Sub-Lieutenant Ymir Molotov sat down at the bar. Shaking his head, he signalled the waitress for a drink.
"What'll it be," the waitress asked with a smirk.
"Something that is guaranteed to kill me," Ymir replied.
The waitress sat down next to him, hir smirk changing into a sympathetic smile. "Rough day?"
"Drink first."
Frowning, the waitress got up with a huff and left. Ymir just rolled his eyes and rested his head on the bar. With all the excitement he had just gone through, he needed something to knock him out painlessly for a few days.