There are actually so many problems with this situation. 

She has at least managed to pick up the cup, so that's step one down. She can't claim she's ever owned dishware as nice as this, but practice is really a matter of desire and willpower more than opportunity. As in Aristeia!, as in life, would that be about right? She's got her index finger inserted through the undersized handle and her pinky extended to let the bottom of the cup rest on it while her middle and index fingers curl around the side. This isn't... ideal form, she wouldn't call it, but it creates a stable surface that also lets her leverage the curve of her wrist for additional pressure and stability when she needs it. At the very least, holding her coffee is no problem.

And this is completely, utterly useless to her because her lips and teeth are clenched around a golden bar. How? How had she not been thinking about this the entire time she was walking here? Was she just stupid? Was Machia? Is this whole thing a terrible trap and the final push to strip her of all dignity tonight? No, at the very least it isn't that. Machia was many things, but among them was a famous connoisseur of sweet things. Not to mention a woman possessed of negative amounts of restraint. She wouldn't taunt herself with a dessert she thought she could not eat. Could she be lying? No. The setup is too unwieldy, she's put too much thought into this. Besides which, it wouldn't serve as good training. So she, at least, thought this was somehow possible. But was she an idiot?

The jury remained out.

She lifted the cup, following the sudden curve of her neck so she could take a deep breath while it was still at its peak heat. Oh, the aroma was heavenly. Rich, and deeper than even the color implied, Madeleine detected notes of cinnamon and chocolate. These would be the signature qualities of the cultivar then, how surprising there was still somewhere so wet so high above the sea (Dedication. Willpower. Enjoying coffee was not a skill that came naturally to anyone). If she could get even a drop of this on her tongue it would be the highlight of her life. 

Well first she... hrm. No. Typically the done thing would be to rest the rim on her bottom lip, but how's that supposed to work when the whole thing would just clink against her bridle? Not to mention that if the direction of her head turned at all she could chip this delicate material or even shatter it outright. Never mind not spilling anything, she'd be lucky not to wear the whole thing. So what if she..? No. How would that even? It doesn't make any sense. No seal, no funnel, no point of... 

Oh, what if she pinched her bottom lip in her free hand and poured that way? But no sooner does she lift her hand to try it than she realizes this too is a dead end. There would be multiple points of failure at the moment of the sip, and it would limit her ability to keep her eyes on everything she was doing, besides. She had to abandon instinctive form entirely, which really only left one avenue. Oh, this was going to be a [i]disaster[/i].

But one impossible thing at a time. If this is an arena, then she's on a timer to get the the scoring zone before her window disappears entirely. Whatever she did she'd need a stable moment to do it in, something she couldn't do with brute force. She'd have to start by engineering a window. She watches Machia. Watches the placid smile spread across her face, watches her deep and curious eyes. One the way here, she'd taken a fascination with anticipating Madeleine's own natural movements and proclivities. She won't do that now, that'd be too helpful, but that would still be her instinct, surely?

She'd reverse it, then. Follow Madeleine's line of sight and push the exact opposite way she'd then try to move. Well if it worked, she'd know where she was ending up, and if she could anticipate it she could keep her center of balance long enough to try and have a... No. To [i]win.[/i]

She shifts her weight toward the back of her chair. As soon as she feels the tug in the opposite direction, she leans in and brings her cup to the [i]top[/i] of her mouth. She strains against the pull, just enough to tilt her head up less than one degree, and puts the cup in position. She has it for only a fraction of a second, and then she's obliged to extend her arm to keep the cup stable. 

But she can taste it! It isn't much, but now that it's on her tongue she feels the rush of delicious notes underneath and through the bitterness (itself a sensation she adored). Her chin is, amazingly, dry. Her shirt is unstained. The table has not a splash at all. She presses her lips against the bit and tries to swallow, and immediately she can feel the liquids in her mouth try to pull forward and dribble back out. The things you learn in a challenge like this, huh? She'd never thought about how many muscles in her face were supposed to be involved in an act like this. 

But she's saved by the size of her sip. Any more in her mouth, and it'd be an instant game over. But as it is, the muscles in her throat tighten daintily and she feels the warm liquid sliding down inside her. She blinks, and forgets herself for a moment. She stares at Machia, lifts her eyebrows in surprise, and tilts her head in the tiny lull that follows. 

That [i]worked?[/i]