Welcome to Gaia! ::

Paul is normally inclined to nurse his drink...but as this one is about to burn through the metal mug in which it was barely contained, he raises it in a brief toast.

Paul: "May we all retain our internal organs!"

With that, he tosses back the drink in a professional manner. He keeps a little in his mouth and swishes it back and forth, swallowing it quickly soon after the swishing.

Paul: "Hmm...you can tell it was placed in mithril before serving...a definite oaky flavor, though how it stayed in an oak barrel before being brewed is beyond me...very, very dry...a hint of mint and paprika, and...jabanero, if I'm not mistaken."

He then belches thunderously.

Paul: "And it interacts with stomach acids very quickly."

And Owle had launched her arm forward and grabbed his collar before she even realized he was joking.

"Heh..." She looked genuinely embarrassed as she let him go, dusting his collar off as if she'd somehow gotten it dirty. She tugged on it once in a vain attempt to straighten it out, then just leaned back looking abashed. "Ah...sorry about that...s'just that, I really want to know what they've been saying about us, you know?"

"And you know..." She gave him a conspirational wink. "Some of the weirder things are true."

Owle volunteered nothing, she waited for him to tell her, first. People tended to react badly when told she was a telepath, or a goddess. And she really didn't want him knowing she could turn into a bar of soap... sweatdrop

Paul: "Tricks? What tricks?"

He shrugs expressively, and his joints pop as he does.

Paul: "Ah, that felt good. Anyway, this is a drinking contest. What tricks could we possibly have to alter it?"

Paul says this with all honesty. The drinking game borders on the riddle game in antiquity and therefore respect in his and any other pirate's book.

Hearing of bringing a gun to a barfight, Rage slammed his palm on the table and leaned in a bit, still grinning. "If you think a bullet to the heart's gonna stop me, you're sorely mistaken." It was difficult to see if he was telling the truth or not, but he had no intention of killing the mood. He quickly returned to a more lighthearted tone, inspecting one of the nearby bottles closely. It has what appears to be a cartoon of a red dragon on it, and the liquid inside seems to be giving off the same aura as the drink that Rage had made before.

He looks at the glasses in front of him that still have the Green Dragon in them. They're still eating through the glass.

"Who's up for another round? Or I could add a little something to really up the ante...."

"Up the ante you say? How do you mean to do this?" He says leaning a bit closer to Rage. "You ok pirate-boy? You look a bit woozy, can't hold your drink?"

"I'd rather you didn't start singing. Ruins the drink if you sound bad enough."

Athan had his left hand on the table, fingers set to drumming idly on the wood as he awaited the next round of competition. It was foolish of him to think people would start dropping out this early. Especially since they had agreed to the competition before he even arrived.

Now it was just a matter of figuring out who would be the first to go. They were still chatting it up, hard to tell at this point. Everyone seemed confident enough.

Man, I'm taking this way too seriously.

He shook his head of the thought and went back to waiting.

Paul goes for his guitar case, opening it carefully while he sets the mithril mug on the table.

Paul: "Can't say I have, but hum a couple of bars and I can make up an accompaniment."

He pulls out his guitar with a flourish and kicks the lid of its case shut. He then strums a few chords to warm up his fingers...though if he got any warmer, it would probably be from alcohol.

Paul: I'm glad His Lordship made me go out drinking every other night...otherwise I'd be missing out on an amazing drink because of mortality.