"Ya still doin' alright, lad?" Zhaine asked with a wry grin on his face. He was clearly soon about to reach his limit, especially seeing that smug grin of his 'opponent' throughout this whole thing.
Foster was still sitting there with a straight back, and a light smile on his face. His speech barely changed from what it was when he was completely sober – one could even think that Foster just had a few beers, and that was it. But they already went through about nearly half the bottle. There were only four shots left in there, two for each.
"I'm doing fine, thanks for asking. How about you? Don't you think it's about time for you to give up now?" Foster said with a soft smile, although Zhaine was barely able to see it anymore, the world just spinning around him continuously, "Urgh... I can keep... goin'..." Nearly missing, Zhaine tried to pour another round of shots, although he wasn't even able to properly grab the bottle. So instead, Lynol started pouring the drinks at this point.
Both Foster and Zhaine grabbed their shot glasses, and held them to their lips. With their eyes locked, or at least that's what they were trying to do, they downed the shots. Zhaine immediately held his hand in front of his mouth, nearly throwing up. But he was able to hold it back just barely, and looked at Foster, whose face was still blank. He was calm, eerily so, even after drinking this much. That was the case at least on the outside.
'Oh, just fucking give up already, you old fuck! I'm about to die over here!' He screamed inwardly, although he was trying his best not to let it show on his face. Back when he was part of the syndicate, he had to go through similar situations like this. Things like drugs and alcohol were something obviously consumed incredibly often in the criminal underworld, and since Foster didn't want to overdose on drugs, trying to make a deal with someone over alcohol was far, far easier.
Actually, this situation was eerily similar to another one that he had to go through quite a while ago. There was this weapon dealer that was nearly going to back out of a deal that they had already agreed on, so Foster had to find a decent way to convince him without starting some kind of international gang-war. And the way he did that was alcohol, since the guy he was facing was an incredibly heavy drinker.
Of course he agreed when Foster suggested that bet, since his pride told him that there was no way he was going to lose, it was actually surprisingly easy to beat him in the bet. Since it was based on passing out or giving up, Foster just had to make the person in front of him give up before the alcohol really hit him.
He was doing the same thing now. He kept a blank face, acting as if he was absolutely unaffected, while he logically was piss-drunk already. Foster was just a good actor, that was all. And since that was the case, he was able to convince his opponent, who would already be feeling the influence of the alcohol quite a bit thsmelves, that there was little chance for him to win, bringing them to give up more easily. That's exactly what Foster was currently aiming for.
"Do you want to go another round, or are you finally done?" Foster asked with a smile, trying to hold back the urge to throw up or even just gag right now, and Zhaine slowly looked back at the young man in front of him, "I'm good for 'nother round... you?"
"Same as you, Zhaine. Then shall we? Lynol, please." Foster said with a smile, his eyes closed shut for a moment. The reason for that was of course that the room was spinning around his head, and he didn't particularly want to get nauseous right now.
Lynol carefully poured two even shots out of the rest that was left in the bottle, and Foster quickly picked it up. Zhaine was obviously hesitating right now, though.
"What's the issue? Are you feeling sick already?" Foster asked with a light chuckle, something that made Zhaine grind his teeth together angrily. He grabbed the glass and immediately drank its content. He slammed the glass onto the table, nearly shattering it in the process, while Foster carefully drank his own shot as well. And the two of them were just looking at each other for a few seconds.
Because that was all the time it took for Zhaine to lose his balance and fall over on the ground backward, "I-I... I give... You win, ya psycho!" Zhaine said in a slurring voice that made it nearly impossible for the group of three to understand him at the moment, and Foster started to grin broadly as he slowly pushed himself off the table, "Perfect. We'll come back to discuss everything in a little bit, then... oh, and we'll also need some insurance so that we really..." Foster said, but when he stood up, he could already feel the vomit in his throat. He quickly swallowed it, and continued, "So that we really know you'll keep your word. Don't want you to forget."
Slowly, Foster turned around, although it seemed like Zhaine was already sleeping anyway. He looked at Octer with a wry grin, "What're you doing, fucking help me walk already..."
Immediately, Octer came rushing toward him, grabbing Foster's arm as he was already leaning to the side a little bit. It was now clear to Octer and Lynol as well that he was about to reach his limit. They quickly rushed out of the building, and Foster pointed toward the alley that was directly adjacent to the building. There, he quickly fell to his knees and immediately threw up the contents of his stomach.
For one, since it was just instinct, and two, because he had to get as much of the Dwarven Spirit out of his body as possible before it had been processed properly. It took a while for Foster to finally stop throwing up, though, and surprisingly, Lynol had come to hold his hair since it was otherwise going to just lay in the vomit.
"You're a good friend, dude, love you..." Foster said, quickly followed by another violent ray of vomit coming out of his mouth.
Meanwhile, Lynol slowly turned around toward Octer, "Foster really does owe me one for this."
Octer grinned a bit, "Don't worry man, I don't know what you used to do up north, but this... this kinda is some genuine bonding down here."
"Yeah, but Foster isn't from 'here'."
"...Fair point, maybe he's just a freak, then." Octer agreed, although Lynol quickly shrugged, "Oh, we already know that part. But I have to admit... His quite weird tactics did lead us to getting the services of a rather skilled, and cheap, craftsman."