The Drinking Contest

The Night Parade was powered by a few things: the debatable intentions of the church, the city’s burgeoning appetite for debauchery, and also, obviously, a steady flow of ****. With the nearby Wiseman Winery out of commission thanks to recent legal troubles, a call had been put out for local brewers to give generously. “Give” had turned in to “sell” for many eager entrepreneurs, but there was still one place where you and your saintesses could have your fill without paying a single gold piece, if you were so inclined. There was just one catch…

“Outdrink the Fool’s Foam Fool and your foam is free! Fall on your face or barf it up and the tab’s on you!”

The pitch reminded you a bit of Amulette's alliteration. At any rate, you weren't so interested in the promise of free **** as you were the possibility of making a scene. An immense crowd had gathered, waiting for the start of the contest with a very large playing field. At the center of the table was a giant of a man dressed in jester revelry, colored green and yellow in a sickly motley that you have wondered whether was designed to hide vomit on his clothes. His hair was black, wiry, and unfashionably rolled at the sides, perhaps to make him appear funnier. His hefty gut foretold his prior experience drinking.

Admission was free and seats were available– even one right next to the Fool's Foam Fool, for one bold enough. The only question was who within your party was hearty enough to handle this amount of liquor? The only way to draw Mympho's attention here would be to come in first place. It made more sense to pick the one of you best suited, as any without the mettle would end up paying for his or her drinks… and from the signboard messaging, those drinks appeared to be both poor in quality and rich in cost.

You looked between the assembled saintesses to see if any of them looked especially enthusiastic about getting shite-faced in front of a large crowd.{if Helmid = True}

”I'm no stranger to wine, but this is a tad different. I don't suspect I'd do anything as churlish as vomit, but… I do tend to get a bit tipsy when I drink. Oh dear. Imagine the fool I might make of myself!” Helmid giggled, clutching both hands to her cheeks. “On second thought, perhaps I should undertake the contest after all? Not to worry! Even if I should fail, I can easily pay the tab.”

Her cheeks were plenty flushed without the first drop of ****. With how eager she seemed to be to be made a fool of herself, you thought it might be in everyone's best interest if she sat this one out.{endif}{if Amulette = True}

”That Fool's Foam truly seems fit firstly for the foolish. Wastefully watered and woefully wrongly wrought,” Amulette remarked, making a mocking, fake retching expression, before returning to her toothy grin. It was unlikely even an **** as strong smelling as this one could affect her, after all her experience with potions. “Tis a simple cinch if you should seek the support of my salubrious brew!”

Amulette produced a vial of truly repulsive black liquid and swirled it between two fingers, causing it to bubble. You thought you really might vomit if you tried to drink something like this before the contest, but she was a master of potioncraft. If she wasn't just horsing around, there was a good chance you could rely on her concoction.{endif}

{if Belit = True}You felt a pair of eyes boring into the back of your head as you surveyed the contest table. When you turned, you saw Belit staring at you with a grin on her freckled face. She was clearly waiting for you to ask what she was so happy about. When you didn't give her the pleasure, she pouted and punched you in one arm. “This one is all me! The rest of you can sit it out, alright? I know I'm not but half as big as that Fool guy, but trust me, I'll drink him under the table! No one in Missionaire can put em back like I can! Not to mention I've got some generous experience with Fool's Foam, heh heh!”

Was this just another of her boasts? She might just want free drinks and plan on running out on the tab after. It was easier to imagine her escaping payment than it was to imagine her winning a contest like this, given her petite stature. That said, she did seem extremely confident.{endif}{if Bangaal = True}

”Bangaal can set fire to all of it! She will create a sea of flames!” Bangaal proudly announced, appearing suddenly at your side.

You asked her: why would she would possibly suggest such a terrible course of action?

“Hm? We are looking for an ugly jester, are we not? That must be him, right? We should quickly capture him in a cage of flames! He will find it very hard to retreat with Bangaal's flames all around him!”

You shook your head, then asked if she could out-drink him.

“Drink? Ha ha! Surely you jest, Lavender Vin? This liquid is made for burning, not drinking! Simply smell it! It will start a wonderful flame, but taking it inside one's belly? No, Bangaal thinks not!”

It sounded like she was out on this one.{endif}{if Rosary = True}

"Hm... I'm ashamed to admit that my own tolerance for drinks is... rather low. The other sisters all used to tell me I could get drunk from just a sip of communion wine," Rosary admitted, pressing both hands to her bashfully reddened face. "I'm sorry that I can't be of more help to you in this contest. I mean, I-I will try, as we all must, b-but... But don't be too disappointed with me if I fail..."

It was probably better not to **** her, but then again, you did kind of want to see what the very modest sister was like when she was drunk. Probably not the right thing to be focusing on when you had a church-assigned mission in front of you, though.{endif}{if Liens = True}

You thought you heard Liens retching behind her helmet. "Yuck. I can smell it from here. Truly rancid stuff. It smells like the oil I use. To lubricate golems. Internal machinery. Though. I'd probably die if I had to smell this stuff all day. You humans. Not so good at smelling. So you-"

She paused here and actually seemed to gag. You wondered if she was going to end up filling that silver costume helmet with her own vomit.

"No. I can't be near the stage. I'm going to wait. Elsewhere. You take care of this one. I'm going to go. Hurl." She rushed off as quickly as she could manage, her overweight, bodysuit clad figure jiggling with each step. It was rare to see her lose her composure that way.{endif}

Now, with your best bets confirmed... who among you stood a chance of out-drinking the Fool's Foam Fool?