Chương 34: The Drinking Contest Escalates Dramatically

"Another!" shouted Buckshank.

"Yes, another," agreed Strider.

"Another?"

"Oh, gods, no." The other two pirates gasped out their regrets. They were looking a little green—especially the orc, though I suspected that was a racial trait. Meanwhile, I was just catching my stride.

"I've met priests who handle their liquor better than you fellas!" I taunted them as I poured another round, going extra heavy on their portions.

"Strider here drinks so slow we might have lapped him!"

"It's not a race," he growled.

"Spoken like a loser. A slow loser." My drunken bravado was the stuff of legend. I'd lost track of how many drinks I had and I was feeling it. My volume knob was stuck at eleven, and every sentence was a declarative shout. Strider had a dangerous gleam in his eye. I could see his thought process. Rationality and duty were warring it out over the thirst for cocktails and glory. His crew and a random barkeep in a small port town were outdrinking him and having a better time doing it. I was in the zone.

I felt as though I could sell them anything at this point. All of my skills as a bartender had led me to this moment. Back on Earth, I'd won awards. Here in Solus-El, I was a damned Reborn, destined for greatness. These guys were nothing but sea scum. They were going to regret the day they ever threatened Seaport and Wynnie. I'd stopped caring about cleanliness behind the bar. My sticky, homemade bitters stained the wood around me.

Without speedpours, I eyeballed moonshine measurements, adding an extra bit of chamomile-mint syrup and citrus to compensate. Each drink they finished had to be the equivalent of nearly four shots, plus sleepytime herbs. As I handed out the next round, the human stifled a burp.

"I'm out. Gotta lie down. I… urgh." He stumbled over to a chair by the couch and crashed into it like a professional wrestler. His body froze at an unnatural angle. Somehow, he didn't fall off. Loud snoring immediately carried across the room.

"More for me," Buckshank said, grabbing the abandoned cocktail. I smirked inwardly. The chamomile and mint combined with the stuffy, warm room and alcohol had done its work on a man of lesser constitution.

"I'll be right back." I excused myself from behind the bar.

"Gonna take him outside. Maybe the cool ocean air will help sober him up." While the other pirates drank, I hoisted the sleeping human up from his seat. I wrapped his arm around my shoulder and wobbled my way out the front door. The sun was cresting over the mountains, sending our little bay into shadow. All around me, townsfolk were walking slowly, returning to their homes after a hard day's work. I breathed in the cool salt air through my nose. It invigorated me even more than the physical exertion.

In the most conspicuous roadside spot I could find, I draped the sleeping pirate over a wooden fence. Then, I looked around for signs of Lady Talia or any of her deputies, but saw nobody. Everything rested on them showing up soon. Returning to the bar, I caught Buckshank double-fisting his Seaport Mules. The man had a crazed look in his eye. Back on Earth, he was exactly the kind of guy you wanted a bouncer for. It was only a matter of time before he caused trouble, I was sure.

"Sorry about that," I said, sliding back behind the counter. I grabbed my drink and took a hefty sip. Then, I picked up a mostly empty bottle of moonshine to make another round.

"Where were we?" The orc blinked at me slowly.

"We were…" His head hung almost limply in front of him, and he rested both of his arms on the bar as though to keep the inn from spinning around him.

"We… ugh."

"He's trying to tell you he never learned to drink like a man," Strider teased.

"Hah! Yeah, he's saying that we were out-drinking him," Buckshank piled on.

"You okay, big guy?" I asked.

"Never better." He was panting and sweating. He eyed his remaining drink with trepidation. After a beat, he reached for it gingerly, like the glass itself might bite him. He took a single sip and frowned immediately.

"Nope. I think I'm gonna yarf."

"Not in here, you're not! Let me help you outside." He rose unsteadily to his feet, swaying with each backward step as though trying to use his sea legs on land. Still carrying the mostly empty bottle of moonshine, I moved out from behind the bar to steady him. He put a clammy arm around my shoulder. Once again, I guided one of the assholes outside. Except this time, the brute was still conscious. I could work with that. His face turned greener than ever.

Passers-by gave us a wide berth, recognizing the telltale sour breath and pained groans. The poor guy was hanging onto me for dear life, soaking his sweat through my tunic.

"Here… here's good," he said.

"Come on, buddy. No puking on the property. We have a strict rule against that." His feet dragged behind us, leaving two pathetic skid marks in the dirt road. I was pulling him with all my strength, but the orc was big. My knees buckled under the weight. They wobbled drunkenly.

"Hg-erk!" Saliva gushed from his lips.

"Hold it! Hold your puke! Just a little farther!"

"Huuu-uuuUUURGH!" He dry heaved as I led him into the street. Nearby pedestrians rushed out of the blast radius. Others watched from a safe distance. All murmured with disapproval and dismay as his rancid burps ruined a perfectly good evening. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. Finally, his eyes went wide and clear. Under his own strength, he staggered further into the street. He bent low, placed his hands on his knees, and huu-urghed one more time.

A wretched, toxic rainbow of misery arced from his gullet. It splattered the ground with the force of a freshly un-kinked hose. Two more heaves nearly emptied his stomach. Several more followed for good measure, though there was little left to expel. More witnesses gathered, watching. The spectacle would help my cause. I just hoped the next part wouldn't hurt it.

"He's a pirate. A real bad one. I have to do this next thing for… reasons," I said.

"Pretend this part is a… mirage." Damn. The drink really robbed me of my eloquence.

"Like it never happened," I added, over-explaining myself. As long as I still had some coordination, though… The orc appeared to have shuddered off the worst of it. His body was still stooped over, but he was regaining strength. Maybe orcs had relentless endurance in real life, too. The last thing I needed was for him to catch a second wind like a fighter. There was still a bit of moonshine in the bottle. I reared back and whacked him over the head with it.

The liquid sloshed to the bottom, adding weight and momentum to the swing. The clear glass bounced off his skull with a loud, hollow thunk. Immediately, he crashed to the ground, unconscious.

"I really thought that would just shatter like in the movies," I explained to nobody in particular. And then, because I'd just remembered that nobody knew what I meant, "Movies are like magic dreams." Welp. I could do better after sobering up, maybe. But that was later. For now, I had a drinking contest to resume.

"Sorry about that," I grunted as I returned. The door swung closed behind me, almost like an old-timey saloon, except it slammed shut and stayed shut.

"He's walking it off. Said the salty breeze would make him good as new. Fresh as a baby deer on a bright spring day." I cursed inwardly. What was I saying!?

"Yeah, he does say that," Buckshank agreed.

"Often," Strider nodded. I splashed more ingredients into my mixing jar. At this point, the number of drinks didn't matter. If I had to quantify it, it would be "a lot," and we likely had "more" left. Why not start on the next batch early? Buckshank hiccuped, then burped. Strider groaned. I grinned. Wynnie's top half leaned out from behind the kitchen door. She waved at me, brows tented with concern.

"Everything going okay out here?"

"All fine," I said through gritted teeth.

"These gummers are drinking me for a good run."

"... Gummers?"

"I'n drumk." I was playing it up a bit for the two pirates, but it wasn't a lie. I'n was drumk, I realized. We'd each probably polished off at least a standard fifth of alcohol, and probably more. Not only that, we hadn't eaten for quite some time. Our dinner guests would likely arrive soon. As if on cue, an older couple walked in, hand in hand. The man had a wispy comb-over and a tattered tweed jacket. His date wore a heavy cotton dress with a knitted shawl, and her hair was pulled back in an ornate bun.

They looked over at the pirates with concern. The pirates paid them no mind. They were still focused on me, and, it seemed, Wynnie. A bit less me, maybe. Or perhaps just Wynnie, actually. Buckshank eyed her up and down. My pretty elf girlfriend kept her focus on me.

"Dinner is almost prepped, and guests will start arriving soon. Anything I can get you before service starts?" I was about to ask for another sausage roll, or maybe—since I was halfway between tipsy and drunk—a big old smooch, but Buckshank replied instead.

"How about you show us them titties!" Wynnie's face turned bright red, and her eyes widened in shock.

"Well, I never!"

"Come on, dear. Don't make us beg!"

"I said no!"

"Just a peep, lass. You look like you got two big, honkin' hooters with thimble-sized nips!" My face burned. The heavy thumping in my chest grew fast and chaotic. My hands balled into fists that I wasn't confident I remembered how to use. He couldn't speak to her like that. Even if he had sized her up accurately. The words came out of my mouth before I had time to realize what I was getting myself into.

"Nope. That's it, dickbag. Don't say another word to her."

"Oh yeah? What are you going to do about it?" I looked at the heavy bell and rope alarm we'd used just a few days before. It would be a tempting way out, I got the impression that pirates wouldn't much care if I called for the town guard. They clearly didn't respect authority. Maybe they'd respect force, though.

"I'll stop you."

"Oh yeah? You and what navy?" Buckshank asked. Back on Earth, I'd done some martial arts as a kid and trained MMA for a few months as an adult. I could probably still throw a decent punch, and I was pretty sure my rear naked choke still worked. Then again, these guys had swords. Fighting was their life. All I had was unearned liquid courage. Which, as luck would have it, felt like plenty.

"I don't have a navy. All I have are Shake and Strain," I raised each fist as I named them, "and I'll mix you up a knuckle sandwich." Dammit! I should've gone with punch. Or something with a kick. Or even an Old Fashioned ass-whooping.

"Bah! I don't give a mermaid's fart about you!" Buckshank looked past me to where Wynnie still stood, frozen in horror. He advanced on her with his arms out, making exaggerated boob-grabbing motions with his hands.

"Come on, baby. It's been so long. I've been out at sea for weeks. Just a little touch and kiss."

"You're being a churlish ruffian! What would your mother say?" Wynnie asked, taking several steps back as he lumbered toward her.

"Buckshank! Give it a rest!" Strider barked.

"This is your last chance," I warned him.

"Ugh! Get away from me, you skeezy creep!" Wynnie's back was pressed against the kitchen door. He ignored everyone, lunging another step toward Wynnie, grunting lecherously. The man was out of control. He was a danger to everyone. Something had to be done. And I had to be the one to do it. I stepped in front of him, interposing myself between Wynnie and the pirate. I didn't know if I could take this guy one-on-one. Maybe I had a few inches on him, but he had a lifetime of brawling on me.

What he didn't have, however, was a full bar of liquids and an ice mage on his side. Nor did he have the smarts to realize I was fighting on my home turf. I knew just what to do. I just hoped Wynnie knew as well.

"What do you think you're gonna do?" Buckshank growled at me, then lurched forward, swinging wildly. I would have ducked it easily if I weren't so drunk. As it was, I barely dodged in time. His fist brushed lightly against my jaw. Hard enough for me to know there was some power behind it, but not so hard that it hurt. A solid connection would be trouble. I just had to be careful and end this as fast as possible. Before he could follow it up with another, I stepped into his space, surprising him.

Nobody expects you to close the distance in a bar fight. With him off balance, I shoved him with all my might. He stumbled backward several feet, almost tripping over his feet before catching himself on the older couple's table.

"You're going to pay for that!" he roared. His scarred and weathered face turned crimson with rage and indignation. He charged forward. My hand was already on my bottle of herbal simple syrup. I threw it on the ground in front of him. The glass shattered against the wood, and a giant wet patch of slick, slippery liquid separated the two of us.

"Wynnie! Ice!" I pointed at the water on the floor. Realization dawned over her features. Her expression turned hard, and she furrowed her brows in concentration. It wasn't quite the acrobatic gyration of the wind mages, but she gestured dramatically in what I recognized as the conjuration of powerful magic. A frigid arc of ethereal blue energy emerged from around her hands in a swirling, glittering flow. It shot toward the simple syrup on the ground, and a layer of frost formed over it almost instantaneously.

Buckshank took one step on the frozen patch and slipped as though it were a banana peel. His front foot slid out in front of him, and he fell backward even as his momentum carried him forward. His skull slammed on the floor with a loud, empty thunk. Just like that, he was out. A dark pool of blood seeped from underneath him. The shards had cut him deep. I looked over at Strider, ready to have to defend myself against him as well. Strider just watched, amused.

"Well. It appears Buckshank couldn't handle his liquor. Maybe that will teach him a lesson." He sighed.

"It probably won't, though. He's not the quickest fish in the school."

"Um, yeah. That got out of hand pretty quickly."

"The drinking contest is still on, I presume?" I looked over at where the older couple was still standing. Their eyes were wide with shock. They helped each other to the door as quickly as they could. I couldn't blame them. I would've left, too. Back on Earth, I would've also felt my butthole pucker as I prepared to tell the owner about how bad of a Yelp review we were about to get. Here, the owner had a hand in the goings on, and she simply looked relieved. Strider drummed his fingers on the bar top.

"Well?"

"Let me just put this guy outside to sober up," I said, tentatively approaching Buckshank's body. I reached out to grab his wrist, hoping to feel a pulse.