[center][h2]Win - Win[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/L3aPNKA.jpg[/img] [/center] Down below at the bar, Yuri was holding his own. As the shouts and laughter grew apace with the betting, the wiry mechanic observed a change in his opponent. The Greeter, a man of nearly twice his size and weight, harbored a dawning frustration over his adversary’s refusal to budge. “Hey, Shrimp!” one of the boisterous gawkers slurred in his ear. “Whatcher name?” “Yuri.” “TAKE HIM DOWN, YURI!” the drunk reeled on his feet as another credit slapped the bar. “YU-RI! YU-RI! YU-RI!” The smaller man heard the chant rise around him, and personal bets doubled down. The winner-take-all open kitty had also risen to a respectable height. He’d begun this contest with the notion of ‘winning’ a free triple soursop and rum. But now? With the chanting crowd and the fact his beefy opponent hadn’t already forced him down, the arm wrestling match had taken a whole new interest. Of course, the smile of the mocha skinned woman down the bar presented other motivations… “Wrap it up, fellas,” the bartender-cum referee admonished. “I got thirsty customers.” “Shiny,” the Greeter said. Yuri felt the man shift tactics. Suddenly, the match became a tale of two wrists, one pushing hard to flex the other backward, a move intended to ultimately drag the entire arm down to defeat. Greeter’s bulk was perfect illustration of his familiarity with both bar and barbell. His greater pectoral and arm’s muscle mass would, with patience, exhaust the mechanic. But what this weightlifter didn’t conjure was the wrist strength of a man who turned wrenches for a living. “Gorramit, kid,” the man grunted, “you on some kinda ‘roid?” “Just clean living,” Yuri’s teeth gritted as he fought to hold his position. A tremor in his forearm told him this contest was moving toward an end, until the bartender swooped in to the rescue. “Guys, you've got one minute,” the barman presented his watch. Sixty seconds. Go.” Greeter heaved, pitting the full measure of his strength against the scrawny upstart. The sudden thrust nearly toppled Yuri’s resistance, setting his forearm to quiver as he rallied to blunt the assault. “Fifty!” The roar of chanting and laughter grew around them. As the clock ticked down, a flurry of betting ran through the crowd. Sweat was now rolling off Yuri’s arm, making his elbow’s purchase on the bar ever more tenuous. His wrist strength had bought him time, but now he was forced to lean into his trembling arm. “Thirty!” the bartender shouted above the hubbub. In traditional contests, both competitors’ free hands would grip firmly mounted pegs to help steady them. With none available, Yuri resorted to pressing a flat palm to the bar as he struggled to hold steady. A grim confidence shone in Greeter’s eyes as his massive arm began the final push. “Ten! Nine! Eight!” The crowd picked up the count, their shouts echoing loud enough to persuade the band to take a break. The lead singer smirked as he tapped a selection into the bar’s jukebox. “Five! Four! Three!” With a smile, Yuri relaxed his pressure. The Greeter’s arm did the rest, slowly pushing over and down, until the mechanic’s decline knocked the triple glass over. Howls of anguish and raucous laughter exploded in the air around them as the two men shook hands. “Not bad,” Greeter was all grins as winning gamblers slapped his back. He scooped up the pile of coin as the crowd set to clearing up their own bets. “Now, drink up!” The mechanic eyed the remaining tall glass. “Drink it?” he laughed. “I don’t even think I can lift it!” With a good natured chuckle, he hoisted the “Nancy Boy” triple rum and soursop to his lips, setting the crowd to a new chant. “Chug! Chug! Chug!” The glass steadily inverted, its’ bottom rising with each swallow, until Yuri held it aloft for the boisterous crowd. As if on cue, the jukebox kicked in. [hider=Who’s Sorry Now?] [youtube]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i9QEAtcz3o8 [/youtube][/hider] As the crowd dispersed, Yuri thanked the bartender with ten credits. He thought to ask where the pool tables could be found, until his eye rediscovered the mocha skinned woman. With a grin to light the room, she patted the stool next to hers. “By my count,” she purred as he joined her, “you’ve knocked down six healthy shots of rum.” Slender, perfectly manicured fingers pushed a tall glass of water toward her guest. “You might want that.” “I might,” he offered a grateful nod. “I’m Yuri.” “So I heard.” He laughed. “I guess you did. And you are?” “Drucilla.” She offered her hand, which he accepted with a formal nod. “So, how’d you break that arm, Yuri? Lose another match?” [i]”She really is lovely,”[/i] he smiled as the answer rose to his lips. “A few days ago, I was a castaway, adrift on a stormy sea. Now, thanks to some really fine folk, I’m sailing through the black, with this arm to remind me of my good fortune.” “Oh merciful Buddha,” Drucilla cracked wise. “A poet sailor. Tell me, does that line of [i]la shi[/i] get you anywhere with the girls?” “You tell me,” his playful grin answered. “What are my chances?” “In the law of averages,” the woman smiled, “it’s a sure thing.” She hooked an index finger to beckon him close. As Yuri leaned in, Drucilla placed a hand upon his shoulder. Her lips brushed his ear as she whispered her truth. “Ohhh,” he settled back, nodding his understanding. “But how does that work? It’s at least twenty minutes’ walk to get back to civilization. When does the clock start?” She crossed her legs, allowing the slit in her skirt to reveal a shapely thigh. “I can be quite generous with my time. Most are in a hurry, though, so I’ve got a little spot set up in the jungle.” His eyes widened in mock terror. “The jungle? With the snakes? And the pumas? What about the pumas?” Drucilla’s chin dipped, a subtle move that accentuated eyes whose gaze could ignite a man’s passions. “Treat me right,” she whispered, “and you won’t become puma food.” “Sold,” Yuri smiled in return, his good hand fishing pockets for the agreed price. “Can I tell you what I want?” “Please.” This time, Drucilla pressed close to Yuri, her hand falling to his knee as he whispered his desires. “Of course,” her smile was genuine as she drew back to face him. “I’d love to.” “Alright,” he eased from the barstool. “But fair warning. The rum is really starting to hit. You may have to hold on tight.” Drucilla laughed, looping her arm in his. “You’re not my first drunk. Oh…and since we’re being honest? While we’re out there, I’d like to hear more of your ‘poet sailor’ [i]la shi…dohn mah?[/i]” “Anything for the Queen of Pumas.” The band was still on their break. After a stop at the jukebox, Yuri and Drucilla strode arm in arm toward the dance floor.