Lois Wins

Lois slammed the first glass down, and to her right Jorge picked up his first. Across from her, a few seconds later, Aimee set her glass down, and Mac picked his up. The reporter's fingers immediately closed around the stem of the next glass, her focus on the Black man to her left, waiting, anxious...

She wasn't a drinker. Not really. Not since college. Yet she had been a drinker during college. She'd been enamored by the idea of ****, the tastes and flavors. conducted mine-sweeping operations of half-finished drinks at parties, stood upside down with a beer bong, beaten the pants—literally—off of a sorority in a game of strip beer-pong.

Then she had graduated...started working as a journalist...and it wasn't that she didn't drink, but she didn't feel the need to drink any more. A glass of wine with dinner, or to relax her late at night when she needed a little private time with an erotic novel. Or when she went out like tonight, to blend in with the crowd.

Mac set his drink down and Lois bent the elbow again. The trick, as far as there was one, was not to savor it. Just tilt your head back and open up your gullet, pour the drink down your throat. The **** hit her hard even as she set the second glass down. The sudden light-headedness, the way the room started to slowly spin. Aimee grinned across the table from her.

The pumping noise of the music seemed to dive away as they raced their way through the drinks. By the third shot, Mac and Jorge looked glassy-eyed. After downing the fourth, Aimee missed the table and slid off the stool...disqualified. Lois grinned as she slurped down the fifth cocktail, her stomach roiling as the slimy grey goo filled her up...she wished she'd eaten something. Jorge reached for his glass and missed, upsetting the drinks...and he was out.

It was down to Lois and Mac.

The Black man wobbled slightly. He outweighed Lois, but she didn't know how much he'd had before starting the game. Lois picked up her sixth glass, slugged it down, and set it back...and then, just as Mac reached for his shot, he kicked the table leg...and knocked over his drinks.

"I win!" Lois said, louder than she intended. She grinned hugely, stupidly. "Now...now you...gotta answ-er...my question..."

Mac grinned...and then hands grabbed Lois from behind, slid underneath the reporter's armpits as they hauled her up. The drunken reporter's heels wobbled for balance on the floor and failed to find it; her legs wouldn't work right. Lois Lane's neck, which felt strangely loose and floppy, her head heavy, swerved around so that she could see Aimee and Jorge holding her up.

Poison Ivy stood up from her table as her henchmen half-carried Lois Lane away. To the people of the club, it looked like her friends helping a drunk woman out. The villain smiled to herself as she heard Lois Lane's mumbled question.

"Hey...where are we going?"