Uban had a way with crowds. He was the sort of guy who everyone wanted at their party--jovial, playful, good tempered and quick to laugh. He was the sort who people liked talking to because he would laugh at their jokes, look surprised at the unfolding of their tales, and was generous with his purse when it came to buying drinks. Money itself meant little to him. He'd never had much of it to begin with, and when he came aboard the Borealis he had more than he imagined possible for one man to have. He always had a secret stash tucked away for rainy days or retirement, but mostly it was no big thing for him. What he loved more was the camaraderie that blossomed around a round of drinks like they were fertile soil and the ability to forget his troubles, decorum, and the rest of the world for the night. Not that he had many things he needed to forget, but it was just...nice to let go. Pretty soon, he had the whole place at a new level of uproar, either with his bawdy singing, occasionally lewd jokes, or the amount of drinking he encouraged.

Uban himself was sporting a happy buzz when he put his lute back in its protective sack and slung it over his shoulder for safekeeping. Two crusty men, one missing an eye, were chatting with him, debating loudly about Uban's ability to put away liquor. 
"Yer too thin, lad. You wouldn't last against ol' Gregory here," the man called Dax said as Gregory gave a confident chuckle.
"What makes you so sure, old man?" Uban was grinning ear to ear. "Gregory might be an ox, sure. But me? I'm made of stronger stuff than most!"
Dax snorted.
"You callin' me a liar?" Uban said, still smiling.
"I ain't callin' ya for dinner, lad."
To that, Uban roared with laughter, his green eyes glimmering with sheer jubilance. "Okay ya old salt. I got an idea. WHEEL!" Uban tipped back in his chair as far as good sense would allow, tilting his head even further back to find his shipmate seated in a corner with a scantily clad lass on his lap, who was giggling as he fondled her roughly. He ignored Uban, so the smaller man hollered again. "WHEE-EEEL!"

Wheel did glance up this time, giving Uban a sour glare that clearly said, 'what the fuck, Uban?'. 
Uban waved him over. "C'mere, bring the girl, there's drinking to be had and coin to be made." As Wheel somewhat begrudgingly obliged and came over to sit beside Uban, the girl placing herself behind his chair to massage his head with her delicate hands, occasionally tilting his head back a little so that it rested nestled between her bosom, Uban turned to the two men. "Alright. Since you two think you're all full of so much piss and vinegar, I say we have ourselves a little bet, eh? You two against me and Wheel, here. We drink until one team vomits, blacks out, or surrenders. We each put in five silver and winning team takes the pot of twenty. Whaddya say? The two of you against the two of us?"

Dax and Gregory looked at each other, silently considered, and then both nodded with a grin, fishing out the required coins. A dark smile spread on Uban's lips. They had no idea what they were up against. Gregory was a large, rotund individual, but Wheel probably outweighed him in muscle alone. Uban might have been a bit smaller man than most, certainly more so than Dax, but there was a reason he wasn't some hulking beast to begin with. With his magical ability, he, like the majority of the crew of the Borealis (except Pieter, who had no magic to speak of as far as Uban knew), burned through energy faster than most men.

The barkeep was notified and a maid brought over four glasses and a bottle of dark rum, pouring equal amounts into each one. The first round went quickly, as did the second, the third, the fourth...  A small crowd had formed around the table, watching the four square off, clapping when a glass was emptied and turned upside down and making low "ooohhhh" sounds when someone hesitated even briefly or made a face. Under the table, Uban held his thumb and pointer finger merely an inch apart with a constant steady arc of electricity dancing between them the whole time. He could feel it sapping at his energy, but this was a strategy he'd employed many times before. 

Several more rounds went by. Dax began to fumble and slow, and after a few more rounds he turned sharply and vomited, hitting the shoes of several bystanders. There was an excited uproar and someone helped Dax out of his chair and guided him outside. One down. One to go. Uban looked to Wheel, clinked his glass to his, and tipped it back. "How ya feel'n Greggy?" Uban's nose was red like a summer rose, but he was steady and still mostly alert. "Y'partner's out. Maybe y'should cut y'losses now."
Gregory made a sour face and picked up his glass. "Keep dr-drinkin' ya twat."
"Ayyye sssir. I will. Wheel, care t'join me in another?" Wheel gave a smug chuckle, knocking another shot back with Uban like it was water. To him, sometimes it felt like water. In comparison to a good fight with blood on his hands and in his hair, the screams of desperate fearful men in his ears, and the rage in his blood gleefully sated, a little rum was nothing.

Other men around the table began passing coins around, continuing to bet on who would hold out longer. They watched intently as the rounds passed and the barmaid kept filling the glasses, burning through multiple bottles. Then, finally, Gregory took a steadying breath and slowly inched his fat hand towards his glass. His fingers missed. They crawled along the poorly lacquered surface of the table, finding the glass and fumbling to get it between his thumb and forefinger. It lifted. One inch. Two inches. Wobbled. Three inches. Dropped. Gregory's hand went limp, his eyes rolled back a little, and he slid sideways out of his chair and to the ground with a thump. The crowd cheered loudly. 

Uban laughed like a madman, scooping up the coins and splitting them between him and Wheel. "G-good work mate," he said slapping his shoulder. He stood, wobbled harshly, and used the barmaid to steady himself. "Yyoouu, kind lady, y'buxom piece of ass, you. Care t'show me t'my r-" he burped. "Room..?"