A bitter victory

Tir didn’t know it, but he wasn’t drunk. The reason for that was to be found in his genetic makeup, and the fact that both of his parents had been carriers of a manufactured gene which rendered Tir impervious to the effects of ****.

Unbeknownst to Tir and everyone else, the cause of his rare condition was to be found way back in time, before humanity was **** to abandon the earth and flee into space, when a strange cult that mixed fire and brimstone, literal-minded evangelicalism with science-friendly, liberal mainline Protestantism decided that they could use science to make mankind what it always should have been by rooting out the nastier parts of human nature and replacing them with qualities that they thought had existed in the Garden of Eden. The first attempt had concerned the dangers of ****, and it had been a terrific success which resulted in previous alcoholics no longer feeling either the need for **** or its effects.

The cult had then been the subject of a government crackdown just before they got the opportunity to take things further by programming their offspring to be more angel-like, and their ideas had slipped into obscurity even before humanity abandoned their doomed homeworld.

“You know you can just quit if it gets too much for you,” Carmine tried her best to goad Tir a bit, but her speech was becoming pretty slurred and she was now using her right arm to prop herself up in her seat.

“Next!” Tir cried out as he slammed the empty glass back down on the table. Even if **** would never actually affect him in any shape or form, he was still under the impression that it did. That delusion was something that he’d been nursing ever since he first tasted moonshine back home with his childhood friends, where he had begun to act like them in order to fit in, quickly learning to act drunk so convincingly that he fooled even himself.

Another round of drinks followed, after which Tir had to fight hard to keep back the sudden sensation of nausea that threatened to overcome him. Carmine though looked to be in a similar state, leaning back a little and closing her eyes before opening them again and assuming a look which suggested that she was surprised to find herself sitting there.

“You’re still here?” Carmine sounded very sluggish as she tried to mock Tir a little, and the effect that her teasing had on him was to provoke into wanting to win even more.

“Next…” Tir growled out even as the bartender filled up another line of glasses, a vast collection of which were already placed on the table between the two competitors.

The unpleasant sensation of violent intoxication having been dissolved by Carmine’s words, Tir picked up the next glass and downed its contents in one go, not liking the flavour of it at all as it flowed through his mouth and down his throat.

He then found himself trying to figure Carmine out, wondering why a rich girl like her would spend her time in places like this, apparently attempting to drink herself to **** and running the risk of ending up as the property of a complete stranger without standing anything tangible to gain if she were to win.

Carmine’s hand shook a little as she brought it up to her full, lush lips, but she nevertheless managed to swallow its contents and bring it back down to the table.

Tir quickly drank up the next drink, and then observed how Carmine struggled to get the glass up far enough to drink from it before suddenly letting go, allowing to fall down onto the table before driving her head forwards and burying her face in her hands as a cacophony of exited voices erupted all around the table.

Glancing at Carmine, Tir realized that he had won, and that he felt almost ashamed of it.