aged krogger two missed payments away from eviction.

He cleared his throat. “Well, the thing is. Um, we…haven’t exactly seen you in the field lately.”

Tokuda grunted. “Been busy.”

“Doing what? Drinking your way to an early grave?”

Kelly had to admit that Tokuda could hold his alcohol better than anyone he knew–the fact he could still hold a decent conversation after drinking three quarts of beer was evidence as much. But this couldn’t be good for him. From what his sources told him, Tokuda had been chugging a gallon of beer every night for the past nine months. And while he still had the toned physique of a combat specialist, Kelly worried it was only a matter of time before either his body or his mind gave out completely.

He drummed his fingers against his commissioner’s cap, wondering if there was any way he could say this without getting punched, laughed at, or taking a beer mug to the face. Then, remembering who it was he was talking to, he knew he’d likely get all three.

He sighed. The local government wasn’t paying him enough for this.

“Toks, we got another group coming in,” he said, “A new batch of liaisons. The Exalted First Mage has asked that you take one of them.”

Tokuda stared at him. His drunken eyes were wide, unfocused, and completely dumbstruck.

Kelly swallowed. This wasn’t a possibility he’d considered. It occurred to him that Tokuda could be wondering whether or not he’d heard him right. Maybe he thought he was having some sort of drunk hallucination.

But then Tokuda tipped his head back and laughed. The cracked, broken sound of it bellowed so loud that everyone in the bar turned. Kelly’s cheeks flushed as he waved apologetically for his friend. Part of him almost wished he’d taken the beer mug.

“Oh, that’s a good one, Kell,” Tokuda said, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “You spend nine months tracking me down, and you expect me to believe it’s to babysit some kusogaki from overseas?”

Kelly’s blush deepened. “It’s true! Look, there’s this girl, okay? She’s kind of peculiar and she needs you. We were thinking that—”

“Please,” Tokuda waved his glass at him. “That’s even more pathetic if it is. And why would Kairos send you, Kell? You’re a cop, not one of his glorified action figures parading around the country.”

“You know that the CCPD helps to recruit liaisons,” Kelly said impatiently, “You’ll remember I was the one who recruited you.”

Tokuda stared into his glass, his gaze turning moody. “And how’s that working out for you, Kell?”

Kelly fell silent, his irritation dissolving. Tokuda could be a real bastard. But he was a bastard who had been through hell and back. Just nine months ago he lost everything, how did Kelly expect him to react to that? What would Kelly do if he had been in his place?

Probably the same thing, he had to admit.

Still, that didn’t mean this was any way to live.

“You can’t go on like this, Toks,” he said, “On a legal basis you’re here on a working visa, and you haven’t worked in months.”

Tokuda scoffed. “So what? You gonna deport me?”

“Not my department.” Kelly said. He sighed, gesturing his impatience. “Besides, you know this isn’t what she would’ve wanted–”

Tokuda’s glass shattered in his grip. Water spilled across the counter, drops of Tokuda’s blood mingled with the ice and broken glass. When he spoke, it was through gritted teeth.

“Don’t you dare,” he hissed. “Don’t you dare bring her into this.”

He threw a few bills on the counter, mumbling an apology to the bartender as he left. To Kelly’s surprise he took his black cloak with him. Then he realized Tokuda was likely using it to staunch the blood dripping from his hand.