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"I am also expected… to participate in this?" Don Quixote looked flatly at the army of tiny glasses filled with clear liquor that had been laid out before her.
"Well, only if you want..." Sinclair qualified.
"Drinking together is an important bonding ritual for teammates.” Meursault noted gently, “Why not partake with us?”
“S-sir Meursalt… Thy consideration is touching!” Don Quixote sniffled. “But, I…”
“Well you see, that’s why we got you the concentrated stuff!” Rhodion leaned in with a conspiratory smile. ”Just a few of these little, tiny, insignificant cups will do the work of a heck of a lot of beer. Efficient~!” She said, topping off the last few.
It wasn’t just the quantity of liquid Don Quixote would need to drink, which was on its own slightly difficult to wrap her mind around.
She had also been warned that consuming this beverage could… lead to less than noble behavior. Don Quixote had a valiant Fixer image to carefully curate, after all. Could it affect her too? And if so, how would she react?
She was starting to sweat. She considered various escape plans from her seat at the long table in the back room of the restaurant. Maybe if she crawled under the table, she could be out before anyone knew what happened. She could wait back on the bus!
“Worried about what you may find lurking within? Huhu…” Ryoshu read her thoughts effortlessly.
Don Quixote winced. She found been seen though like this intolerable.
Maybe she could jump out the window.
“If it helps, the rest start to go down much easier after your first few.” Gregor reassured with a nod. “You’ll find some courage at the bottom of the cup like most of us do, I’m sure.”
"Please, you must experience the liberating effects of this distillation with us." Yi Sang had a pure, but also peer-pressuring, smile.
“And we’ll all drink together with you~! Wohoo!” Hong Lu beamed. “Group toast!”
"’Tis only that never before have I… to ask this of me…" Don Quixote clung tightly to the edge of the table as she mustered her courage.
---
Her heart was singing, her pulse was pounding — just as advertised, she had never felt closer to her family than she did right now. She could feel them all so completely, while also feeling nothing at all.
Was this why Bari drank wine? Is this why Lady Rodya drank everything? Did Father ever try this stuff?
"Cheers!" All the sinners clinked their glasses once again.
Don Quixote knocked back her sixth shot with a huge grin and a dramatic bow.
The burning-feeling water was now only causing a minor rejection from somewhere inside.
The rejection was getting ever quieter.
She could do this all night.
“Ayeeee’m telling you, I musht be the STRONGEST SECOND KINDRED IN THE ENITRE WORLD!” she cheered with a slight slurring of words, throwing her fists to the sky, one foot propped on the table. There were some scattered whoops of approval in the room.
“That’s what I’ve been saying!! We knew you could do it the whole time, and now look at ya.” Heathcliff ruffled her hair with pride. “O’course, you still have far to go to compare to me when it comes to drinking, small fry!”
“Hooeeeeeeh?? Art thou issuing a challengeeee…?? To the likes of me? How insolent thou art!!” Don Quixote’s eyes flashed a special kind of wild gold - this was the warning of an apex predator.
“Don’t let the booze get to your head so easily that you start thinking you can slug it out with a pro wrecker like me, huh?” Heathcliff chuckled dismissively.
Don Quixote looked distinctly displeased.
<“Ohhh no, why is this happening.”> Dante worried. <“Ishmael, please, stop him...”>
The tone of Don Quixote and Heathcliff’s scuffle continued to escalate behind them.
“No, no. Let him face the consequences of his actions.” Ishmael sighed. She seemed lightly drunk herself, and rested her head on one hand. She waved Dante away with the other, “It’s the only way his type learns anything.”
<“Wait, why are they standing up—“>
“Oi, I said let’s arm wrestle for it you little—!”
“UWARRRR!!! HAVE AT THEEEEEE!”
CRASH!!!
Behind the table Don Quixote suplexed Heathcliff with a mighty bellow. Considering their height difference, this involved a very unnatural looking twist-jump-half-backflip maneuver. Chairs and loose utensils were blown back from the impact. Heathcliff gave an undignified gurgling sound and then laid limply on the floor.
“Who else shall test themselves against the mighty Don Quixote!? Ahahahaha!! Behold, I shall even partake of one more, as none other could!”
---
“Uuuurgh!” And now the mighty Don Quixote was laid low and moaning in pain, curled up in a ball across a bench seat of Mephistopheles.
“‘Twas hubris…” she cried, “I was verily warned… about the dangers of such liquids… Which are not meant for the likes of me in many ways... And now the poison lingers still in revenge--!”
“Not only my injured constitution… but also my injured honor, having done harm to young Heathcliff of mine own family with such a lack of restraint!” Little tears were welling in Don Quixote’s eyes. “Forgive me! Manager Esquireeeeeeeee—!”
“Isn’t there someone else you should ask for forgiveness?” Heathcliff groaned.
“Please, don’t act like you didn’t have this coming when you provoked her.” Ishmael rolled her eyes. “And don’t bother the manager with your bruises.”
"Normally I would say she should be sure to rehydrate or something-" Gregor's suggestion was interrupted by a low and sad whine of "nooooooo" from somewhere behind him.
"- But I think the only cure here is time." he concluded.