She stepped gingerly over a snoring, hungover Goretug, only to continue the motion as a solid kick to Alan’s ribs.
“Get. Up.” she growled, nose wrinkled in disgust at the squalid spaceport tavern. “I made our sacrifice to the Klurr an hour ago; if we wait any longer they’ll get distracted and let the wormhole close!”
Coughing, he balled himself up. “This is NOT how you treat royalty.”
“I don’t give a damn what the oracle said that birthmark means. Until we shake the Nebulons, you’re still just an idiot gambler. Now get up, your majesty. You’re no use laying there.”
Image Credit: NASA