All Drinker's Day

Shoot, like anyone else, was having the time of his life during the All Sinner's Day celebration. Though indulging in his lustful desires was by far his favorite festivity, he also enjoyed his time drinking until his tolerance broke and then some.

While the drinks at the club he worked at were high-quality, Shoot couldn't deny that the drinks at the All Sinner’s Day open bar were also top-notch. Not to mention that “free” is the best additive any drink could have.

As Shoot knocked back another whiskey shot, he caught sight of Hops doing the same a little further down the bar. Time to shoot a different kind of shot. He made his way over and sat next to her.

“Never seen you on this side of the bar,” he opened.

Hops looked over at Shoot and smiled. Even amidst all her drinking, she hardly seemed affected by it. “Yep! Angora got me some extra time off for the holiday!” She held up a shot glass like she was toasting to a glorious banquet. “It's unpaid, but it's nice to be able to drink without worrying about my debt!”

Shoot nodded in understanding. Truth be told, he was actually a bit impressed with himself that he managed to actually fully pay attention when an attractive person was talking. He usually tends to get… distracted. “Yeah, I getcha. My manager always chews me out when he catches me snagging a sip or two from the liquor supply on the job.”

“Mmm!” Hops quickly swallowed the whiskey that she was drinking while Shoot was talking and playfully pushed his arm. “You too?! Wow, well aren't we alike! I think I’ve seen you at the Rabbit Hole here and there before, right? Chasing tail and taking buns home, I seem to recall. What's your name?”

“Shoot.” He held out his hand for a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Hops.”

With a sweet smile, Hops took the handshake. “Likewise! Always nice to put a name to a face!” Once her hand was free again, she went right back to the whiskey. “Mmph… Now, pardon the kinda personal question, but I'm curious. I never heard the name ‘Shoot’ before. Did a demon give it to you?”

“Funny you should ask that…” Shoot lightly tapped the rim of one of Hops’ empty shot glasses. “It's a nickname I earned by doing a looooot of these. No one could remember how many, some say a hundred, others say a thousand, but what really earned me the name was how I was still able to walk in a straight line afterwards.” He crossed his arms and leaned back, which would've looked less goofy if the barstools actually had backs. “I'm kinda the best, it's whatever.”

“Perfect!” Hops exclaimed, startling Shoot so bad he nearly fell off his seat. “Oh, sorry about that! I was just excited. Would you like to race me?”

“Race… you…?” Shoot responded while straightening himself up after having to regain his balance.

“Yep! We see who can drink the most shots in 5 minutes!”

“Uh… huh…” Shoot cleared his throat. He wasn't telling tales when he was recounting his story earlier, it was entirely true, but this situation presented a dilemma. If he did this, he would probably not be in the mood to sleep around for the rest of the day. His chances with Hops would be dashed, though even he could tell no one would be able to pry her from the bar anyway. Daresay, Hops might not even be into him to begin with. Maybe he should just do the race; after all, it does sound like a fun use for the open bar. “Y’know what? You're on.”

Hops beamed and waved over the bartender. “It's happening! You know the plan, right?”

The bartender nodded and readied a ludicrous number of shot glasses.

Hops turned her attention back to Shoot. “You can pick the spirit we'll be drinking! I don't really have a strong preference.” She looked down at her empty glasses. “Well… if you could, maybe something other than whiskey? I wanna switch it up, if that's alright with you!”

Shoot gave a nod and leaned on his elbow to talk to the bun tending the bar. “Tequila, please.”

The tequila shots race was all set to start. The two competitors were ready to honor All Sinner’s Day by indulging in drink with no holds barred. The other patrons of the bar crowded around to watch.

A volunteer from the crowd held up their hand, ready to signal the start of the competition. They waited a good few seconds… then swung down their arm!

At once, the two began slamming back shots like they were dying of thirst. 

There was immediately a noticeable difference in technique between the two competing buns. Hops was certainly not going slow, but she did seem to be trying to keep some sort of pace. It even seemed like she was taking a quick little moment to let the flavor sink in with every shot. Shoot’s strategy, on the other hand, appeared to be… none. No strategy. He was just kinda going as fast as possible. Despite that, Shoot took a pretty sizeable lead within the first couple of minutes.

That began to change around halfway through, however. Shoot was already beginning to lose steam after going all out at the start. Meanwhile, Hops was keeping the same pace that she had since the beginning. The gap between them was closing, but Shoot hadn't stopped. The competition was still able to go either way.

The crowd chanted out the countdown for the last 30 seconds. Hops perked up a bit, looking like she was surprised they were already this far into the competition. Then, a scarily serious expression spread on her face. She picked up speed at a phenomenal rate, empty glasses stacking in front of her as if they were teleporting out of her hand. The moment he saw this, Shoot pushed through his fatigue and picked up speed as well.

A whistle—really? someone had a whistle?—sounded, signaling the end of the race. The two competitors were gasping from exhaustion while their glasses were counted.

The winner was decided. Hops won by exactly 3 shots. The victorious bun held up a drunken peace sign before passing out on the bartop. Shoot wasn't far behind. 

Of course, the celebration was well-prepared to deal with blackout drunk buns. These two were far from the first, or last, to get this way during this most unholy of holidays. In fact, many other buns were inspired by this display of vice and held their own competitions, to the same drunken result.

As it goes on All Sinner's Day.