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The price of memory involved in purification- the loss of connection and much of any knowledge of Björn's life, hadn't hit Herger very hard. Björn had enough difficulty getting things into his head to keep with dedicated repetition and exposure as the only reliable rule- so much was never familiar then even when it should have been. As Herger, the empty swaths just went hand-in-hand with what little had been there anyway. With so little time to dedicate to being a civilian, there wasn't worth in mourning that nothing was familiar in his life on that front- his experience in the Negaverse, the military training and years of field experience were what was needed for the Resistance. The war needed Nærøyfjord, not Herger, in most cases.

But tonight was lucky, novel for smiles and jocularity and Mia's pleasant company. There was nothing so infectious as someone else genuinely excited about something and letting others partake in that. "You mean mine are not big enough to satisfy you?"

He palmed his own pecs, giggling the un-tensed muscle a half-second before winking at her as he let go. "I am sure that there are nicer ones here. Wasn't there some rhyme about beer and liquor? "

He wasn't sure which way it went, and which way supposedly made a person sick. "Are we drinking for calories or to get hammered? I'd like at least a couple stouts....they're like meals. Kinda. Other than that, whatever you like. Do you like tequila? It has worms in it?"

Was that good or bad?

"I can't disagree." He had no problems appreciating all the sizes of ladies, though, not just the larger, heavier variety that Mia's pantomime picked out for consideration. "You should go seagull watching if those are your favorite kind."

It was good Mia knew the rhyme because he'd never have remembered it. Maybe that was something that she'd made use of in Negaverse uniform as much as civilian life, so it had stuck with her. She intends to get hammered....

"You could just have asked back at home- I have a hammer. " It was a little crude, but Mia felt more like a peer, a fellow soldier, than a great pillared and marble statue of perfection. She was flawed, as he was, and enjoyed fun and stupid jokes. It felt a little more free of air to say at least some of the things he thought that usually just were kept there for fear of offending someone he cherished. Mia would get it. Mia weighed imaginary lady bits, too. "Drunk games don't make more sense when you're drunk. It just doesn't matter, really. What is the difference of neat?"

He never made specifics when he ordered things, and mostly no one ever asked him- too big to question, maybe.

He didn't offer a retort approaching the inneundo of a hammer and his own gender either, since it seemed Mia wasn't into that sort of thing either. He did cheerfully toast her with a smiling, "To your pleasure."
He took the shot, throwing it back with no trouble in the method one followed for drinking the small dollop of liquid.

But AUGHGHGHGH
It tasted like smokey wood mixed with a second flavour- the back of throat smell/taste that coated at the first moments of opening a new can of wet catfood to dish for a Mauvian. Like Friskies pate stink. Herger coughed, the sound echoing through his ribs and wide throat. "What is it made of?"

He set the tine glass back on the counter, "I can get the next round. You like the flavour of it?...you can drink a bottle of it?"

Maybe people should not make alcohol of worms. Just eating live worms might be better. It is as bad as whiskey..why drink anything that tastes bad or like a campfire.

He bore the laugh without complaint or even really 'bearing'. People coughing when drinking was generally funny, whatever the reason behind it. "It is not a taste I will forget, if I need to get drunk fast."

He shifted to speak to the bartender, pushing over money, before answering Mia's commentary as she allowed for the room ," Absolut BROOKLYN, Absolut BOSTON if you have them? Two each."

"I can drink a whole bottle, or more than one...it works through really fast with my metabolism. It is not so good for staying drunk if that was my hope. It takes a lot for a long time to stay drunk. " There were at least one or two occasions, powered, that he could remember the dregs of after a lot of vodka and a lot of coffee liquor while he'd been in uniform and in the straights of his choice to leave the Negaverse. It wasn't the best set of memories, nor the proudest way (if time honored by many) to handle the pressure and pain of stress.

Getting 'buzzed' was a lot simpler- the metabolism worked against him that way, taking the alcohol quickly in as much as quickly out. The loss of more than fifty pounds didn't help his cause either. I wonder if Mia is like a camel and she can store it in the pair...it is probably too rude to ask. I need to remember that throughout the night.

"I don't think I could find my way home drunk....have you tried since 'moving' ?" Since home from the bar was a different path that maybe the one she remembered from before, with a different life and a different name. Though we should stop before completely trashed, anyway even if you do. "

The shots prepared again, he held out one of the Bostons to her, "Is that a challenge, that women perform better than men?"

"Skål~*"

"I heard it was rude to call a woman a 'bird', but if you will call yourself a pigeon-" he shrugged with a smile. It seemed it was Mia's turn to make faces with a shot. Considering the proof on most of the shots, it must be a taste disagreement rather than having any real difficulty with drink. They were both more or less pro at the technique. Her nose was cute when it scrunched with distaste.

He took his first shot, listening to her further boasts on the inability of men to perform for a lover's pleasure inebriated with an amused half smile. He left it at no comment for a moment as the BROOKLYNs went down and Mia turned to order new shots. Once she was back, however, he held up his free hand to hers, comparing hands.

"Like men cannot use anything else? Mine's still bigger." He made a 'come' motion with his pointer as one might. "The same with kisses. It will be up to skill. It is a hard wager- is it better settled on one lucky volunteer to experience both, or two individual that are just willing to give honest ratings on a scale?"

The Fireball shot he eyed suspiciously- it looked like whiskey. Fireball was an unusual name for a whiskey, but unless it had a flavour index that went to eleven of something NOT whiskey, he was pretty sure it was going to be his turn to make faces again. But didn't everyone make a face at whiskey? That's why bar zeitgeist called it whiskey-face.

The punch was well appreciated. Herger laughed, putting down his own shot to rub the spot with his other hand. "Completely neutral and completely willing to both of us might be hard to find."

He missed her expressions and modified whiskey-face to a sudden distracted profusion of thoughts of those he knew and any hope of serving their pleasure- Did Kairatos even like men? But kneeling before those thighs was a happy thought. 'Bull' could promise a lot.
Wasn't Babylon married?
Hvergelmir, beautiful Hvergelmir... he wasn't worthy but dreams were dreams for a reason. All her shining hair pooled down her shoulders and the hollows next to her illiacs before the slight rise of stomach-

Mia said something. "Beer...ja, good for now..."

He winced, That sounded smart.
Then took his own fireball at a swallow unwisely under-prepared and was stuck with holding a hand over his mouth, not coughing or breathing, as his eyes watered and grew wider and wider and wider.

Herger couldn't muster companionable joy at her laughing, annoyance at it, or hurt. He had exactly one thought - Jä-ä-ävlar-r-r-r

EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE.


Not the usual burst-burn of high proof alcohol. No, this was a protracted, acid eating away the skin of his mouth and bleaching his bones sort of burn. Truth was, he didn't eat a lot of hot food. He didn't eat a lot of any kind of food period, and what he did usually get at the main-camp community tended to be down-home and gentle. Starving stomachs didn't do well on too much hot-spice. About as racey as he got was the occasional chili or curry that stretched a meat ration delivery beyond normal expectations.

He accepted the beer quickly, soundlessly and began slow-drinking it also without breath for the span of a good minute and a half without break. It almost helped. The cool temp of American served beers was a temporary relief, and the secondary alcohol helped a little to break the capsaicin. It came back after a few seconds though- Five percent ethanol of many beers did not work any better scientifically than cool water at neutralizing the alkaloid oil. Sad for Herger he didn't know enough science to ask for sugar, honey, or best a sugar dairy combo like some deserts. If the bar even had them. Milk at least was a mainstay of white russians.

"It is still hot- I thought maybe cinnamon? Like lots of those fake red candies. That is not cinnamon. What was that?"