Miles fucking loved Scotland. The best birds on the whole damn planet came from that place, and it was one such bird that was responsible for the fact that he staggered into the Three Broomsticks over an hour late, and halfway between pissed drunk and falling over. With bleary sight he looked around the room, his gaze landing on his cousin and a smile brightening up his otherwise woozy looking expression.
"Morgan!" He said happily, paying no mind to his cousin's expression or how late he was for this meeting. He fell into the chair across from him, still smiling. "How the fuck are you?"