"I entered just to taste this wine!" an old man not far away crowed to another. "Mm, smells delicious!"
Abrial sniffed her cup. She gagged.
"It reeks," she grumbled. Her stomach churned.
"All right! All those competing, we will explain the simple rules again before we begin, for clarification purposes! Each of you, after we light this candle, will drain your cup. We will come around to check that you have done so. Do not pour any out! Then, after this timer has reached half an hour, you will be given, one by one, three axes to throw at various targets. The one whose aim is most true even after consuming Futou's most potent rice wine will rightfully win this beautiful black horse, whose name is Dal — the strongest and smartest of horses in Futou, bred this past year. As for all spectators, you may purchase some of the same famous Futou rice wine after the contest at the seller stands outside of the courtyard."
The audience broke into excited murmurs.
"I'm jealous of the competitors — they get free Futou rice wine, mm! Except — one of them is a woman, did you hear?"
"Yes, it's crazy! She's right over there — she sticks out next to all of the men, heh!"
"How can a woman hope to compete with a man's drinking tolerance? Hasn't she already lost? Really…"
The announcer struck a flint over the timer candle. Once, twice —
The competitors all gripped their cups, eyes focused.
At the third strike, the candle caught fire.
"Drink!" the announcer shrieked through his paper cone.
"Drink! Drink! Drink!" the crowd roared enthusiastically. Even the smallest children joined in, laughing and pumping their fists, even though they didn't know what the heck was being drunk.
Abrial licked her lips, feeling slightly sick.
"Finley, this is for you," she croaked.
She raised the cup and drained it in one gulp. Then she threw it to the dirt, where it rolled, emptied of liquor. She had been the first one to finish.
Many people in the crowd gaped at her. She simply wiped her mouth on her sleeve, unfazed. Unaware of the crowd's attention, she scrunched up her nose a bit.
"This wine really burns my throat," she muttered, sticking out her tongue and sucking in cool air.
All down the line, men began throwing their cups down and sighing in pain and pleasure.
"So potent!" hissed the man to Abrial's left, holding his throat. "It burns like fire!"
"Ughug," gargled the teenager to Abrial's right, coughing harshly.
Abrial grinned crookedly.
"Hah! Who says this is a contest for men? Why do you all react so badly to pain?" she chortled. Her throat was still burning viciously, but she was very used to ignoring pain from all of the injuries she had sustained daily at the house from horsing around. This was just like scraping her palms on rope. No big deal. No tears shed. She hardly even noticed the pain.
That pretentious middle-aged man to her left shot her a scalding look as he massaged his throat. He was obviously in a lot of pain. Heh, heh. Abrial crossed her arms and grinned, satisfied. Seems like she'd beat him on that front.
All at once, the grin evaporated from her face.
She stumbled slightly.
Was she...already drunk?!