Ash 63 121
Round four and its arrival surprised her. Yeva had embraced lounging in the uncomfortable chair, her red curls spilled over its back. Some of the crowd jumped and hollered, others offered sweet words and bribes. One tried to reach out, awaiting her hand in hopes she'd forget herself and rise for a little dancing. The temptations seemed to fail. As the alcohol took hold of her, she seemed to melt into its touch, watching those around her with a detached sort of dreaminess. Franky came back around and Yeva was drawn back to reality, looking up at the hobgoblin with a sleepy smile, "Hi," she sighed, forcing herself to sit a little straighter, unaware just how far she had started to slouch.
Any sudden movement seemed to make the floor wobble slightly, and her back ached from the length of her poor posture. Yeva winced, arching her back to stretch her spin and reached up to massage her shoulder. What did she want to drink? "A Zacharita," she requested, reminded of the sweet drink she had once left a review for, "And a big glass of mercy."
The redhead grinned, falling into a fit of giggles before taking a deep breath that left her easily distracted. Her eyes wandered, it becoming apparent that Yeva's attention span had shortened considerably compared to her natural disposition. Behind the bar, Haroth was in his element, charming the customers with shameless smiles and devilish flirtation. Bottles came and went, drinks were poured. Yeva thought of the many she had already downed and refocused on the task at hand, "Two Zaicheritas, light salt."
Some seats down, a robust woman also participating lifted a hand to shout down the row, "What's a Zaicherita?"
"Absolutely delicious!" Yeva called back over the rabble, twisting in her seat, grabbing the back to make sure she didn't slide out of it but manage to perch herself up on her knees in the chair, "Do you like a cold drink? It's kinda like..." Yeva proceeded to try and describe the flavor, falling into easy conversation as Franky moved on to the next customer and the round continued. Drinks were brought, shared, Yeva convinced others to request the newer drinks that might have otherwise gone unnoticed by those who favored familiar drinks such as ale or mead.
By round five, more participants had lost control and had jumped up, either to empty the contents of their stomach or bladder, and cheers and whimpering resounded in laughter or mockery. Yeva had to close her eyes and clutched the back of the chair, forehead pressed to its back. At some point, she had shed her cloak and it laid crumpled at the foot of her seat. She was sweating, the body heat from the filled tavern doing nothing to ease the sickness that becoming harder to shake. She had only finished one of her two Zaicherita's, the second untouched when it was time to order again. Someone nearby lurched and Yeva listened their footsteps as they struggled to contain their bile.
She muttered prayers softly, inhaling deeply through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Her feet were crossed at the ankles, muscles clenched as he urge to pee pestered her. When Franky came round, she lifted her face long enough to grab her second drink and down it with difficulty, finding a small solace in its tepid temperature. The taste of salt on her tongue, made her shudder, face paling, "Spicy whiskey shots," she requested, the increased liquid from last round a mistake. Good for the tavern's business, horrid for her stamina, "Just..." speaking was harder, each word requiring a focus that hadn't been there before, least she slur, "that."
Any further order, and that's what she wanted. If she could even make it to another hour. With the alcohol in her stomach, it was as if her thoughts were swimming. She focused on breathing, staying conscious and swallowing as her mouth continued to water. 'Don't puke. Don't die. Don't pee. Don't... die.'
'Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.'
Yeva sipped on the next drinks, going slow. Was it round six? Seven? She had lost count and perhaps a bit of her sanity along with it. Each taste of alcohol racked her body with the urge to retch, but the little redhead held fast. She thought of her family, her brothers. Her father. They'd want her to win.
'Don't die. Drink. I can do this.'
Face still down, she clutched back bars of the chair, vaguely aware of a shadow standing over her. 'No', she silently pleaded, 'no more.' It was time to get another drink already? "I... feel... not good," she admitted, believing it to the be the tavern owner.
"You are doing well."
Yeva opened her eyes to find the unfamiliar voice and winced at the light. The orkan from earlier was squatted next to her, scooting a bucket between him, "So many hours," he noted, "You are still here. Where did you put it?"
She shook her head, but peeked up to find that her competition had thinned considerably, either because they couldn't hold their liquor, their bladder, or their temper. It seemed the crowd had manage to coax many from their seat, others were slipping out from the late hour. But not Yeva, "Sos yu. Don'... trick mmmme... " she swallowed, hindered and dizzy, "I...."
A wave of nausea swept over her. Yeva clenched her jaw, wobbling in her seat. Would she fall over? Her knees should have hurt. Maybe they did. Yeva could barely speak. The young elf exhaled as the nausea lessened its grip, tilting her head back as she regretted every poor decision of the night. She should have stopped at the Zaicharitas. "I need twelve." It was going to be her personal best. She was a petite and feminine elf, the underdog, it was unlikely she could out drink the competition.
"Twelve?" he interpreted, grinning broadly, "You're past twelve."
"Wha?" Nothing made sense.
"That was thirteen."
She stared at him blankly, not registering the words. She had done it? She could stop?
Yeva searched the remaining crowd. Many had gone home for the night. Her competition... suddenly gone. Pieces of the puzzle were slow to click together. Only another woman remained, and then-
The eyes of the same stout woman Yeva had shared drinks with fluttered closed and the last of the competition fell to the floor in a great thump.
"Is shhhe alrigh-t?," Yeva's mouth dropped and she loosened her grip on the chair's back. Darkness hovered at the edge of her vision, her limbs were leaden, but she pushed back red curls and looked around with glossy eyes, "Holy... shit... Did I...win?"
OOC: I let Aegis pick the number of drinks. Blame him.
