faxpunk

Barnaby shoved a piece of dark green bread on a plate in front of him. Edgar groaned, feeling much like the piece of bread added insult to his injury. The splitting headache, the aching muscles and the chills that periodically went through his entire being. “Don’t torture me with whatever this is, Barns. I’ve told you there’s only one thing that with absolute certainty cures a hangover.”

“It’s bara lawr.” Barnaby looked at him, dismayed. “Seaweed bread. In Mynydd they say it’s the food to cure every hangover known to man.”

“Far be it for me to judge the fine pobl Mynydd, but I very much doubt that.” Edgar sighed and took a bite of the bread anyway, chewing and tasting the ocean. “Then again, they also vote for Socialists.”

“Bara lawr needs a complete breakfast table to work its magic. I’m not sure why you ever decided to drink with the Livonian ambassador.” Barnaby lifted the cup of tea to his mouth. Edgar felt the judgement in his look but wasn’t wounded by it.

“Gwendolyn said they will consider it an insult if you turn down their strange tree bark liquor and their plentiful vodka.” Edgar dipped another piece of the bread in his coffee, hoping it might improve the taste. It did not.

“Then she lied,” Barnaby said simply. “A fair few of them are tee-total. And with your constitution–”

“Yes, my constitution.” Edgar put down the bread. “But I’ve lived a couple of decades with this constitution and have tried and tested a few methods for the crapula that follows. I daresay a piece of seaweed won’t do the trick.”

“Have you considered not drinking?” Barnaby raised an eyebrow.

Edgar looked at him glumly. “And risk getting voted out for showing weakness? Hardly.”

“Well, then.” Barnaby took his paper and opened it, considering the discussion closed.

“Aren’t you curious about what I’ve found to be the most successful method?” Edgar asked lightly.

“I know it well already, dear.” Barnaby lifted his paper further up, hiding behind it.

“Then you’ll surely join me in the cure?” Edgar pushed down the paper, seeing pink on both of Barnaby’s cheeks. “It requires two, I’m afraid.”

“Eat the bara and we’ll see, perhaps.” But Barnaby didn’t hide his smile and Edgar felt a sense of triumph.

He dutifully ate his bread, and found it to be a cure, indeed.