Rabastan pulls his hip flask from his pocket and takes a healthy swig. The firewhisky burns his lips and his mouth and he relishes it. He’s standing outside the hospital wing, looking like death warmed up, having just come from his... interview with the authorities. He’s in a foul mood and ready to take it out on just about anyone.
Glancing up, Rabastan sneers, a foul look.
“What,” he asks, “do you want?”








