“You got it,” the bartender says.
FeeTwix: Drorikh?
Ryuk: Fermented dragon’s milk.
Zaena: I grew up drinking this stuff! I hope it is as good down here as it is in Ultima Thule.
“A shot for you too, pal,” Hiccup tells the bartender. “You got a name?”
“Cid. Howzabout you, big spender?”
“Me? Yeah – the name is, um, Hoquet.”
“That’s nice, Umhoquet. And your friends?” The old bartender pulls out a glass jug with a milky substance inside.
“This here is Marbles, Liz, and Swede.”
“Not Ummarbles, Umliz, and Umswede? Sounds to me like a bunch of fake names some asshole would make up,” Cid snorts as he pours out a shot. “But a name’s a name, and I’ll call you whatever you want as long as you pay your tab.”
“That’s us, just a bunch of noobs with fake-sounding but otherwise completely authentic and not-at-all skeevy names who always pay our tabs. Always. Marbles, make yourself useful and start passing out shots.”
Ryuk begrudgingly waits for Cid to pour out several shots of drorikh and place them on a tray. He takes them to a booth of barbarians in the far corner. “From the goblin at the bar,” he tells the suspicious lot.
He returns just in time for the next round to finish being poured. These he takes to the other booth, a booth of druids. FeeTwix takes shots to the bards at the center table and Cid finishes pouring shots for those seated at the bar.
Hiccup stands up on the seat of his bar stool again and raises his shot glass.
“To Empress Thun and the Sage of Gotha!
To Porthos, Aramis, and Athos by way of a flying ship!
To the bottom of the Endless Sea, the top of the clouds, to the frost of Ultima Thule,
To the griffins of Polynya, and the vast fields of Hyperborea!
Aye! Aye! Aye!”
Everyone in the bar raises their shot glass in one hand and beats on the table with other. “Aye! Aye! Aye!”
The drorikh is sour, like the Yakult probiotic drinks they sell at the 7-Elevens in Japan, and Ryuk cringes as it sears its way down his throat. His vision pane flashes to let him know that alcohol could impair his ability to fight, shoot, or run away.
As soon as the shots are finished, one of the Barbarians stands and throws his shot glass to the floor, smashing it into pieces. “Another round!” he announces to the cheers of his compadres.
Cid is two steps ahead. He already has ten shots poured and his working on the next five by the time Ryuk gets to the first tray. Zaena helps him this time, and the two dish out shots until everyone in the bar has one.
The gruff and thickly bearded Barbarian turns a stray chair towards him and places his heavily furred boot upon it. He clears his throat, and in a surprisingly cultured and well-modulated voice, recites:
“Twas the night ‘fore a battle and all through the camp,
The men were scared shitless, the quarters were cramped!”
Others begin to chuckle at the popular poem, including Hiccup and Zaena. The barbarian continues:
“Death road his horse through the black of the night,
He arrived in the morning and gave them a fright!
Had the men had their balls and not shit for brains,
We’d be toasting to them, rather than to death’s name!
Here’s to thee, Death, to thee, to thee!
For shitting on shitbirds like you and me!
For equally treating the rich and the poor,
For taking our lives and evening the scores!
Death comes to all who are bless-ed to breathe!
To him, and to her, and to you, and to me!
Aye! Aye! Aye!”
“Aye! Aye! Aye!”
Everyone takes a shot and one of the bards flicks his shot glass to the floor, shattering it to pieces. The stocky bard stands and sings the words, “Rounds for everyone!”
Ryuk wipes his mouth. He looks to FeeTwix, who has his arm around Zaena and a stupid grin on his face.
Hiccup tugs on his sleeve and Ryuk bends to him. “Before you ask,” he whispers, “It’s a drinking game called Boaster Toaster. Someone starts the toast, and whoever is around has to also make a toast until everyone has done so, that, or the one of the people drinking passes out, whichever comes first.”
“I see.”
“The only other way to lose is to not drink or pass out. If you don’t drink, you are forced to take all the shots for the next round, and by forced I mean someone will cram a bottle of drorikh up your ass and hold you upside down until it’s all gone. You see that guy over there?” Hiccup uses his nose to point to a bucculent mimbo with manboobs. He sits at the very last bar stool, swaying like the top of a palm in a light breeze. “Fatty’s our guy; he’s just about sauced enough to let his words spill easy.”
“You think he knows something?” Ryuk asks. FeeTwix steps around him, off to carry shots to the druids in the far booth.
Hiccup switches to instant message system.
Hiccup: Do you see the griffin logo on his back? That’s the emblem of the Aramis Solid Waste Management and Abatement Service.
Ryuk: How do you know all this?
Hiccup: Are you setting me up to say, I drink and I know things? Because if you are, I’m not saying it. Just because I’m short, of questionable character and indifferent hygiene, yet somehow one of the most important characters in this shared narrative of ours doesn’t mean you should compare me to Tyrion Lannister. And seriously, can’t the commoners in Tritania get some other fantasy references?
Ryuk: I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Hiccup: Sure ya don’t, kiddo. Any fickin’hoo, that’s our mark. He’ll tell us where in the Guild District the Shinigami are staying. Mark my words.
The bard takes a small Ocarina flute from a string around his neck. He blows into producing a single, mid-range note, takes a deep breath, and begins:
“For I’m a jolly good fellow,
For he’s a jolly good fellow,
For we are jolly good fellows,
That no drunkard can deny!
That no drunkard can deny!
That no drunkard can deny!
We are jolly good fellows,
We are jolly good fellows,
We are jolly good fellows,
That no drunkard can deny!
Aye! Aye! Aye!”
“Aye, aye, aye!”
Ryuk gives Hiccup a queasy look. He’s gotten wasted in Tritania before and oddly enough, it gave him a splitting headache when he logged out.
“Tie your shoe, Marbles.”
“My what?”
“Shoes.”
“They don’t have laces. I’m wearing boots.”
“Bend forward, you idiot.” Hiccup hisses. Ryuk bends over and the goblin swiftly palms his shot, throws it back, and places the empty shot glass back in his hand. He claps Ryuk on the back. “Don’t say I never did nothing for you.”
A shot glass smashes on the floor, the shards of which bounce off Ryuk’s feet.
“Another round!” Zaena announces, a single finger held high.
Cid the bartender starts pouring out another round and as he does, the mark Hiccup pointed out earlier begins to wobble. He drops his head onto the bar, picks it up, rolls his neck back all in an attempt to keep from falling.
Hiccup claps his hands together. “Fick yeah, Ryuk, it looks like we’re just one shot away from scoring bigly.”