Summary:Ford challenges Herc to some hard drinking! Log Info:Storyteller: None |
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Barhopping is a proud tradition for Hercules, especially on a Saturday night. There's many people to meet, many drinks to try, and with his godly constitution he rarely feels the worst of it. Indeed, it's something that helps -connect- him with humanity — the appreciation of the grape and the grain, and the art that makes drink possible.
At this point, Hercules is cheerfully chatting up the female bartender, a mug of stout in one hand as the two good-naturedly argue over the merits of Irish whiskey versus Greek wines. There's a strong sense of camaraderie in the bar — Herc would call it the blessing of Dionysus. Nobody's shitfaced, nobody's being an ass, everyone is just at most happily buzzed.
Ford, sadly, doesn't often have the time to hop bars. He's usually a bit too busy, what with taking care of a medically fragile little sister and then moonlighting as a chop shop worker when the bills come due. But tonight, he has a break. Ira was at a sleep over and his apartment had been taken care of for another month. For once, he had some free time, and he was eager to return to what he used to be so good at - socializing.
Granted, this was more boisterous than he was used to, but for a change, he felt like he unintentionally blended in. Clearly the life of the party was the big guy chatting up the waitress nearby. Waiting for an opening, Ford flagged down the waitress. "Got anywhere to sit? And anything strong to drink? Seems like the party's started without me. Clearly I've got catching up to do!"
Hercules looks less like a Greek demigod for the moment, and more like he's been playing the part of a movie pirate; leather trousers and boots, white ruffled shirt. But even in that outfit he radiates that indescribable 'more' that seems to come with him wherever he goes. It's a wonder his head isn't the size of the bar. "Ah now, tend to the man. He looks thirsty!" There's no derision, no mockery in his voice. He'd clearly rather Ford get his drink than anything else. "Besides, it gives me time to do this!" And Herc smoothly drains half the pint of stout in a single pull, smacking his lips. "Yep. Irish stout. Could use it to tar ships in a pinch."
Ford folded his arms as Herc showed off his stuff at drinking. He could certainly pack in away. "Well don't drink it all, captain. Save some for the ship." Ford quipped back, amused by Hercules' choice of attire. Judging from the attire, he looked ready to tar the ship with what's left. "I've always preferred flavored vodkas myself. Though, nothing wrong with something to wring out the taste buds. Get me a sour whiskey to start. I'm sure it won't be enough, but it'll start." Ford requested, manuvering to sit across from Herc and plopping down in an empty chair. "So, you're a heavy drinker, eh?"
He lifts an eyebrow as Ford sits across from him, but doesn't complain. "I've been doing it a while." The waitress, who is clearly in on the joke, stifles a giggle, as she comes by with Ford's sour whiskey. Hercules smiles up at her broadly, and says, "I see why you were making all the rum jokes. But let me try a glass of what he's having." She nods, and scoots off.
Ford grasped at the glass and held it up, inhaling the freshly made beverage. "You might like it, if you enjoy the pucker. Most folks folks find it a bit too harsh on the taste buds, but I like it. Makes you forget how strong the drink is until it kicks in… usually." Ford opted to wait for the waitress to return with Herc's drink, clearly interested in sharing it. "Here's to whatever higher power gifted us strong livers!" Ford offered as an amusing toast, before synchronizing his drinking with Hercules.
Hercules ehs. "I've tried many things. Grappa is a personal favorite, even if it's expensive." He raises his glass in response to Ford, and at Ford's words, smiles. "Yamas!" he replies, before knocking it back. "Hmm. Not bad actually. Worth testing against the grappa, though." He gestures for the waitress. "You know which bottle," he teases. "The one I had to pry away from dear old Hodr."
Ford finished his drink, swishing it in his mouth a bit and clearly puckering at it, before swallowing and clenching his fist on the table. Just as sour as he remembered… but after a moment of calm reflection, he looked… slightly let down. "Yeah… didn't think that was gonna be enough. Gonna have to get something-" Ford opened his eyes, blinking between Hercules and the waitress before arching his brow back at Herc. "…grappa? Can't say I'm familiar with that." From the back of his mind, his senses started to tingle that familiar, indulgent urge. Something stronger… he wanted it. Needed it, nearly.
"Oddly, it's of a recent vintage. The Italians started making it a bare forty or so years ago." Hercules smiles as a pair of glasses are brought over. "It's very similar to brandy in many respects. I suppose I should have a preference for raki or retsina, but I'm sure those ancient Romans are happy with how far their descendants have come in the art." He raises a glass, and remarks, "Cheers!" before sipping it.
Ford was hardly a classicaly trained expert in alcohols, like Hercules clearly was. Than again, as he said, he's had plenty of time to learn the ins and outs of the crafts. Clearly to the point that "just" 40 years was no time at all. Ford might just be drinking with someone who can actually keep up with him. Finally. But Ford was still left slightly clueless. He just knew which drinks were strong enough to break through his highly honed physiology and get him sufficiently buzzed for as long as possible.
"And I'm all too happy to taste the fruits of their labor." Ford replied, raising his glass back and sipping it… which promptly gave way to gulping it down. He sat for a moment, assessing it. "…not bad. Could be stronger, but I'm all for exploring what the world has to offer. I might have to stow away on a flight to Italy and try it straight from the source." Ford laughed. Partly because he himself wasn't entirely sure if he was being serious with that or not.
Hercules finishes his grappa with a grin. "It's got a kick to it, doesn't it?" He taps his fingertip on the table. "Alright, you choose the next drink, while I think of what I'd like to try next. Or we could just let the waitress decide… if you're feeling lucky enough." His blue eyes twinkle. "Who knows? She might even add her phone number to the next one you get."
Ford shook his head, before reaching up and grabbing the bottle to pour another drink. "Leave it. Might be needing it." Ford asked, before taking another gulp. "I only ask that it test my fortitude. I'll leave it to our lovely lady of the evening to make that choice." Taking another sip, he chuckled. "Don't suggest something she might regret. She hasn't seen me get started. This is merely the stretching before the marathon. I feel like I could drink the place dry, so… perhaps best to let her make that choice."
Ford closed his eyes for a moment, before shaking his head. "You know what? Whatever they drink in, uh… what is it? Asgard? Valhalla? I could go for some of that. In about the same quantity, to boot."
"Asgardian mead? Oh, no, my friend, you may want to take care around that one." He pours himself another glass after Ford does. "I've visited those noble halls, and I assure you, Asgardian mead is not meant for mere mortals." He rubs his chin. "Though Thor once mentioned sharing it with a group of veterans from World War 2, and they DID survive… granted, they were also near-unconscious. Still, glory to them for daring!" He raises his glass with a happy grin at the memory.
"…you've been to Asgard?" Ford seemed slighly taken aback by that notion, before his brain immediately made the connection. "…you're not… are you, like, an Asgardian on vacation or something?" he asked, voice slightly lowered.
"Then lucky for you and Asgard, I'm not mere mortal. I'm betting I could handle a few mugs of that stuff… and then some." Granted, Ford had no way of actually backing up that claim, but every fiber of his oni side was screaming to drink deep of a new and powerful draught. "Not to run roughshod over the bravery of those vets… but I'm willing to bet I could match 'em."
There's that sense of 'more' that comes off Hercules again, like he's written in glorious color in a black-and-white grayscale world. "Well, why don't we step it up a notch?" he purrs. "Bring me that bottle of Metaxa, miss." The waitress raises her eyebrows, but complies. "Metaxa," the demigod explains as he pours a couple glasses, "dates back over a century and a half, and is neither brandy nor whiskey but its own self, a distilled liqueur made from Greek wines and botanicals." He grins. "I have it on good authority that noble Dionysus himself recommends it."
Then he leans across the table slightly to Ford, and grins. "Not Asgardian, though I thank you for the compliment, sir. Olympian. Greek."
Olympian.
Ford was face-to-face with an Olympian.
Ford was in the presence of an actual Greek #@$#-1 ARGUMENT OUT OF RANGEg god!
There was a dangerous part of him that wanted to challenge him right here and now. That brash oni aspect that demanded a thrill. The urge to prove his dominance Instead, he simply remained steadfast, forcing himself to maintain composure. He rationalized it to himself that it would be stupid to start anything now… not that his demonic impulses cared. He could still prove himself against a god. He could still hold his own… so he believed. He didn't want to test it. He wasn't keen on having all of the Greek pantheon on his ass, capable or not. "…well sh*t." Was all Ford could manage in response. "…then in that case, let's drink like gods. I want to see how seriously the Greeks take their liquor."
Dionysus… Ford was woefully out of step with other mythologies. His own understanding was limited to Japanese… and even that was mostly cursory stuff he'd learned trying to study himself. But he seemed to recall Dionysus was the… god of drinks? Partying? He forgot. "Alright… let's see what the Greek gods call strong liquor!" he declared, before grabbing his glass, raising it, and knocking it back.
"Aye, there's the spirit!" Hercules swills down his glass in one go in turn, savoring the fragrances and the burn. "Ahh! That's good. Probably shouldn't do that too fast though…" He chuckles. "But yes. Although we usually water our wines for day to day drinking. Drunkenness is how the maenads get their claws into you." He shrugs. "Still, one should embrace them now and then. It's good for humility." He carefully begins to pour two more glasses of metaxa — the only sign of inebriation thus far being a slightly exaggerated care in his movements. "What's your name, o maenad chaser?"
Ford held the drink in his mouth a bit. Every taste bud savored the sensation. It was new. Powerful. Intoxicating. Not quite literally, but enough to finally start that pleasent buzz. And his system practically demanded more. He wiped his mouth with his arm and smiled. He finally looked satisfied. "That depends entirely on who you ask. But since you asked me, it's Ford, /the/ best mechanic in New York. And proud of it too." Clearly.
He slid his glass forward, ready for more, though he arched a brow. "What's a maened? …sorry, Greek history was way back in… 9th grade? It's been a while. Unless the maeneds are lovely ladies, in which case, I'll readily agree to that." Finally, he could feel the fuzz in his mind… but it was slipping steadily. Blasted demonic physiology. Ah well, nothing another glass couldn't cure, right? Once he had his next drink, it was in the air and sailing down his throat.
Hercules shakes his head. "What DO they teach in schools these days? Ah well… Ford, you sit across from Hercules of Thebes. And I am grateful, as is the waitress, you're not demanding I prove it right off." He watches with interest as Ford slugs back another round of metaxa. "Let's just say the maenads are… terrible conversation and leave it at that. You can find much prettier girls if you're curious." He continues to match Ford drink for drink, though he is pretty clearly watching Ford's intake as well.
"They teach a lot of stuff that I have been able to use on and off over the years. Greek mythology was tossed in with their history. I remember Zeus and… Hercules? /The/ Hercules?" He stared a bit longer, his eyes wandered between focusing on Herc and staring a million miles in the distance. "…wow… Disney left out a lot about you, didn't they? Not even the right hair color." Ford finally managed.
His buzz was sticking around longer… but it was starting to fade away again. "Ah… about as pleasent as a bad break up, eh?" Ford asked, pausing a moment before reaching to pour another glass. He should stop. He didn't want to impair his judgement too much. But he just couldn't seem to keep the buzz going like he liked. He finally had something that could give him that high, and dammit, he wanted to enjoy it a bit longer…!
"Not even a -beard-," Hercules says mock-mournfully. "This seems to be a common problem." He cocks his head. "Sometimes, the stories get things wrong. People assume the wrong thing. Or worse. And then you find yourself fighting just to set things right before you can do something better." Herc looks thoughtful, before shaking off the melancholy. "Bah. Enough of that. Have you slain that bottle yet, Ford? Or is it proving to be a worthy opponent?"
Ford looked at the bottom of his glass as he listened to Hercules speak about stories. He knew that better than he cared to. "…sometimes… sometimes the stories are all too right." He swirled the faint remains of the drink in his glass, not much there, before pouring a bit more. Eeeever so slowly, he was succumbing a bit more to his instincts. "I'll give Dionysus credit. He certainly knows his way around a good drink. I'd be curious to see what his private store house looks like. I could probably do with a few more bottles of this stuff. Nice to finally have those warm fuzzies stick around for a change. How's about you? What does /the/ Hercules drink when he wants to start distorting reality?"
Hercules smiles. "Whatever he can find, in great quantities!" He savors some of the Metaxa, taking his time with this one. "But on the slops of Mount Olympus are the first vineyards, the earth brought there by Demeter and Persephone, the trellises hand-wrought by Dionysus himself. For all his revelry, even Dionysus knows the subtle ways of growing plants, and the wine he makes, well… imagine a perfect day in spring, distilled into liquid form. That was the best description I've ever heard spoken." He chuckles. "I wish I'd said it, too, but the Muses are far better at that sort of thing."
"Guess I have myself a new life goal. Slip into Asgard, Olympus, and every other mythologies vinyard, and sample some of their best. I think I've earned it, being the World's Best Big Brother and all that." Ford replied, now pleasently sitting in a state of happy buzzing. "I mean, not sure how well my passport would work, so… might have to get creative. But I would like to test how much it takes to get Hercules under the table. See how close I can get before falling under it myself."
Hercules actually laughs at that. "A daring one, I see. Well then, waitress… make sure this is on my tab. Far be it from me to stick the challenger with the bar bill!" As another bottle is brought over, Hercules is polite enough to introduce it. "Now, this is a good rum, though I've only had it sparingly. It should be interesting enough to drink though, particularly in good company…"