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"ANOTHER ROUND!"
Varka slams his mug down on the counter as a cheer goes up through the gathered knights and citizens, all halfway to inebriated already despite the early hour. The celebration for the returning expedition from Nod-Krai had already been going on for a few nights, but most of the members had decided to continue it — with full endorsement from Grandmaster Varka, of course, who would never pass up a chance to get drunk.
Around the table, Kaeya, Rosaria, Dahlia, and Venti all sit with their own drinks. Venti has been providing most of the evening's entertainment (aside from Varka giving everyone more alcohol), and despite the fact that he's been matching the Grandmaster glass for glass, his music has yet to drop in quality.
"Four drinks in, and you haven't missed a single note," Kaeya points out approvingly. "Quite impressive of you, Venti."
Venti scoffs, affronted. "Excuse you, I would never."
"As if four drinks is even anything to him," Rosaria adds. "I swear I've never actually seen him blackout drunk. Have either of us ever won a drinking contest against him?"
Kaeya thinks for a moment, then tips his head, conceding. "I have very little memory of most of those contests, which is probably all the answer we need."
"I can confirm, you lost horribly," Dahlia says with a nod. "So did Rosaria, but at least she didn't have to be carried downstairs by the bartender. I've never been stupid enough to think I could beat Venti."
Varka slams down his new drink, eyeing Venti with an ominous grin. "Never lost a drinking contest, eh?"
Venti grins back, stowing away his lyre as he takes a sip of his own drink. "Nope."
"Then you won't mind if I challenge you to one."
Dahlia sets his drink down far more carefully, looking between the two with a growing expression of apprehension. "Grandmaster, I really don't think that's a good idea. Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" Varka laughs. "What, afraid Venti's going to lose?"
"That is not what I'm worried about," Dahlia mutters, but it goes unnoticed as Varka stands and heads over to the bar, unaware of the significant look that Kaeya, Rosaria, and Dahlia all share behind him.
Varka steps up to the bar, leaning against the counter as he knocks on the wood to get Diluc's attention. "We're having a drinking contest! Mind getting me another few glasses? Whatever's the strongest stuff you've got."
Diluc raises an eyebrow, glancing back at the table as he begins pulling bottles from the shelf. "You and who? Kaeya? Rosaria?"
"Venti, actually!"
Diluc freezes. "You and Venti?"
"What's the issue?" Varka shrugs. "He agreed to it and I want to see how far he makes it."
"Are you sure?"
"Of course I'm sure!" Varka repeats, slightly exasperated this time. "Come on, I'm not gonna let Venti drink the place dry and poison himself. It'll be fine."
Diluc gives him a look, but slowly resumes mixing the drinks, giving them to Varka on a tray to carry back to the table. Venti has finished the glass he already had by now, meaning he's ready and waiting to begin the contest.
"Isn't this a bit uneven?" Rosaria asks. "You've both already been drinking, and Varka, I can tell you're starting to get tipsy."
Varka waves off the concern, setting the tray down and handing Venti a glass. "We've had the same amount, haven't we? Same kinds of drinks, too. You could say we've already started the contest, then, since he's been matching me cup for cup since the night began!"
He knocks back the first glass and Venti does the same, setting it off to the side to clear space for the next one. Their little contest is starting to garner some attention from the bar's other patrons by now. The few knights who were on the expedition in Nod-Krai seem rather concerned that such a small bard is challenging such a large man, as is evidenced by the mumbles and whispers from their tables. Anyone who has seen Venti drink, however, is watching with considering eyes, wondering if he really could out-drink their Grandmaster. It's unlikely, of course, but perhaps if he was lucky.
Two drinks, then three. Varka seems to be taking it in stride, perhaps a bit more boisterous than he was earlier, but overall doing well. To the other patrons' surprise, Venti doesn't seem to be suffering many ill effects either. If anything, he seems a little less drunk than Varka. He's swaying a tiny bit, but his face isn't even flushed, nor is he any less alert than he was when the contest started.
The first round is finished off quickly, and by this point, the whole of Angel's Share is watching the contest progress. Rosaria and Kaeya have gotten new drinks as well, although Dahlia had declined a refill.
"How many is that now?" José asks, looking at the empty glasses. "I can't tell which of those are their glasses and which are from the rest of the table."
"About eight, counting the four they both had before the contest started," Rosaria replies. "All Death After Noons, as far as I know."
José whistles, clearly impressed.
"You might want to throw a glass of water in there at some point between the rounds," Dahlia notes, nodding to the empty glasses. "Or at least some bar snacks."
Varka scoffs. "No way! Who needs a glass of water when I've got a perfectly good drink right here?"
"Precisely!" Venti cheers. "Another round, Master Diluc, and the loser's buying!"
Diluc frowns, but shrugs in aquiescence. "As long as someone's paying."
He gives Varka a significant look as he prepares the next round, setting the glasses out on a tray for Varka to come over and retrieve. Once he does, Diluc points to the glasses, tapping the side of one with a single finger.
"I'm not mixing any more Death After Noons when you're all eight drinks in. Your contest will last longer with weaker drinks, anyway."
Varka takes the tray with a frown. "Fine, fine. Your bar, your rules."
Diluc nods approvingly.
"C'mon, my glass is empty!" Venti complains. "Gimme, gimme!"
Varka laughs, handing over another shining glass with some pink and blue concoction in it. Looks a bit like one of the Traveller's mixes, if one looks closely. "Impatient, are we?"
"Well, you're taking forever," Venti responds with a pout.
"Well, it's not gonna be much of a contest if I drop the tray of drinks, now is it?"
The admission doesn't go unnoticed by the onlookers, many of whom begin muttering that although the Grandmaster is apparently starting to worry about losing his grip on things, Venti doesn't seem to be having any such troubles. In fact, as a few people point out, Venti's never been so drunk that he couldn't keep ahold of his lyre or pluck the correct strings, no matter how many drinks in he was.
Varka downs three more glasses in the time it takes for Venti to down four, drawing more than a few considering looks. Dahlia in particular is starting to look… well, concerned is the only word for it.
"You know, you don't have to keep going," he points out, watching Varka chug another glass with a slight grimace. "You could always just stop here and call it a tie. I'm sure you've made it farther than any of us would have."
Varka makes a face. "What, are you scared Venti's gonna lose?"
"…You already said that earlier."
"Oh. Did I?" Varka ponders this for a moment. "Huh."
"At least take a bathroom break or something," Dahlia insists, clearly exasperated. "You've had, like twelve drinks. That's a lot."
"And I'll have twelve more!" Varka's words are said carefully, as though he's making absolutely certain not to slur them, although just as loudly as they were before. Dahlia gives him an absolutey incredulous look before falling back in his seat and covering his face with his hands, having obviously decided that this is not a problem he can fix.
He manages to retrieve the next round, albeit not without another look from Diluc, bringing the tray back to the table where a very eager Venti is waiting. "So, you starting to feel it yet?"
Venti laughs. "Sure! But I could go for a few more, you know — this is nothing!"
"…Do you think he's just really good at pretending not to be drunk?" Mumbles one of the returning knights from Nod-Krai to her friend. "Maybe he's actually soused and he's just really good at acting normal. I mean, look at Varka, even he's looking pretty tipsy now, and that bard is maybe a third of his size."
Venti's gaze flicks in their direction for just a moment, and he throws back another drink before slamming it down on the table just like Varka. The glass wobbles for a moment from the seemingly uncoordinated gesture, although Kaeya is quick to stabilise it before it tips.
"Well, damn, I never thought I'd see someone match Venti for so long," another patron adds approvingly. "But this is the Grandmaster, so I can't really say I'm surprised."
"Matching Venti?" The man next to him replies, raising an eyebrow. "I'd say it's matching Varka. The man's a beast, I've never seen someone go through that much wine in a single night."
"And you've never seen Venti on a bender."
Varka rises from his seat, ready to collect the next round, only to stumble heavily and fall back into his chair with a loud thud. The table rattles with the movement as well, one of its legs having become a casualty of the Grandmaster tripping over his own feet in his uncoordination.
"How 'bout I go get the next round?" Venti offers, looking slightly amused by Varka's plight.
"How about you both call it quits here?" Rosaria counters, eyeing Varka with a look of concern.
Kaeya nods. "And maybe get him some water instead?"
It's Varka who denies this, slamming a fist down on the table and startling all four of them. "Nnnno. We have… to finish the contest. We hafta finish it. I'm. Gonna winn."
The onlookers share a few concerned looks, but Venti shrugs with surprising grace, standing up from his own seat and heading over to the bar. He's swaying a bit, but once he has the tray in hand with all of the drinks on it, he carries it back to the table with no trouble at all. Compared to Varka, who's starting to look more than a little queasy, the difference is stark to say the least.
Varka's pace has slowed considerably by now, and next to Venti who's still knocking back drinks with no trouble at all, it's starting to become concerning. His sole focus seems to be keeping himself and his glass upright, something he's doing a bit of a poor job with if the way he's tilting is any indication. Once Venti runs out of drinks from the half he'd taken from the tray, he reaches for one of Varka's, only for the man to growl at him and down the drink immediately. His face twists into one of regret for a split second after that before he schools it, stifling a burp as he reaches for the next glass.
"By Barbatos, he's still fucking going," a patron murmurs, looking mildly horrified. "Should we… I don't know, stop them?"
"Them? What them? Venti's doing just fine," another adds with a snort.
Varka is about halfway through his last glass of the round when Venti gets up to retrieve more. Upon reaching the counter, though, he's met with Diluc shaking his head firmly instead of another tray of alcohol.
"I'm not serving you any more," he states, leaving no room for argument. "That's enough for tonight."
"Aw, please, Master Diluc?" Venti pouts. "We're not finished our contest yet!"
Behind him, Varka has grown upsettingly pale, tilting dangerously in his chair before finally tipping the whole thing over and spilling onto the floor with a sickened groan. Diluc watches this with a look of deep concern before his gaze returns to Venti.
"Varka's on the ground," Diluc points out. "He needs to go to the Church's infirmary, and if I give you any more drinks, he'd just steal them if you didn't give him one of your own volition. I should've cut you off a round ago — my mistake for assuming Varka would be aware of his own limits."
The last bit is said with more than a bit of irritation, but Venti doesn't seem to notice that, focussing instead on the first thing Diluc had told him. "Why would he need to go to the Church?"
"…Because he has alcohol poisoning?"
"Poisoning?" Venti straightens, any semblance of drunkenness immediately melting away the second he hears those words. "What do you mean, poisoning? That can happen?!"
"Alcohol is a poison, Venti, what do you think being drunk is?" Diluc points out. "If someone drinks too much, they could die."
Venti gasps in horror. Before Diluc or anyone else can continue speaking, he's at Varka's side instantly, crouched down next to his limp body and poking at his face to try and get a look at his pupils. At some point during Venti's conversation with Diluc, he must have thrown up, for there's a sizable puddle beside him that Venti has carefully skirted around. Rosaria and Kaeya are on either side of him as well, already hauling him into the recovery position, but Venti doesn't seem to have noticed in his haste to check on the man.
Apparently, Venti decides to take Diluc's suggestion personally, hauling Varka up off of the floor with startling ease. Varka's eyes slide halfway open at the jostling, hazy and unfocused after all of the alcohol he'd just consumed.
"…Diiiid I win?" Varka mumbles.
Venti doesn't respond, having just noticed the fact that Varka's legs are still on the floor. Despite apparently being strong enough to pick him up with little trouble, that doesn't change the fact that Venti is still less than half his size, and therefore not quite tall enough to actually get him off the ground.
He looks to Rosaria and Kaeya, both of whom are watching with deep concern. "…Would you two mind giving me a hand?"
"Yep," Rosaria says quickly, moving to take one of Varka's legs as Kaeya grabs the other.
Dahlia hauls himself out of his seat as well, groaning in irritation as he surveys Varka's condition. "I told him to drink water or call it quits, but nooo. He just had to poison himself."
The quartet heads out the door, Dahlia moving ahead of the other three to warn of the incoming patient. The moment Rosaria pulls the door shut behind them, the entire tavern bursts into exclamations of shock, disbelief, and just about every emotion under the sun as they all take in the absolute disaster they had just witnessed.
"The only way that tiny little guy could have possibly beat Grandmaster Varka in a drinking contest," a particularly loud bard proclaims, "is if he was Barbatos himself."
oOoOo
Varka wakes up with a headache.
This, in general, isn't really that strange. The fact that the headache feels like he just got his skull cracked open by a lawachurl, as well as the fact that he's in the Church's infirmary with the sun shining directly into his eyes… now, that's a good bit stranger.
He opens his eyes slowly, squinting against the blinding light from the window (the window that's supposed to face west, what fucking time is it anyway for the sun to be right there). As he attempts to get his bearings, a dark figure steps into the path of the sunlight, details slowly filling in to reveal Deacon Dahlia standing over him with crossed arms and a severe expression.
"You know he can't get drunk, right?"
"Buh?" Varka says, very coherently, as he struggles to remember what Dahlia could possibly be talking about. "…Who?"
"Oh, God," Dahlia groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. "How much do you remember?"
That's a good question, actually. How much does he remember? "Am I… concussed?"
"You might as well be, but no. Try again."
Hm. Not concussed, so he probably wasn't in a barfight. Besides, he would have won, and he doesn't see anyone else in the infirmary being treated for barfight-related wounds. What else could he have been doing in the bar?
"Am I hungover?" Varka asks hazily. "There was a… I think I was having a drinking contest?"
"Yes, you were," Dahlia responds. "With the God of Wine."
"Ah," Varka says. "…Did I win?'
Dahlia throws his hands up in the air, giving him an incredulous look. "No, you didn't win! Venti can't get drunk! All you managed to do was make a fool of yourself and get alcohol poisoning, you dumb fuck!"
Hm. Well, Varka didn't know that.
Would he have still challenged Venti if he had known that? Most likely, yes. Would he have committed quite so hard to beating him, in that case? Probably not. But how was he to know that Venti's high tolerance was really just an inability to get inebriated at all?
"You are going to stay right here and not move while I go get Barbara," Dahlia informs him, tone making it clear that this is neither a suggestion or a discussion. "As well as a few other people who would like to have a word with you."
Varka grimaces. "…Can it not wait until I'm at least out of bed?"
"No. It can't."
Dahlia sweeps out of the room, shutting the door behind himself and leaving Varka all by his lonesome. He briefly considers attempting to escape via the window, but just a single glance leaves him groaning and blinking away spots, the light far too bright for his weakened senses. This is nowhere near enough to dissuade him, though, for there's still a perfectly usable door that he can slip out of if the window is not an option.
He manages to sit himself up and get one leg out of the bed before he tips sideways, head pounding at the abrupt change of angle. Varka's everything hurts, and now he's actually feeling a little affronted that Venti won't be feeling any aftereffects of their contest at all while Varka can't even stand up.
"Now, I know Dahlia told you to stay put," Jean's voice interrupts his plight, cutting through the pounding in his ears like a knife. "And I know you're not thinking of ignoring him again, since that's apparently what got you into this situation to begin with."
Standing in the doorway (when had that opened?) is Dahlia, with Jean and Barbara on either side of him, and each of them is giving Varka a different kind of displeased look. This is a very rude thing of them to do to a man who is incapacitated. Never mind, of course, the fact that the incapacitation is technically his own fault.
"How was I supposed to know?' Varka grumbles, connecting at the last second that he probably shouldn't say anything else in Barbara's presence.
"This has nothing to do with Venti and his limits, and everything to do with yours," Jean insists. "I can trust Venti to know his own limits, but apparently not you. What were you thinking?"
'What limits, he doesn't have any," Varka replies.
Barbara tuts, sounding deeply disappointed. "And clearly, you do. Sit still and let me make sure you're not going to die of stupidity."
She checks him over quickly, deeming him out of the danger zone by this point (four o'clock in the afternoon, apparently) before darting out the room and muttering something to herself about 'hunting Venti down for a checkup of his own sooner or later'. Varka has no room in him to feel pity for the bard who can't even get hungover, even if he is about to be at the wrong end of Barbara's wrath.
"What," Jean says the moment her sister is out of earshot, "were you thinking?"
Varka grimaces. "That I was about to beat God in a drinking contest? How was I supposed to know he couldn't even get drunk?"
She lets out a heavy sigh, exchanging an exasperated look with Dahlia. The door opens yet again a moment later, this time revealing a rather distinctive head of red hair surrounding a deeply unimpressed face. Diluc holds up a slip of paper, shaking it in Varka's direction.
"Your bill from last night," he informs Varka, "since you both agreed the loser would be paying."
Varka squints at it, mentally tallying up the numbers before deciding that his head still hurts too much to be doing math. He doesn't even want to think about the stack of papers Jean has been hiding behind her back this whole time.
"I'm just disappointed in you, Grandmaster Varka," Dahlia sighs, shaking his head. "I really thought you'd have more sense than this."
"Oh, come on, it was just a simple drinking contest!"
The door begins to open again, and Varka opens his mouth to warn them all, but no one gives him even the slightest chance to speak as they all respond in unison.
"With the God of Wine!"
Varka grimaces even more as his eyes fall upon Kaeya in the doorway, holding a takeaway bag from Good Hunter. He's staring straight ahead with a blank expression, and stays that way for a solid fifteen seconds before he slowly steps backwards into the hallway and shuts the door.
"…Shit," Diluc mutters, looking worried. "I should check on him, shouldn't I?"
"Give him a minute," Jean responds. "He probably needs it. And as for you, I hope you don't think I'm going to let you rot away in boredom while Barbara keeps you for observation."
Her tone takes on a falsely cheery (and vaguely threatening) quality as she drops an utterly massive stack of paperwork on the bedside table with a deafening thud before ever so gently depositing a single pen right beside it and stepping back.
"I… don't even think I can read right now," Varka confesses.
Jean's ominous smile only grows. "Oh, don't worry! You'll have plenty of time to finish allll of the paperwork you've been putting off. It's not like you're going anywhere any time soon!"
That's terrifying. Varka is once again incredibly grateful that Jean is on his side, even if she's not acting like it right now. She's on Mondstadt's side, at least.
"And don't worry about not finishing it all while you're in the infirmary," Diluc says flatly, "since you won't be wasting any time at Angel's Share for a good long while. You should have plenty of opportunity to get your paperwork done."
"Exactly what do you mean by that," Varka asks, starting to get concerned. "Why would I not be at Angel's Share?"
"Because you're banned. Until you fully recover, at least. Don't bother trying to go to Cat's Tail or any other bars, either — I've already made it quite clear that none of them are to let you in, much less serve you a drink. Consider it a kindness out of concern for your health."
"What?!" Varka exclaims. "You can't ban me from every bar in Mondstadt! You don't even own Cat's Tail!"
"I basically own the alcohol industry," Diluc points out, raising a single eyebrow. "If I say you're banned, you're banned."
"And for that matter, Margaret has already agreed to it," Jean adds. "As soon as we informed her that it was due to you getting alcohol poisoning, she had absolutely no complaints. In fact, she's both impressed and a little scared by whoever managed to outdrink you."
Well, fuck. Varka is about to have a miserable few weeks, all because he thought it was a good idea to challenge a literal deity to a drinking contest.
A quiet tapping on the window catches their attention, and Dahlia quickly opens it, letting Venti inside. He looks so incredibly worried, darting to Varka's side with an apologetic expression.
"I didn't know alcohol could kill people!" Venti exclaims. "Every time I have a drinking contest, they always tap out before they start throwing up! Even when I was drinking with Mavuika, we ran out of alcohol and she never got poisoned at all!"
"Mavuika?" Diluc cuts in. "Mavuika, the Archon? The Pyro Archon?"
"Well… yeah, but she started out as a human?"
"And she's now an Archon. She is not a good benchmark for how much mortals can drink, Venti."
Dahlia nods. "If she's a goddess, I doubt she has to worry about her liver like Varka does."
"Is that what a liver is for?" Venti asks. "I've never really been sure, so I never bothered to make one, and I feel like that's a weird thing to ask. So what does it do, anyways?"
"What do you mean, 'you never bothered to make one'?" Diluc asks, only to be interrupted by Jean's explanation.
"It's for filtering toxins, such as alcohol, and alcohol poisoning can really mess it up." She gives Varka a significant look. "Which is why we are supposed to be careful and use moderation when we drink."
"Huh. I don't think I need to put one of those in," Venti muses to himself.
Diluc opens and closes his mouth a few times before shaking his head, evidently deciding that this is not a conversation he wants to have right now. "Anyways, Venti, I have some good news for you. Varka is going to be paying your tab at the bar for the foreseeable future."
"I'm what?" Varka asks, Venti gasping excitedly over him.
"He is? But why?"
"Punishment for being stupid enough to nearly get himself killed in my bar," Diluc states. "And besides, since he won't be buying himself any drinks any time soon, he'll have plenty of money for it."
Varka lets out a long, long groan as he pulls the infirmary bed's pillow over his face. He is never challenging a god to a drinking contest ever again.