Breakfast conversations? Yes, we’re doing dialouge today!

I woke up with the worst headache in all creation.

I suppose it was either my half-muffled groan or my turning away from the blinding sunlight that suddenly flooded the room that gave me away.

“Oh, look! Sleepy head’s awake!”

“I don’t know why in the Seven Hells you sound all excited so early in the morning”, I said, the sound of my own voice sending something akin to hot, burning needles through my skull.

“What? You having a hang-over, huh?” he teased, throwing the pillow I had just dragged over my head across the room.

“Don’t you even start, Damian. Your bonus is almost up,” I mumbled, the warning lost in translation.

If anything, it brought a smirk from Damian.

“You mean the bonus of dragging you home last night or the bonus of being the one to get your ass in gear in the morning with uh…guess you’d call it a ‘concoction’ or some fancy word like that.”

“I don’t know how much I like the word ‘concoction’ right now,” I said and grimaced, squinting at the cup Damian proffered me without asking. One look at the greenish brew told me I’d rather not know what was in it.

“It’s called an Aftershock,” Damian announced, much too enthusiastic for my taste.

I frowned at the brownish liquid some more before I downed the cup in one go, shuddering as I put it down.

“Gods, that stuff is nasty. What in the Seven Hells did you put in it?” I went for the sink, trying to slosh the taste out of my mouth.

“A raw egg, Worcester sauce and Tabasco,” Damian replied cheerfully.

I just looked at him blankly.

“And you made me drink that.”

“Come on, can’t say it ain’t helping. How’s the head doing?”

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