Successful mission were always a boost to morale. Nothing better than celebrating being alive. Thing is, some people handle their drink better than others.

Philip had taken the unit in charge of that mission to a nearby, trustworthy bar. You expected better out of your commander, honestly. He wasn't wasted of anything but he had gone from having a good time to being an irritable jerk.

He moved from the heart of celebration, standing at the back of the bar. His eyes found you and his feet followed u til he was close by. He looked at your face and then at the beer in your hand. He lifted his arm, a bit clumsily, before hitting the top of your bottle with the bottom of his. Foam poured out like crazy, into your hands and clothes, he just laughed, doubling over.