The beer that was graciously donated by Super Sailor Kerberos was definitely put to good use, as Sarras made a point not to waste so much as a single drop. He never considered himself a connoisseur of fine drinking and knew for certain that he wasn’t an alcoholic, not by a long shot. In all honesty, he never had a taste for the stuff in general. However, his usual outlet was not available to him and he only had himself to blame, as he couldn’t dream of taking to the range in not only this hour of the night but in the inebriated state he was in. He couldn’t even walk in this state, much less make his way to his home, or hold a gun steady. If a Negaverse officer found him in this piss-poor state-- hell, if a regular everyday thug found him in this state, sprawled out on a roof top, surrounded by emptied beer cans, he couldn’t imagine he’d offer much of a challenge. A good show and a brief source of entertainment, perhaps, but he was useless if it came down to it. And he only had himself to blame.

“Good,” he muttered, leaning his back against the wall and letting out a soft, listless sigh that immediately turned into a belch. “Let them find me. I feel like a good scrap.”

Perhaps ‘scrap’ wasn’t the appropriate word, he told himself as he could feel himself leaning lower and lower against the wall, his gaze shifting from the nightline of the city and into the sky. He could see no stars thanks to the overcast, but the moon was barely visible, and that was enough for him. He wasn’t too fond of space anyways. He let out a low chortle, rubbing his forehead and reaching for the last beer with a sense of longing. No, more like a good, old-fashioned a** whooping.

He wasn’t sure which one was more disappointing to him- the fact that he was slowly beginning to realize just how futile his efforts of exacting his revenge on the monster responsible for his family’s hardships, or the fact that the last beer can was empty. He brought it to his lips, but tasted nothing… there was nothing to taste. He looked down at it and gave it a shake, but to no avail. It was empty. Like the Code’s words and promises, like his quest for revenge… utterly empty. “Typical…”

Like the other cans, he threw it aside, and whatever strength he had left to hold himself up was wasted, as he leaned back a little too far and went down with a thud. His headpiece dug into his scalp but didn’t break the skin and he managed to crush one of the emptied husks of a can beneath him, but other than his pride there was no lingering damage. It wasn’t much, but it was something…

And something was somewhat in short supply these days, as well as sleep. So, drunk, grumpy, and too complacent, the Cosmos squire continued to lay on the rooftop, the bodies of his defeated and devoured foes scattered about him, as his mind began to drift… drift away, and he had no idea, nor notion of care, when it would come back… if it would come back.


((Word Count: 551))