Matthew downed the shot the bartender slid over. It went down smooth—too smooth. No heat in his throat, no haze in his head. Nexians barely felt weak alcohol. Muni had mentioned that from the knowledge he had given Matthew.
They won't get drunk or sick. No more flu or colds.
Great, he thought. Even the drink won't give me a break.
Naturally, there are a few exemptions, but that doesn't matter now.
He muttered under his breath about the old man, still annoyed that Muni had slipped that tablet down his throat. Muni had kept him alive—fine. But he also fed him that thing. Now, instead of the quiet, different life he wanted this time around, Matthew was tied to Muni's rules and he couldn't even take the edge off with a cheap drink.
However, Matthew wasn't the type to just sit there and lament his misfortune. If he carefully analyzed it, he had gained a few things from that interaction. The knowledge the old man gave him was much more detailed than the amnesiac ghost's information.
