[Now there's an expression that does things to him, has something blossoming like the spread of blood from a stab wound inside the hollows of his chest, and the fact is, in the wake of that, there are things that rise unbidden in him, things he'd like to ask (would beg) for. But he's standing on unstable ground here, feels confused and confounded already by the slipslide in their positions, sitting here in this bleak pit of a bar beside a person he hasn't been alone with, hasn't spoken in any great depth with now, for years.

And it's still there in his head, besides, just this Ilya, solid and cool as stone. He's trying to be something better than he is, and whilst he's certain that he's doomed to fail and fail again because that's what he does, what he is, he's trying to hold it tight to his chest regardless. Had promised someone he would.

So he breathes out, soft and low.]

Now, that's just sadistic. A hat would flatten my hair, and in my humble opinion I feel as though I pull off the dark and villainous plague doctor look rather well.

[And he takes a sip from his own drink, aware that Asra has a point - multiple points - in his favour. He may be a hack but he's still a doctor, knows well and good that he's hardly in optimal condition. But all that aside he believes himself in with a clear chance. He's played drinking games amongst pirates after all. He's had plenty of practice.]

You have a theoretical advantage, perhaps, but you forget-- I have years of experience in consuming large quantities of alcohol both on an empty stomach and having barely slept a wink. There's still time to back out now if you're feeling intimidated, I won't hold it against you.

[Again the arch of one thick brow, the crooked gleam of his smile.]

And let me see, then. If I win you get to foot my alcohol bill for...well. I suppose one weekend is fair. I'd suggest a week but let's face it, I'd drink you and your um...your dominant into destitution.