A New Poison

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I stared at the empty glass. It had been completely drained.

Once. Twice. Thrice.

Twenty times.

And I had not felt a single thing since the first sip.

I was still cold from the draft coming in through the fireplace, which had been constantly extinguishing the flames throughout the night. Diggs, Hedge, and several other Crimson Hands had long since put down their cards, and were sitting at the round oak table within my chambers. Every pair of eyes were upon me as I continued glaring at the glass.

I picked up the bottle of Three-Headed Hydra, my favorite brand of whisky. I kept a steady supply within my chambers. I even had a merchant bring regular shipments directly from the distillery in Tirel, and paid him handsomely for it.

The eyes of the Hands tracked my every motion as I uncapped the bottle and held it over the edge of my glass. The liquid amber fire paused precariously close to the mouth of the bottle. One drop slowly fell into the glass, splashing against the bottom and spreading itself out. I held the bottle there for a few seconds, then immediately threw it against my mouth and guzzled hard.

Three-quarters of a bottle of whisky were gone in fifteen seconds. It burned on its way down my throat, settling in my already full stomach.

I quietly set the bottle back down and sat there in utter silence. Not a single peep was heard; not a single soul moved. It remained like that for... I don't know... Five? Ten minutes?

“You guys,” I said softly to my assembled friends, “I'm not feeling anything.”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I broke out in a cold sweat. My hands started shaking. I could feel a migraine coming along. I started getting dizzy. I was suddenly overcome with the feeling of being very, very sick. None of these effects were because of the alcohol.

My assembled Poker Night cohorts all sat there, looking at each other with confused faces. Diggs turned to me, his thick glasses sliding down his greasy nose. “What do you mean, you're not feeling anything?”

“I just downed twenty glasses of Hydra and topped it off with almost a full fucking bottle, dipshit!” I was angry. My voice thundered throughout the room, echoing off the walls in a storm of vitriol and venom. Diggs flinched a bit, his chin receding into the rolls of unshaven fat that were Chins Two and Three. “I should be drunk! I should probably be on the ground in a convulsing mess! Corvanik should be in here, waving his fucking hands around in the air, pumping my stomach through the means of magic!”

I glared whisky-soaked daggers at the rest of the gang, who just sat there, struck dumb by my sudden outburst. “Why am I not on the floor in a dying, spastic heap with the Ai'Brone waving his glowing hands above me?!”

The Hands all looked at each other, their mouths agape. They stammered and stuttered, looking for words--not answers, just actual words to say. Words to express their thoughts.

My wooden chair fell backwards and hit the floor with a thunk as I shot up out of it. I quickly made my way around the round table and over to my cabinet. I threw open the doors, nearly breaking them off the hinges in the process, and snatched up a fresh bottle of Three-Headed Hydra. I furiously tore at the wax seal in a flurry of blue wax scraps, pulled out the stopper, and drained the entire thing in thirty seconds flat.

I grabbed another bottle--my fourth of the night--and repeated the process in almost half the time.

Clenching the latest hastily-emptied bottle in my briar-knit hands, the five of us counted away the seconds in silence.

Another five minutes passed by without a word. Hedge might have coughed once or twice, I don't honestly remember. At this point, I should be dead. Straight up stone-cold dead.

“What the fuck!” I cried out, my voice shrill with frustration. I whipped the empty bottle of Hydra against the stone floor, shattering it into a million pieces that flew further than they had any right to.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I was seated on the bed, my hands tightly gripping the sides of my head as I sat there, bent forward. My head was spinning. I was breathing heavily, each breath a burning, panicked, horrible thing. I was dizzy; on the verge of passing out, even. I couldn't focus on any one thought or sensation.

Again, none of these were effects of drinking four not-insignificant-sized bottles of hard liquor in the span of half an evening.

Diggs; compassionate, caring, empathic ol' Diggs... He had long since moved from his seat and onto the edge of the bed beside me, his wide hand massaging my back while I sat there in my infinite sorrow.

“Are you going to be alright, Maddy?” His breath reeked of liquor and dinner, mixing with his sweaty body odor to create a mixture intoxicating in all the wrong ways.

“No, I'm not going to be alright,” I replied weakly.

“Well, four bottles of Hydra'll do that to you, I think...”

No fucking shit, Captain Obvious.

Suddenly, I felt my insides twist up in a knot. There was an incredible, piercing pain in my lower abdomen. I cried out and clutched my sides with my vine-woven arms. Oh gods, I thought to myself. I shot up to my feet, quickly hunching over as my insides tossed and turned.

Hedge slowly rose to his feet, pushing aside his chair. “Maddy, what's wrong? Are you...?”

I looked at him with crazed eyes, my mouth twisted into an unexplainable expression. “I have to pee. Bad.” And with that, I was out the door.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I placed another log on the fire and stared at it as it slowly caught. It crackled with a quiet, simmering fury that very much matched my mood. Slowly, the dancing flames engulfed the log, charring it and turning it to ash. I turned back to the table. The other Hands had long since gone. Only Diggs and Hedge remained. The two Blades were playing some silly game where they reveal the top card of the pile they had, and whoever had the highest value got both cards as a prize. Hedge cursed behind his long bangs with every two and three he flipped.

My chair scraped softly against the stonework of the chamber as I took my seat at the round table once more. I patiently waited for my friends to finish up their little game. My glass was filled with cold water this time around.

I took a sip. It was horribly bland, and left me feeling emptier than the whisky had.

Hedge snatched up the deck and put it back in the small wooden box before tossing it casually into the middle of the table. It was a rare moment where he actually looked at anyone with anything closely resembling concern. This was one of those times. “So, what's the deal, then? You down four bottles of Hydra on your own, and you're still alive.”

I shook my head. I was honestly at a loss here. “It's... this is the worst night ever, I think it's safe to say.” I glanced over at the ratty-haired killer and frowned. “Not that I tried to go out of my way to kill myself or anything, but...”

“You kept drinking and drinking, but you weren't getting drunk, and it was confusing you.”

I nodded. “Yes, thank you, Diggs. More frustrated and annoyed than confused, but that's about it. I had more than enough to feel something, but I wasn't feeling anything. It's... it's definitely weird. I don't know what's going on. I've been finding it harder and harder to get anything more of a buzz ever since...” My voice trailed off as I raised the tangle of vines that were now my hands and arms in front of me.

Diggs piped in, “Do you think it might be a whole part of you being a Briarheart? Y-you know, since you're immune to a lot of diseases and poisons now? Perhaps your body identifies alcohol as a poison, and processes it as such?”

“Yeah, except studies show that moderate amounts of certain kinds of drinks are good for you, like wine--”

The fat man interrupted me, saying, “Yes, but anything more than a moderate amount of anything can be considered poisonous.”

“Yeah, like you would know anything about moderation, fat-ass,” I snapped at him. Diggs blushed, tilting his head down to look at his enormous girth.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I sighed. “Look, I'm sorry, Diggs. I'm just...” I ran a briar-knit hand through my black hair. “I'm just a bit stressed right now.” The mercenary muttered something of an acceptance, and we dropped the subject.

“I think it's no secret why any of us like to get buzzed. We drink not because we enjoy the stuff. We drink to forget the hard times we go through, the shitty hands we were dealt by the gods, and--most importantly--to blur the faces and details of those who lives we take. I know this sounds odd form coming from the person who sentenced half a country to die and all, but I really don't enjoy all of the fruits of our labors, guys.”

Hedge snatched up his glass and poured himself another drink while I continued. “And now, because I can never have nice things, I have been denied my one escape from this wretched world.” I leaned back in my chair and sighed, letting that feeling sink in.

Never again would I be able to end the night on a warm, fuzzy, happy note. Never again would I be able to share joy and fun times with my comrades within the Crimson Hand after a successful project or mission.

Never again would I get the feeling of panic and the adrenaline rush from waking up in my panties and a bra in the middle of the lab, surrounded by the discarded clothing and snoring bodies of fellow Hands of the Mind.

Actually, that last bit was probably the only good thing to come out of this mess.

Hedge spoke over the rim of his glass, his eyes gleaming with that familiar light one gets when they have what they consider to be a brilliant idea. “Maybe you need something a bit stronger now? Like, some sort of superalcohol? Infused with magical energies and shit?”

“No, I don't think that's how it works now--”

“Hold on,” the Hand of the Blade burst in, “I think I know just the trick. I'll be back!”

And with that, Hedge was out the door.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Use of Philomel approved by the faun herself.

Almost an hour later, the wooden door to my chamber burst open, an all-too-familiar voice booming from the hallway. “I hear someone needs a bit of the hard stuff tonight!”

A chill ran down my spine. Curse my bastard's luck, that motherfucker fetched the faun.

Philomel van der Aart clopped into the room, her cheeks tinged lightly rose from her own night’s drinking, a green bottle with a rounded bottom clutched to her chest like a young child, a small lace gown thankfully obscured her breasts. I'm going to go ahead and guess that Hedge asked her to put it on, as I've already gone through enough tragedy and trauma for one evening. The assassin-whore made her way towards the table and kicked out a seat. She slammed the bottle onto the table in front of her, its contents sloshing around inside.

I took a deep, apprehensive breath. “Let me guess. Headbutt.”

The faun furiously nodded her head, her smile splitting her face from ear to ear. “That is correct, darling! I've been informed that you're having a tiny problem forgetting your troubles tonight, so I thought, why not the best in memory-erasing drinks this side of actual potions brewed to accomplish that specific task?” She flicked her messy plait over her shoulder and gave out a small, smelly burp. “You should feel honoured as well. Drys only permits the best of the kind to drink this one!”

I exhaled loudly, my face twisted and knotted up in disdain as I looked at the bottle. Let me tell you about Headbutt, okay? If you think you've had the ultimate drink that packed a wallop and will ruin your night, then you are a liar. Think of it like this: Most binge drinking is content with just knocking you down and stealing your hard-earned gold. Headbutt is the equivalent of being dragged into an alleyway and sliced up like dinner by someone calling you Sunshine. One shot will put you down. Two shots will make you wish you were dead the next morning. Three shots will put more holes in your head than most recreational drugs found within Knife's Edge. Four shots will probably kill you. Anything more than that... Well, you're either very brave, very stupid, a faun, or utterly immune. I was about to find out which of the following I truly am.

I never thought to ask Hedge how much it cost him to get Philomel down here with the rare bottle of the specially-brewed, apparently goddess-blessed, drink. He looked a little flushed and a bit tired when he retook his seat at the table, though. But here it was, and here my hands were reaching for the green-tinted bottle and a fresh glass. I uncorked the Headbutt and poured out a shot. The dangerous liquid sloshed around in the small glass before quickly settling down. I set the bottle down, took a deep breath, and picked up the shot glass. “Here goes nothing,” I said with a shrug before bringing it up to my lips.

Good fucking gods, was it sweet. It tasted like a liquid version of a faun fertility festival--that is, if it were possible to bottle magic, flowers, pure ecstasy, and a bunch of goat people having wild sex. I nearly gagged on it as I slammed the shot glass onto the table, nearly breaking it in half. My eyes were watering as the sweet quickly turned to a dark bitterness in the back of my throat. I coughed more than a seasoned whisky drinker should ever cough after consuming alcoholic beverages, and then I poured myself a second shot of the foul stuff. It quickly disappeared down my gullet as well, but thankfully this time the aftertaste wasn't so bad.

I glanced around the table. Diggs and Hedge sat there, their expressions incredibly hard to read. Philomel was getting a little antsy, the fingers of her right hand playing around with a length of her purple plait as it rested on her shoulder. I took a deep breath, said fuck it, and made one of the worst decisions in my entire life. I brought the entire bottle up to my lips, Philomel flinching in order to grab it before I wasted her ‘holy beverage,’ and tilted my head back. I managed to gulp down the whole fucking bottle of the awful drink, save for a few odd drops that ended up streaking down my cheek.

The bottle drained, I slammed it back down onto the wooden table. Philomel snatched it, despite it being empty, and cradled the thing protectively to her breast. took a deep breath, my shoulders heaving, my head spinning--again, not due to the effects of the drink, but more because it's impossible to breathe while guzzling booze. I stood there, trying to catch my breath, bitter tears streaming down my face, while the faun sat there with a dumbfounded look on her face. She sat there, mouth agape, for a solid minute or two before screaming at the top of her lungs, “How for the fuck of Drys are you not dead right now?!”

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

It wasn't long after the faun left that I found myself on the floor, knelt over a waste bin. My stomach had made the decision to fight back after my series of poor decisions, and had made it known that all that liquor was not welcome in my system, despite the rest of my body insisting that it was perfectly fine and operating at 100% capacity and efficiency. The plastic bin was caked in a thin, sloshy layer of a delightfully horrible mix of whisky, Headbutt, and stomach fluids.

I tightly gripped the rim of the bin with my vine-knit hands, steadying myself as another wave of nausea passed through me. Diggs left not long after Philomel, so it was up to Hedge to do his reluctant duty and hold my hair back so it too didn't get stained with throw-up. The merc stood there with the air of someone embarrassed to be helping out a friend--perhaps rightfully so, given that I don't think he's had a single compassionate thought ever cross his mind.

"Do you, like, need me to rub your back or something?"

"Fuck off, I'm fine," I wheezed. Clearly, I wasn't. I was absolutely sure that the mix of drinks was having no effect on me, because I was still living and breathing and all. It was just that I should not have been able to down all of those bottles in one night, and my gut was just scolding me for doing so.

Just a couple more ejections, and I would be fine.

I sat there on my knees on the hard stone floors of the Crimson Hand castle, the fire nearby slowly dying out. Hedge let go of my raven-black hair, allowing it to cascade down my shoulders in clumps and across my puke-stained face while he threw more wood into the fireplace. My stomach knotted up and wretched once more as it sent a fresh wave of booze up my esophagus and out my mouth. The stream of puke hit the bottom of the waste bin, splashing up against my stray strands of hair and face. A few tears leaked out of my eyes and slowly crawled down my face. Oh gods, this is the worst...

Hedge pulled up chair and sat down on it next to where I was knelt on the floor. "Y'know, if you keep tossing up that Headbutt, I'm gonna' have to ask you to reimburse me for all that gold and the daggers that I gave the faun to get her fuzzy ass down here."

I managed to weakly extend a knotty middle finger in the merc's general direction as my body continued to quiver from the night's events.

Several minutes passed without another issue. I think that was the last of it, thank the gods. I slowly rose to my feet and picked up the bucket, opting to leave it out in the hallway outside my chamber doors while sending Hedge out to fetch me a fresh one just in case. I washed my face and hair clean of the disgusting, soupy vomit before falling down onto my well-cushioned bed. Didn't bother to change into a nightgown or anything. I laid there, my body slowly recovering from having a number of bottles of drink crammed into it over a short period of time.

My face was buried in my pillows. "I'm never drinking again," I muttered to nobody.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

I ended up sleeping in that morning. Technically, it was afternoon by the time I rolled out of bed. I hadn't thrown up at any point throughout the night, I was thankful for that much. I actually felt quite well, to be honest. I washed up a bit, threw on a fresh blouse top and pair of pants, slipped on my boots, and trudged downstairs in order to grab a bite to eat.

The long dining area where all the rabble meet and eat was a little more than half full. Crimson Hands were spread out throughout the room, generally keeping to their own groups--Blades with Blades, Minds with Minds, etc. I quickly spotted my two favorite mercs and made my way towards them. Hedge had pulled out his special deck of cards, the one he plays with when he absolutely needs to win, and had slowly begun rebuilding his savings after blowing everything on the faun's blessed drink last night. We exchanged our hellos, and I grabbed a couple slices of bacon off of Diggs' plate (much to his chagrin) and began munching on them. It felt good to get something in my mouth that wasn't alcoholic for once, let me tell you.

After a few minutes filled with inquiries about my health and well-being after the events of last night, one of the lab rats I watched over on a daily basis sidled next to me at the table. She was a sweet, intelligent little girl; blond hair, blue eyes, a smattering of freckles. Reminded me of poor Nell, who I had left in Tirel for her own safety once I joined up with the Crimson Hand. "Hey, Madison, your friends here were telling us that you're no longer able to hold your liquor..."

I shot a menacing glare at Hedge, who tried his damnedest to stifle a chuckle. I punched him hard in the shoulder, nearly rocking him off his seat. "Ow, you bitch," he grunted.

The Hand of the Mind produced a small mug full of a steaming, murky concoction. "I simply figured that this would be the perfect opportunity to try and get you addicted to a different sort of drink. One that might not be so bad for you..." Her high-pitched voice trailed off as she pushed the cup towards me. My habits were no secret within these cold halls.

I held the cup in my hands. It was warm, and it smelled of citrus and cinnamon. "What is it," I asked?

"It's a tea with a blend of apple, oranges, and spices. Try it!"

Hesitantly, I brought the steaming mug closer. I closed my eyes and parted my lips, taking a sip of the drink. It immediately burned my tongue, but I soldiered through the pain and took a gulp. I winced slightly and sloshed the tea around in my mouth, trying to gauge how much I liked it. Spoiler alert: Not very much. "I don't know about this, Jennifer. I don't think I like it very much."

The Hand's enthusiasm slowly dissolved as I pushed the mug back into her hands. "Why not?"

I shook my head and flashed her a briar-knit hand. "This is tea, dear. Tea's made from soaking dried leaves in hot water. I'm part plant. This would be like you drinking something after pieces of flesh had been soaking in it. It just feels... wrong."

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

Jennifer stood up and silently walked away clutching the mug of hot tea in both of her hands. It soon became a bit of a game. Word had spread that the Great and Indestructible Madison Freebird, Scourge of the Casks had suddenly lost her one true reason to drink every night. Apparently, word had also spread that she had freed up a spot on her proverbial character sheet under the "addictions" column, and they all wanted credit for being the one to replace it.

One by one, the Crimson Hands produced several cups filled with various liquids in different levels of dubiousness.

A drakeling from far away Dheathain, one of the Shadow, I believe, dropped a cup of what looked to be simmering tar in front of me. "Drink this, Freebird. It is a bitter brew, the recipe is a tradition handed down throughout my clan's generations. The hatchlings learn of its creation once they are of age to... survive its consumption."

I raised an eyebrow. "Survive?" The drakeling nodded, a sly grin on his face. I politely smiled at him and pushed the tin cup back into his hands. I tempted fate enough last night as it is.

Next up was a muscular man with a bald head, a scar over his left eye, and three days worth of stubble on his face. "Here, try this. It's a drink comprised of sassafras, cinnamon, molasses, vanilla, wintergreen, and a bunch of other things I can't remember right now. It's carbonated, so it's nice and fizzy too. Kind of tickles your throat on the way down."

The Blade placed a glass of the dark, frothy liquid in my hands. It certainly looked like a mug of beer, that's for sure. The scent of vanilla filled my nostrils as I took a sip. I sat there, swishing the beverage around in my mouth for a bit before swallowing. "A bit bitter; perhaps too much molasses. Not bad, though." A small smirk appeared on the man's face as I handed his drink back to him.

The procession continued for a lot longer than it should have. Members of all of the factions within the Crimson Hand had brought me drinks; various family recipes, concoctions of their own creation, something they happened to pick up at the market once while on missions. Some asshole even tried to slip me some non-alcoholic beer. How incredibly rude, right? This continued for... gosh, I don't know how long. But when the giant oaken doors leading to the kitchen burst open, all activity stopped and all eyes were on the man that emerged.

To say Benicio is a commanding presence is a massive understatement. A chef personally picked by Lichensith in order to head his kitchen, the Radasanth native was as big and pale as one of his iceboxes. He was incredibly strong, incredibly muscular, and had one magnificent fucking mustache adorned on his chiseled face. He was wearing one of his customary snow-white kitchen uniforms, complete with apron and big poofy chef's hat. Not a single stain of food could be found on his outfit, which was more impressive than you'd think it would be. His heavy steps echoed throughout the cavernous dining hall as he strode with purpose up to the long table I had been seated at.

The master chef set down a small, plainly decorated ceramic mug in front of me. "Drink," he commanded, as the light brown liquid taunted me with an intoxicating aroma.

After all that had been presented to me this morning, I definitely had my reservations. But who was I, even as Master of the Mind, to question the orders of the chef? I wrapped my fingers around the mug and brought it up to my lips. I took a quick sip, and paused briefly while I considered its taste. Within seconds, I had gone back for more. Another sip. And another. And then, a massive gulp. I set the mug down, my eyes lit with warmth and happiness, my mouth dancing with the wonderful sensation of new tastes and flavors brought on by the drink. Oh my gods, I think I have found my new favorite thing! "What sorcery is this?!" I exclaimed. Benicio simply smiled.

[BlackAndBlueEyes]

His voice was as warm as the feeling that coursed through my veins. "No, Ms. Freebird. Not sorcery. More like alchemy, if you'd prefer." I greedily took another sip of the foamy beverage, allowing its extravagant taste and incredible aroma fill me up and touch me down to my very soul.

I set down the now empty ceramic mug and looked upon my new savior with wide, awe-filled eyes. "I need more of this. I need it now. Show me your secrets, oh Master of the Kitchen."

Benicio turned and walked back towards his lair while I followed close behind. The master chef's Kitchen of the Crimson Hand was a well-ordered, well-structured environment. It was kept pristine at all times, and everyone who served under him were constantly busy with their own tasks. Some where chopping vegetables and meats, others tended the stoves, and some unlucky bastards were tasked with taking out the garbage. The hulking chef led me towards a stove on the far end of the setup, where he had placed a simple stack of ingredients, a clean whisk, a few measuring cups, and a small sauce pot.

"Come, let me open your eyes to secrets hidden from you in your dark laboratory."

With the precision and speed of a true master, Benicio lit the stove and set the stainless steel pot on it to heat. He slid over to his ingredients, and poured in a little bit of milk, some cocoa powder, a bit of butter, a pinch of salt, and several spoonfuls of sugar. He nimbly picked up the whisk, and wordlessly continued with his work. Without much noise of metal scraping on metal, he swirled around the mixture while I watched, taking in every little detail.

"This doesn't look like much work at all," I remarked.

"Like all great works--food, art, weaponry--it is simple in its construction. Simple, and effective in its purpose."

Benicio added the rest of the cup of milk into the pot, and continued whisking it until all of the ingredients were properly dissolved. He turned down the heat just a little bit, and then allowed the concoction to simmer until it was just the right temperature. I could see his thin lips move silently beneath the cover of that magnificent mustache of his, counting out the seconds until his work was complete.

Satisfied with himself, he removed the pot from the stove and carefully poured the contents into a fresh ceramic mug without spilling a single drop onto the counter. He reached deep into a nearby pantry, producing a small handful of small puffy, round, cloud-like little things. The chef carefully dropped them in, and I immediately grabbed for the beverage. He stopped my hand and chided me softly. "The process is not yet complete, Ms. Freebird." I bit my lower lip as I watched the little cloudy bits melt just slightly. They oozed a sort of whiteish froth onto the top of the brown , steaming beverage. I held my breath in anticipation.

Benicio held me back for several more seconds, until some invisible timer went off inside my head. I was upon the delicious drink like a deprived animal, eagerly taking it down in gulps, paying no attention to the heat scalding the inside of my mouth. "What is this amazing stuff," I managed to say between drinks.

"It is called hot chocolate," the chef said. Before I could thank him for the arcane secrets he had imparted to me this afternoon, he had disappeared once more to continue with his duties.

[Silence Sei]

Story

All your basic elements were here, you told a story with a pretty unique plot, and peppered in enough setting when it suited the thread. surprisingly enough I felt your weakness in this department was your pacing. You spent so long establishing on that first night Maddy's immunity to alcoholic effects only to sum up a solution in two posts or so. Furthermore, I was quite surprised with how abruptly the thread seemed to end.

23



Character

The was a great dynamic between yourself and all the NPCs you decided to surround yourself with. I even felt you did Philomel justice when you placed her cameo. Maddy's rough around the edges persona shined through during this endeavor and showcased why many consider you one of the best writers on site when it comes to character.

24



Prose

There were a few minor infractions that I caught mechanics wise, including a non capital at the beginning of a sentence, but nothing that would warrant a bad score. There were a few instances that required a re-read or two, mostly during the alcohol descriptors, but once again, nothing too glaring. Your use of metaphors and similies were well done, especially the scenario for the effects of Headbutt.

17



Wildcard

An overall enjoyable thread. I'm a huge fan of Slice of Life threads, so you probably got a higher score from me than you would from most judges. Just saying.

8




Final Score


72

[Silence Sei]

BlackAndBlueEyes Receives 2000 Exp, and 250 GP

[Lye]

EXP & GP Added!