[hr][color=skyblue][h1]Avicenna Nemu[/h1][/color][hr]

An impressive crowd was beginning to gather in one corner of the tavern. Merry men, cheering and whistling, circled around a long table and exchanged coin and papers back and forth. 

In the center of them, four heavy-hitters were putting on a spectacular show of endurance. On one side of the table sat Nemu, brimming with enthusiasm. Next to her sat a behemoth of a man, almost as wide as he was tall. He wasn't someone you'd casually jeer at or call "fatty". It was plainly obvious that beneath a sheet of hard fat was a wall of muscle ready to snap into action. Across from them, were two shorter, but no less stocky men: one with sharp features and a hawkish stare, and the other was bald and had a full beard framing his his grim expression. Nemu seemed terribly out of place sitting next to three burlesque men with surly dispositions.

In front of each contender were twelve shot glasses lined in two rows of six and one giant tankard filled to the brim with dark ale. Winning the game was simple: drink more than the idiot sitting across from you. Easier said than done, however. Someone had bought out Maude's private stock of homemade 'shine. The acrid vapour rising from the glasses would normally singe nose hairs and sting at the eyes, but tonight's volunteers seemed completely unperturbed.

[color=goldenrod]"Place yer bets boys!"[/color] A tall man shouted. 

[color=goldenrod]"The name of da game is [i]Maniac Street![/i]"[/color] He continued. [color=goldenrod]"First ye got te cross the street and drink yer mate's booze-"[/color] He looked at Nemu condescendingly and gestured at the shots lined up on her opponent's side of the table. [color=goldenrod]"-then run home and drink yer own stock 'fore yer mate can."[/color] He pointed at tankard sitting closest to her.

One from the audience, shouted [i]'Damnit Glen! Get on wit it ya daft bastard!'[/i].

[color=goldenrod]"Oi! Shut yer traps and listen up! This 'ere is a fine 'stablishment, so no stabbin', grabbin', smashin' or cheatin'. We play a clean game, so each of yuz is only gonna have one hand free."[/color]
One of the other drunkards went around tying each player's hand to a table leg with a dirty cloth. 
[color=goldenrod]"Heheh, have to keep it sportin'. Now! ...First bloke to drink all 'is opponent's shots and down his [i]own[/i] grog to the last drop, wins. But! If ye waste any o' this brew or can't keep yer liquor down, you'll be payin' fer the lot of it!"[/color] The announcer, Glen, gave a stern look to each player.

The hawkish brute, who radiated hostility like a blast furnace, stared Nemu down trying to rattle her. A competitive smile was all she offered in return. Her ignorance was encyclopedic. She had never been intoxicated before, but it looked interesting. In truth, she had never drank any alcohol before, but she wanted to experience it at least once. And what better way to do that than with a drinking game! 

[color=goldenrod]"Alright ladies and gents..."[/color] The tall announcer regarded the audience with a smug grin and then turned to the contenders. [color=goldenrod]"Let's see who drops first! [i]GO![/i]"[/color]

The table erupted into a frenzy.

Awkward arms frantically grabbed for the shot glasses across the table. It took skill or long arms to not spill a single drop. Nemu had neither. While the rest were downing shots like fish gulping water, Nemu treated each glass carefully as if it would break at any moment. The first shot she drank tasted bittersweet and burned like fire as it splashed down her throat. She coughed a few times, but persevered.

[color=skyblue][i]How can people even enjoy this stuff?[/i][/color] She wondered.