A/N: As noted elsewhere, Hysk was the creation of Joel Fagin in his fic "Eight-Stroke Sword," which unfortunately is not available on this site.
~X X X~
"And that, Garn," Alys Brangwin concluded her story, "is why you never bet against a Motavian in a spice-eating challenge."
"Oho, I'll have to remember that one," the bartender said, passing Alys and Hysk's drinks over to them.
"It isn't very special," Hysk said. His tufted ears twitched front-to-back in his race's equivalent of a shrug. "Our beaks just aren't as sensitive as a Parmanian's lips and tongue. Simple biology."
The blue-furred Native Motavian was a Protector, one of his race's elite warriors. The job wasn't quite the same as a hunter like Alys—for one thing, it generally involved a lot less in terms of payment sought and received—but it was close enough that the two were spending some time working together, to help share combat skills and tactics for fighting monsters and apprehending dangerous criminals.
"Still good to know," Garn said.
Alys paid for the drinks and the two of them went to find a table. Alys generally preferred to drink at the bar unless she was also having a meal, but Hysk liked things a little quieter. Plus, his broad-built frame meant that he was likely to literally rub shoulders at a bar where the stools were spaced for Parmanians.
If it was peace and quiet he wanted, though, then he was doomed to disappointment almost at once. Alys hadn't even had time to take a second sip before a voice boomed out like a harbinger of doom.
"Yo, Alys, babe!"
All right, not so much "doom" as "stress on her tolerance for stupidity," but the principle applied. She'd have ignored the voice, but Joss Howland was already coming her way.
"So, how are you doing?"
"Considerably worse than I was two minutes ago."
He squinted at her, trying to puzzle out her meaning, then gave up on the intellectual exercise and returned to his planned script.
"You know how you like to challenge me with tests to see if you'll let me go out with you?"
She blinked, and was about to deny any such thing, when she realized that she actually had set him a number of tasks where the stakes if he succeeded was a date. Those were less in the nature of "challenges" and more "sucker bets," where Joss was more likely to injure himself than succeed, but even so, precedent had been set.
"Is that a typical aspect of Parmanian courtship?" Hysk said, possibly seriously and possibly with tongue firmly planted in cheek. It wasn't always easy to tell, with him.
"No, it's more in the 'hoist with my own petard' line."
Joss completely ignored the byplay, his standard approach to things he didn't immediately understand.
"Well, have I got one for you! Would you believe that I'm stronger than you are?"
"Of course I would. You're two and a half times my size and built like a wall. Plus, there's that extra muscle in the space between your ears that I'm using for other things."
Joss blinked, stupefied. His plan had obviously not anticipated getting a "yes" answer to that question.
"But you're the strongest hunter on Motavia."
"I'm a better hunter than you," she corrected him. "That's not the same thing."
His expression brightened; she'd apparently given him something he could work with. Unfortunately.
"Well, then, you're good at escapes and stuff, right?"
"Preferably by not getting trapped in the first place, but yes."
"I believe it, too. But! For all your strength"—he apparently was staying with his original patter instead of adapting it to what Alys had said—"I'll bet that I can keep you from getting up out of that chair using just one finger."
"One finger."
"Yep! I bet that I can use just one finger, and you won't be able to stand up until I let you."
"Let me see if I get this straight. I sit here, and you hold me here with one finger, and if I can't get up without you letting me up, I agree to go out with you? Is that the bet?"
"Right."
"What if I can get up?"
"You name it."
"All right, then. If I can get up, the next three times you see me in here, you turn around and walk out without talking to me."
He hesitated for just a moment. Obviously, he believed that he had a sure thing, but at the same time he had been burned before and even the most ignorant fool could learn eventually.
"You've gotta stand up out of the chair, though. It doesn't count if you fall off to the side or something."
"That's fair enough," Alys agreed.
"Then we've got a bet. Go ahead, lean back and get comfortable."
She did as he asked, concluding from his phrasing that she'd guessed right about what his trick was. Sure enough, he placed his thumb squarely in the center of her forehead.
"There! Try to get up, now."
She did try, but as she'd expected she wasn't able to budge.
"Is it really working?" Hysk asked.
"It's an old leverage trick," she told him. "Galf showed it to me when he was teaching me lessons about balance and controlling my movements. Because I'm leaning back like this, my center of gravity is too far to the rear for my legs to push back against his hand. Even one finger is enough to keep me from sitting up."
"I see. It does seem to be quite a good illustration of the principle involved. But in that case, doesn't it mean that you will have to submit to Mr. Howland's request for a date?"
"Yeah, Alys," Joss chimed in. "You ready to give up?"
"And if you did recognize the trick," Hysk continued, "surely you would have expected the outcome. Do not say that you actually want to accept this courtship?"
Alys reflected that she'd at least gotten to see what incredulousness looked like on a Motavian face.
"Of course not," she said. "The bet was just that I had to stand up without asking me to let you up, right, Joss?"
"That's right."
"Just checking." Alys hooked her foot behind Joss's ankle and pulled. Since he was leaning forward, it was easy to topple him and send him crashing to the floor. With his hand gone, it was easy to lean forward and stand up. "Leverage only helps you get what you want, after all, if you know how to apply it."
