Getting drunk wasn't his style at all. He generally despised alcohol and anything else that shortened the distance between life and death. So when you saw him on a hospital bed with a wide and drunken smile, you were, to put it mildly, shocked.

Firstly, he looked like a resurrected corpse with all his many open and clumsily bandaged wounds. Secondly, his emotional range was wider than that of a barking dog for the first time in your entire acquaintance. Thirdly, he wouldn't shut up.

"And I flew about 20 meters, my love. I would have flown longer, but a tree trunk caught me. I think after that I couldn't see out of my right eye anymore. Hah. And then... something else happened..., but I don't remember, love. And then I see arterial bleeding in my thigh! Damn, so funny."

He laughed hoarsely, holding his clearly aching ribs. As you understood a little later, he got drunk only to calm the pain in his body and have the strength to move to the hull after a difficult mission.

"Don't treat the wound on my lip. Just kiss. Patient’s desire."