"Are we all ready? After three, then -- one, two- Hey!"

Bree threw a punch at the halfling to her right, causing him to spill most of the drink that he'd raised pre-emptively to his lips. He instantly slammed the tankard down onto the table, throwing her a venomous glare that spoke volumes.

"Ye'd best be more careful, wench!" he snapped. "Yer no' worth the spillin' o' perfectly good ale!"

Bree held his gaze, her own frosty glower enough to counter his attempt at intimidating her. He ended up laughing heartily, draining the rest of his drink before pushing himself up from his seat and away from the table. "I'll be gettin' another round, then," he said, his voice slightly slurred as he staggered off towards the bar. She watched him go keenly; her eyes taking in his muscled body -- well toned for a fellow halfling, and stronger than most of her kin. His face was scarred, but handsome enough for her, his dark, mysterious eyes sending a thrill down her spine whenever she let her control slip in her intoxicated state. A slight groan from her left was enough to draw her attention back to her more immediate surroundings.

"Be feeling most ill, I am," moaned the other girl weakly. The youngest of the three hin, Alora had proven unable to keep up with Bree and Montaron's regular drinking competitions, usually passing out as they continued with their revelry well into the early hours despite their other companions distaste the next morning. Bree rolled her eyes, snatching up the drink that the young thief had abandoned, draining it in one go and wiping her mouth with her sleeve when she was done. The night was still young, and she needed all the help she could get if she were to carry out her most daring plan yet.

"Are ye needin' a hand te bed?" she asked gruffly, wondering if it would be better to get rid of their other companion before she was unable to move for herself. Alora shook her head weakly to Bree's disappointment.

"Happy here, I am," came the reply in a sing-song voice. "Spinning fast, it is." Alora's head fell onto her arms and she let out a loud snore. Bree sniggered quietly, wiping the humour from her face as Montaron returned, and making sure her more familiar frown was back in place. He gave her a careful look as he sat back into his seat.

"'Bout time," she growled at him. "I'd just about sobered up, it took ye so long."

"If'n I be so useless at fetchin' yer drink, ye'd be advised to get it yerself next time," he retorted with a snort. Now she let herself smile widely to him, revelling in the fact that he returned the expression. This time there was no countdown -- at almost the same second, both the halflings raised their cups to their lips, drinking deeply and quickly. Bree's tankard slammed down on the table first, narrowly beating Montaron's, and the combined noise of both caused Alora to jump out of her doze in surprise.

"Damn and blast it," muttered Montaron fiercely. "I'll no be outdrunk by a girl!" He snatched up the drink he'd got for Alora, quickly polishing it off as well as Bree watched, swaying slightly in her seat. She was grinning madly at him, watching as he tried desperately to prove his manliness -- determined to better her in every respect. He thumped the cup down triumphantly, a smug look on his face as he looked over at her.

"Well done, Monty," she sneered. He immediately lashed out at her, narrowly missing her face at the last second; something flashed across his face -- a hint of guilt or shock, perhaps? She grew in confidence.

"Ye'll think twice about callin' me that," he said darkly, maintaining his fierce glare. Bree sniggered quietly, ignoring Alora as she mumbled incoherently. Slowly she moved around the table slightly while Montaron watched her with suspicion; but he made no move to keep at a distance.

"Surely the great an' magnificent Montaron didn't just miss?" she taunted, causing him to grumble, almost abashedly. "But if he didn't, he must have avoided me deliberately!"

The male halfling glared dangerously at her, his dark eyes flashing with anger. She knew she was pushing him, but she didn't care -- for too long they'd played these games, and tonight she'd get what she wanted, no matter how much alcohol it ended up taking. She continued her advance until she was almost pressing against him and he'd looked away uncomfortably, muttering curses softly to himself. The time had come -- she would grab it -- literally -- with both hands.

She was about to reach out, about to claim her prize, when Alora lifted her head from her slumped position, looking over to them curiously. "Be feelin' terrible, I am," she said, reminding them of her general feeling of malaise. Bree tried to ignore her, wishing she'd dragged the younger girl to her bed earlier, despite the girls wishes, and got her out of the way. She had needed her there initially; needed to know that it wasn't her he was interested in. The contempt he'd shown for his fellow thief had been somewhat comforting, but it had proven to be too little. Bree had to prove to herself that she could get what she wanted.

But she wasn't to get it that night. With a mighty groan, Alora violently vomited over the table, spraying her companions with spittle as they leapt back in disgust. The young girl moaned in pain and dismay, almost sobbing in distress as Bree swore loudly, reaching out to grab her and forcibly drag her away from the common room, leaving Montaron to deal with the angry bartender -- she knew he'd be able to sort it out.

Her plans would have to wait for another night.