Except from the Devil May Cry Novel.

[walkthedarkpath]

"Scoundrels! What do we do in this Cellar?" Bobby had clambered back onto his bar and had his hands in the air, like a ring leader.

"Drink!" everyone shouted.
"So how do we settle something here?" Bobby asked.
"Booze!"
"Booze? I got an ocean of the stuff!" Bobby sneered. "What do you want?"
"Bobby's Vodka!"

The roomful of mercenaries roared with approval. Gilver stood in the front of the table none the wiser. His opponent was sitting opposite of him with a glass in hand. People guided Gilver into a chair and a glass found its way in front of him.

"Hey, newbie." Tony grunted. "A word of advice. Drink as if you want to die. If you dont, you really will die" Someone poured vodka in the two glasses.
"Ready, you bastards?" Bobby hollered. "Go!"

A chorus of gunshots rang out, Tony slugged back his glass with a sour face

Gilver manipulated the slit in the bandages covering his mouth, and following suit. He felt the fiery liquid tumble down his throat and wanted to vomit.

Before he knew what was happening, a gaggle of mercenaries forced a funnel into his mouth and began to pour endless waves of vodka into it. Gilvers consciousness didn't hold out for long. He feel backwards and passed out.

The mercenaries kept going anyway. Eventually vodka began to pour out of Gilver's mouth and spreading across the floor. The smell was enough to knock out an elephant.

"How's that, newbie?" Tony said.

Someone in the crowd tried to help Gilver up, but his unconscious body proved too unwieldy. He crashed back to the floor like a puppet with severed strings, face down with limbs akimbo.

Tony stoically emptied his twelfth glass, The crowd began to cheer him on.

"Tony! You're the strongest!"

"Ha! Knocking back a few glasses doesn't mean your strong!"

Surrounded by the reckless hooting, Tony flung his glass away. "Don't be asses, I'm doin' the whole keg!" He proclaimed.

"Do it! Do it!" The jeers and cheers grew louder.

Tony grasped the half empty barrel with both hands tilting it back so a steady river of vodka flowered into his welcoming mouth. He drained the keg amid rousing cheers, letting it crash to the ground once it was emptied. An enormous bout of applause erupted from the crowd

Tony raised his arms like a victorious boxer. "Hey Bobby, that's my win, right?"

"Sure," Bobby shot back. "I haven't seen you go all out like that in a long time. Even so..." He indicated Gilver, who was now snoring prostate on the floor.

Bobby couldn't close until he woke up. But there were benefits to having passed-out customers. He began rooting through Gilver's pockets. "Loser pays."

Eventually Bobby produced an overstuffed wallet and jewel encrusted watch. "Hey! This guy's loaded! There's more then enough to pay for the booze and the bar repairs."

The revelation sent the assembled throng into a hyena-like frenzy. A middleman grabbed the watch, and made a beeline for the nearest pawnshop. Everyone else became energized by the notion of free drinks.

"Drinks are on the newbie!"
"Alright! Tonight's a lucky night! Bobby, keep them drink's coming!"
"if there's not enough money, sell off his clothes!"
"We can pawn that sword, too!"

Tony shrugged, remembering his own initiation into the mercenary world. "I knew it would turn out like this." When it had been his turn, he was fleeced after a narrow defeat and left penniless for nearly a month.

"I'm heading home now." He announced to nobody in particular. "Do whatever you want." Tony staggered into the night, but no one in the hollering crowd paid him any attention.


--------------------- Later in the novel---------------------

"How much of it did yoy see?" Tony let the question crawl out, giving Gilver time to digest every word. Did he witness the battle? Does he know about demons? How much of the skirmish was in my head?

"All of it." Gilver replied evenly.
"Even me kicking demon ass?"
"If they were demons. Yes."
"And you weren't scared? You must have balls of steel." Tony went quiet, staring at Gilver as if daring the man to challenge him. They traded cold looks.

Finally, Tony broke away. "I admire your guts, newbie" He said. "Even Grue wet his pants when those guys first showed up. But you kept your cool. That's something."

"It doesn't mean I didn't feel any fear." Gilver conceded. "The right ammount of fear means life. Too much fear means death. Am I wrong?"

"You're exactly right." Tony patted Gilver on the back. It was a rare display of friendship, especially for another mercenary. "Come on, Newbie. Let's unwind with some drinks."

"If your talking about Vodka again, I'll pass. I still have a headache from last time."

Tony laughed.