A tap on his shoulder informed Thien that his night was taking an odd turn.
“Eh,” mumbled a very, very intoxicated man, “you.”
Thien waited for the drunk to say something else. And waited. All that happened was a creepy, unblinking, swaying short man holding eye contact a bit too long. Thien was usually not a fan of starship bars for just this reason.
“You.” The drunk said once more, but more angry this time.
“You took the last of the ale. Leaving the rest of us with lager. That wasn’t cool, man.” The small drunk stated his grievance and threw a fist into Thien’s face.
“Owwww!” the drunk screamed.
“Little tip,” Thien said, his face barley having registered the impact, “don’t get into a bar fight with a cyborg. It’s the future, man! You should know better.”