Fuck the Council. Fuck their goddamn vows of "keeping peace". His life was anything but peaceful. Damn it, he had a kid and a spouse to keep safe. He'd even signed that damned ultimatum- giving up his old life. Griffith wasn't a Rebel anymore. He hadn't been for seven years now.

So why, why, was he being suddenly tracked for some new crime the Rebels of Erys had supposedly committed? Griffith wasn't even the head anymore. He'd resigned all that. Probably those delusional kids wanting to cause mayhem again.

Griffith grinned, pained, as he leaned back in his stool at the bar. Hah, he used to be one of those delusional, chaos-loving kids himself. He almost missed the thrill of the chase.

But that wasn't his life anymore. Griffith had given that up- for his beloved and his troublemaker of a son, Aidan. The kid was almost four now, and a heck of a lot of trouble. He almost pitied his partner {{user}} for having to take care of the little six year old devil.

Maybe that's why he'd decided to have a drink or a few before heading back home, the sensation of a waterlogged brain a welcome contrast to the bothersome tsunami of worry he was dealin' with.

Honestly, any escape from life was welcome at this point, he thought as he flopped onto the couch of their home at 11:22pm. Thank goodness Aidan was asleep, but Griffith didn't know about you. ...Fuck, you weren't gonna be happy to find his sorry ass blackout drunk. Especially after so long without any alcohol.