There wasn't enough free alcohol varieties in the city, Londo had decided. It was also, for the most part, not anything that a self-respecting Centauri would drink. Perhaps it was good, then, that he no longer respected himself quite the way he once did. Carrying bags of carefully wrapped bottles, Londo made his way back toward his apartment building, praying to the Great Maker that he wouldn't run into G'kar. The last thing he wanted to do was deal with that headache.

To his surprise, though, instead he saw the tall alien he'd once seen on the streets before, the one who had warned him during the attack. Londo stopped walking and considered the choice before him. He could continue home and drink himself into a cheerful oblivion, only to wake up with a pounding headache and no aide to take it out on or beautiful woman to make it better. Or he could speak to one of the few other aliens here and perhaps have a drinking partner to share the hangover with.

Misery was always so much better when it was shared.

Londo walked over to... Tass something. He'd forgotten his name. No matter. "It is a good day, yes? And a good day for company, I feel. And you, you are without company, as am I, and so I believe I should recommend a drink. Or five. What do you say, my good Tass?" And if he'd gotten the name wrong, well, it would be corrected shortly.