Witheare grinned, downing glass after glass of almost pure alcohol in rythym with the viking, smiling all the while. She grew not thirstier nor more full, for she did not require sustainance, and all the while she remained completely sober, not feeling any effect from the alcohol. She may as well have been drinking water the entire time.
She looked over to her opponent in the challenge, who was collapsing to the ground in defeat. Witheare giggled at him, her face tinted a light blue.
"You give up? Wow. Silly viking, nobody can defeat me in a drinking contest; my body doesn't process food or drink. I can't get drunk, high, or anything like that for that matter. I may as well have been drinking water."
~Giving a nod to the bottle, and for sure, this little girl could hold her own; it was in the way the challenge was given that Alrekr accepted. The girl was not human, it was not held so in her eyes, but otherworldly being or no, the viking would rise to the challenge. Each took a glass and knocked them back, with a rhythm like timed friends, and they would repeat. The rounds kept being poured and the more he drank, the thirstier Alrekr got. A Nordic viking trait, and something that had been earned through several years of drinking.~
~Again and again the alcohol was taken and Alrekr went from standing up straight to leaning heavily on the bar with an arm. Some of the alcohol dripped along his beard and lips glistened with the brew, when he raised his head his eyes were glassy and his speech was slurred, but he still stuck to the challenge. One might say a viking would drink till his death, and Alrekr Halfdanarson could be that viking. Another round was poured and threw down the hatch, he swayed when he moved and trying to pour the drinks some was lost upon the counter top. With the last drink swallowed Alrekr held up his hand as if to say something, swiveled upon his heels trying to keep his balance from moving from the bar and landed straight on his ass! Instead of feeling sheepish or embarrassed the Chieftain just began laughing, laughing that echoed into the rafters and bellowed from the large man, laughing because...because... He had been drunk under the table by a little girl! Alrekr sat and leaned back against the wall, raising a hand waving in his defeat of the challenge; aye, good ale, good times.~
Witheare let out what was intended as a hearty chuckle, though in her body it was little more than an over enthusiastic giggle. She knew she could win this, though it would technically be considered cheating: as her body was dead it did not process anything she put into it, including alcohol. She could drink as much as she wanted and have no effect, but that also meant she could not experience the sensations anymore, nor would drinking dull any pain she may have. Despite this, Witheare still loved to drink, and was often delighted to see the shocked looks on people's faces after consuming very large quantities of the normally intoxicating beverage. She was half-surprised the viking accepted her challenge, certain that the magic-fearing warrior would have been put off by her ability to hold down a few bottles of 190 proof Everclear.
"Good." Witheare smiled, revealing her teeth which were sharper than knives. She pointed to the label on one of the bottles she downed, to the part where it said "95% alcohol by volume", then let out a giggle of victory. If the viking understood what this meant, he may admit defeat right there. But she knew he would be stubborn, as all good warriors are, and put up an amazing fight.
~Alrekr raised an eyebrow over his good eye-the left eye being scarred from battles long ago still held some sight, though it was damaged-in the direction of the young girl. At her challenge the Viking tilted his head back and let out a hearty laugh, not because it was a girl who challenged him, there were several viking women who were capable of holding their drinks, and their fights, but he laughed because she was so tiny. He didn't know her age, nor did it matter, if there was one thing besides fighting that vikings knew how to do it was drink.~
"A drinking contest? Think thee well enough, do you?" ~The son of Halfdan stroked his braided beard and finally gave a gruff and thudded another glass against the table top. Taking a bottle from behind the shelving Alrekr began to pour them some alcohol and gave the lass a wink.~ "Been a long time since I've been challenged, though, we'll make it for good times."
Witheare smiled and downed the drink within seconds, her face flushing a light tinge of blue.
"Thank you, warrior." she said, before getting the strangest idea, one that most people would consider suicide. She thought it would be fun.
"Alrekr? You wouldn't mind a challenge, would you? I challenge you to a drinking contest. Whoever consumes the largest quantity of alcohol wins!" Her challenge was rather brash, but it amused her. She would enjoy this, that much was certain.
~The viking just nodded to the girl's request, rummaged around in the back of the bar for a moment before producing the adequate size for the drink and he poured it without giving much thought to the patron who asked for it. Alrekr placed the drink in front of the little lady and gave a kind smile.~ "Here ye are, lass. Let me know, should ye need another." ~Alrekr watched some other patrons have a conversation, the white haired sidhe from before, and the fox creature that perhaps thought it was a bird. They spoke mildly to each other, oft in rhymes or riddles.~
The man looked at the creature and seemed to smirk, though one could not tell by the shadow that crossed his face. The creature had cunning and quirk of word, the sidhe could not help buy enjoy. The beast’s voice held tones of bi-gender attributes, not that it mattered to the man, he was sidhe and gender never truly mattered with their own. The mask was another thing however, as it seemed odd for such a wiry creature to wear, yet it would not sidetrack the male from his enjoyment.
“Aye, many queens do deck the halls, and many souls leave taint to their walls. A bit you here and a bit of you there. Can you keep up without hitting a snare? I wonder, oh I do, how you manage my little shade to waltz the dances of sidhe without collecting their ever so sweet praise.”
The last bit was a lie, not in terms of sidhe. To humans it would be wrong, foul, but the gifts and praise of the sidhe were sweet, however deadly as well. A human would call him out on such a twist of words, but he did not believe the creature before him was as naïve as a human soul. He had been surprised enough when Medb had entrapped him by her own wit, a clever mind in that one.
|The fox like creature eyed the man who approached it with head cocked slightly to the side as it listened in to the stranger's words. He seemed to be a man of rhymes and the small beast thought, if for a moment, that it was being presented with some sort of riddle. Very cunning in nature, it always loved a good riddle. Alas, it was but a simple question posed by the other patron of the establishment. The only difference was the diction and word play and tone and blah, blah, blah. It gave a yawn, raising up its hind leg to reach a particularly annoying spot behind its ear and when finished, the fox stood to shake out its fur. Then, and only then, was it able to answer the question.|
"Oh, I have seen many queens as I am from many places. 'Suppose it would be safe to say that I am something of a nomad, hopping about from place to place. And who might you be?"
|The voice that flowed from the creature was smooth and silky; the delicateness of it might have marked the creature as female, but the slightly gruff undertone could have made it male as well. It was difficult to say. The fact that the bird disguise was steadily sliding back down its face again didn't help much either.|
Cream colored ears twitched twice as a somewhat tall figure shrouded in a thin alluring cloak stepped down the stairway, small bare clean feet toeing carefully where they step. Turning the figure pauses then tosses her cloak to the ground as though it were some annoying fuzz or stray thread caught on her person. Shaking her long golden cream colored hair about her, the woman walked up to the bar where the others sat, her tail dancing behind her as she moved.
"Greetings and salutations. May I request a glass of moonshade? A small glass, mind you, I do wish to keep my head."
The woman laughed a bit, her eyes gleaming already, a mischievous twinkle directed at the bartender and any other who looked. It was as though she has had a drink or two before wondering down the stairs. There was no age limit in this tavern, and the wolf demon princess may be seventeen, but she could drink with the best of them, she has found.
~Alrekr Halfdanarson held up a hand to decline the offered...whatever the thing was. It looked like a twig, what would he need one of those for? The older man gave a smile still, in good nature to the gesture, and raised an eyebrow to the girl's jumbled answer.~ "I come from Arthgyle, across the mountains, a strong land that has held more than its own share of sorrows. You just let the horse lead? With no set destination?" ~A strange tactic, especially for a woman to take.~ "Then it's a wonder you found the Dragonshield Tavern at all, as we aren't big on the roads of travel. Though, we do see plenty of different patrons throughout the day."
OOC: Uwaa, sorry! I forgot that you were the bartender. T_T *flails.* Should I go back and change that?
Ira blinked up from her drink, her mouth slightly bloated as she had just taken another swig of the cider. She swallowed- with some difficulty- and racked her brain for an answer. "Uhh. I hail from.." she squinted slightly. Now where do I hail from? She scratched the edge of the bottle. "I suppose I hail from the town north of here. Or east. I can't quite differentiate between the two, you see. But I suppose if you were to put me back on Gerald, my horse, he would know." She beamed at him, pleased with her answer. "And where do you, ah, hail from?"
One hand slid under her black robe, resting on the black leather pants she had underneath. She reached towards her heavy belt, from which hung several trinkets. Bits of bobs...and bits..and..ah. Here it is. Her fingers wrapped around a thin stick, and pulled. As it came into the light, the other end was seen to be wrapped in a glistening sort of solid-liquid, a chewable candy, if you would. It was a sort of oriental candy made with a lot of hard work. Ting Ting Candy, if she recalled correctly. She held it out to the barman.
~The vampire leaned back in the chair, watching the dark-haired woman had followed him inside, she spoke to the bartender-the strange viking man with the braided beard-but Raoul could not hear her words. Raoul could feel his own throat tighten and all at once knew the feeling to hunt, his mouth dried against the urge and he forced himself to look away from the aspect of food dangling in front of him.~
~Alrekr gave the woman her drink and for a while didn't say anything. He noted the strange person who sat in the back but knew well enough that sometimes, people just didn't want to be with others.~ "So, lass, where do you hail from?" ~The viking meant to make some light conversation without the err of being nosey.~
She walked in behind the creature who had entered before her, catching the edge of the door frame with her fingertips just before it slid shut. The frame rested on her fingers in a moment of inertia, before they swung silently open again as she gave a little push. Well oiled, I see. The wind blew in behind her, teasing her hair lightly, giving the illusion of an age younger than the biologically prescribed. She shivered, acknowledging nature's greeting, and walked towards a corner stool at the bar. There was care taken to avoid the other patrons at the bar, Ira didn't like mingling before she had the chance to size people up.
Be them pets or angels. She lifted an eyebrow at the fox.
Scanning the tavern, she caught sight of a retreating back- the figure who had stepped in before her. Her brows furrowed slightly. Had it been a trick of light, or had what little she had seen of his face..stopped her heart for a moment? Not in that handsome, lovestruck, lust-inducing way. In that branches-turning-into-skeleton-hands way. As the strange creature withdrew into the shadows, however, Ira could not confirm her eye's theory. As he would seem to pose no trouble for the moment, the raven-haired female turned back to the bar. "Pear cider, please." One of the lightest drinks ordered that day, she was sure. The barman seemed to smile lightly at that, before sliding a gold-coloured bottle towards her. She tapped the rim of it as it arrived, and slid change towards the barman, nodding her thanks. Taking a full swig, Ira swirled the contents in her mouth, then swallowed. Ahh, she thought. That hit the spot right there. It had been a hard day at work.
~Raoul smelled the air that wavered around the shadows, the swinging darkness from the torch lights luminescent against the old tavern door. Some trees and flowers withered, splintered and died to the far side of the lane, the grass crinkled like rice paper under his feet as the large building rose up to the night like a ghostly guardian. The Nosferatu shouldered against the wind and opened the door, the strange scents reminded him of a more primitive time, and the man who wiped down the bar counter gave a simple nod to that memory. The strange array of patrons was different and somehow refreshing than the norm. The vampire doubted they carried anything close to his sort of tastes, so he simply found a darker corner for which to hide himself, keeping his distorted face from the common-eye view.~
He rose from his perch, which he always claimed, to move forward in curiosity at the newest arrival to the tavern. A strange beast, a bird’s mask or perhaps skull even resting upon its narrow snout, a graceful walk, direct tactics; all things in which suggested cunning and some amount of intelligence. The beast was not unlike those in which he held such fond memory for, hunting in the forest with and dancing within different fairy mounds. Oh sweet Underhill, how he missed the smell of spices, the smell of lust, passion, the smell of magic. How he wished to return to his homeland, and yet how he could never leave the plane of existence he remained on until all was settled from his past.
“Little beast, who speaks yet hides, have you ever seen the old queen’s eyes? Have you seen her sway, her dance, her bend? Have you heard her song which lures all human men? Little beast, are you from a place here yet not? From the land of in-between where mortals are snared and ours are ruling?”
Sitting down on one of the barstools, Wrath stretched his long legs out in front of him. When standing he was a giant’s small child almost at 6’7”, and yet he had seen many a giants who held close to 45’ or more so he held no feeling of pride in his height. He did, however, hold pride in his appearance, his charm. For he was a sidhe after all, and they were creatures of vanity and magic.
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