Lazarus, at least, is not a violent drunk, at least not toward others besides himself on account of his wide self-loathing streak. And in all fairness, being hungover is nothing like being drunk, just the shadow of an illness betraying that one was drunk at a point in the recent past. He's stone cold sober, even if he'd probably be steadier on his feet and less queasy if he wasn't.

"Fine isn't what we're aiming for," Lazarus says, tugging at the strands of bristly hair on the back of his neck. "The day you were born should be a happy one, even if unhappy things happen, sometimes."