The Hangover

Unknown Location
Afternoon

Ryven awoke with a pounding headache and the throbbing can-taste-your-own-teeth feel of a night spent in overwhelming intoxication. He could also taste faint hints of blood mixed with the lingering burn of the alcohol.  He was laying face down on a hard surface that he suspected, oddly enough, was cobblestone.  The stones were damp and sticky and he could just barely identify it as blood through his squinting eyes and still blurred vision as he pushed himself up off the stones.  His cheek felt swollen and tender as he worked his jaw open and shut, testing it.  He couldn't see it, but he assumed it was likely bruised.

His next realization was that he was in a cluttered alley littered with the usual urban detritus.  He tried to stand but found his balance was not yet up to the task, so he sat down with his back to the wall of the alley.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette, lighting it and sucking in the warm smoke.  He closed his eyes and tried to piece together what he could remember of the previous night.

He remembered going to the Terrace and seeing Kat.  He also remembered her breaking up with him, which set off his drinking binge.  He drank two full bottles before he even left the Terrace.  He also remembered confessing to Aldrith about his Other personality and Aldrith's laughable threats. He also remembered telling Kat she could keep his suite.  Ryven chuckled at the realization he was now technically homeless, despite his assurances to Kat that he had other homes.

So, where did he fly to?  He glanced at his Neocom to see if there were any clues there.  He opened his first of six mails, this one from Leela:

"You fucking dick.  How dare you?  You came in here reeking like a damn brewery and propositioned me in front of Zhou, for God's sake! What the fuck is wrong with you?  I kicked your ass out before Zhou could make things worse.  He was about to fight your drunk ass.  Get your shit together before you talk to me again."

The timestamp put it around three in the morning.  So, she must've been his first stop.  Where'd he go from there? The next two mails were basic business mail.  The fourth was a solicitation.  The last mail was from, oddly enough, himself.  Ryven scowled, immediately aware of what this meant.

"Thank you for finally letting me come out and play. You're probably waking up in some alleyway somewhere you don't recognize. Sorry for the damage I caused to our shared body.  The family I decided to visit last night was more energetic than most.  They got in a few licks of their own.  The bloodstains on your shirt, you'll be pleased to know, are not ALL your own blood, so you won't need to visit a doctor, though you'll probably want to see a priest.

P.S. I took a souvenir.  It's in your left pants pocket. Cheers."

Ryven instinctively reached into his pocket and pulled out the object within.  He stared down into his open hand and began to weep and clenched his hand tightly into a fist, rage welling within him matched only by his own sense of powerlessness.  He stood, shakily, his vision blurred by both his tears and the hammer hell of a piercing post-binge headache.  He walked slowly out of the alleyway, using the wall to keep his balance, a tiny cloth doll hanging limply out of his left hand, the sounds of sirens in the distance.  To the few who took notice, all they saw was a husk, the broken shambles of a man, as he meandered out into the dawn and the maze of a city whose name he'd never know.