Ban's a vulgar drunk. So is Kazuki.
It all was that earnest bastard's fault tonight, the one night the Get Backers were paid, and fed, and whole. Ban had been six shots in, two shots away from scoring with a pink-haired C-cup at the bar, and Ginji had to ruin it all by spotting a familiar girly face crying in the corner.
Now, Ginji was off running interference with the Thread Spool's cock puppet and Ban was stuck babysitting at the fairy's apartment. Unfair.
And if he thought about it (which in his intoxicated state was becoming increasingly difficult), it was Ginji's fault before tonight, too, for having such an infuriating sense of responsibility towards this fussy fucktard who — under the full-body crush of drunkenness — was neither responsible nor noble, just slutty and vengeful and slick.
"Fuck, G-" Ban crushed his face against the pillow, and exploded.
Kazuki rose up, lazily.
"'Just one minute,' hmm?" the Fuuchouin master smirked, dabbing his mouth with Ban's shirt tail.