Sheriff's manor - Culture Tour After-Party

[Madam Zaragoza]

Hermina sips at the tea handed to her by Durham and takes the other tea in her other hand and alternately sips from that too. She looks like she is in absolute heaven.

“Please lie down, Jean-Jacques, but do not knock the cups.”

[Jean-Jacques]

Jean-Jacques sizes up the available space alongside Hermina, and offers to be seated for her to rest her head upon his lap so they can watch the proceedings..

[Madam Zaragoza]

She nods and gets him to take the tea cups will she repositions herself.

“Stroke my head, it will keep me awake.”

[Jerome Price]

The two Elders continue their exchanges, at first seemingly unaffected as they charge through the first few rounds of the game but soon they start to take a little more time to elaborately pronounce their names and titles with exaggerated diction. At first it begins with the morphing of the pronunciation to mitigate the slight slurring of the word, but soon it turns into something of a game in and of itself, their voices raising as they begin to use the most ridiculous accentuation or accents. Perhaps it is an attempt to gain some advantage by making the other laugh so hard that they might upset the other into a lack of focus in the moment, an unforced error and an undesired regurgitation. However both seem to be far too experienced drinkers and focus to fall for such tricks.

The cups are not small and on their tenth, each elder raises their vessel in a loud cry to greater cheers from those engaged in the contest. As they move past ten cups the effect of the earlier drinks really starts to set in, it is showing for each of the individuals - while Elder Aldrich sits less animated with a practiced hunch and regular rhythm he starts to struggle to get out the words in a consistent flow, fighting to get his mouth around them his one good eye twitching on occasion with the effort. Contrastingly, Elder Price is sat cross-legged on a cushion on the floor and is much more fluid, he has no problem getting out the words each time - flowing fluidly from his lips as he gesticulates exaggeratedly with his cup - the flamboyance soon becoming a mad swaying as he only just manages to keep himself upright. By their fifteenth cup, they have clearly moved beyond the physical tolerance and are simply in a battle of wills as to who will give up first. Each round includes a few laborious pauses and a wandering journey for the cup to reach the lips of the contestant and someone has to take over pouring them each cup for fear half of it will end up on the carpet before it reaches their lips.

Eventually attempting his nineteenth cup Jerome pauses as he gets half-way through ... he heaves a little, fighting against the retching, but even though he tries a couple more times cannot quite finish the cup. He places it down and taps the table his forehead resting on the edge of the table in submission.
"A... HA!" Elder Aldrich cries in triumph,
"No...." drools Price - managing to lift his head for long enough to point at the cup in front of Aldrich and then at Aldrich himself. He grins, the message clear as Jerome had drunk first a final drink is required to win rather than draw.
The initial grimace on Aldrich's face as he stares down at the cup of his own blood in front of him slowly turns to a wide smile, sensing victory within his grasp. Steadying a hand on the table he picks up the cup, carefully meanders his way through his name an titles like a drunk sailor on a ship in a storm trying to make it to the safety of his bunk without being tossed into unconsciousness. Bringing the cup to his lips he slowly and steadily drains it, mouthful by mouthful, finally slamming the cup upside down to the table and giving a low rumbling growl of approval as he meets Jerome's eyes across the table. The two nod at each other, reach forward and attempt to shake hands - missing completely and each falling to one side guffawing, rolling and trying to regain their seat.

[L .]

"A-ha!" Aurelia leaps up, thrilled. "Yes! Congratulations myself - I mean Architect. Oh very well done indeed." She turns a glittering smile to Dukes over her shoulder, one jewel-eye catching the light, her gaze dark and inviting. "That, Sheriff, is a win."

[Madam Zaragoza]

“Bravo Architect!!! Well done, not many can out drink my darling Jerome!”

[alanwrotethis]

Dukes pulls at Aurelia's sleeve and bids her sit.
"Please..." he says, a worried look aimed at Durham. "I don't know you, but I don't want to be alone for what happens next. Just..."
He closes his eyes.
"Just tell me when it's over."

[L .]

Opium - and winning - brought out all of Aurelia's benevolence. She turned warmly to Dukes and, without missing a beat, took from a small leather satchel strapped to her high - a bandage.

"Stay still? I don't want to catch your hair."

[Bitterglass]

***CONTENT WARNING - SMUT (probably subpar smut at that)***

As the contest draws to a close, Durham stands up and moves to the centre of the room. Still suggestively stroking and shaping the work, as he waits. His pace has slowed considerably, his movements taking a more gentle and deliberate stroke, as he waits.

When the competition is complete, he grins. Making eye contact with any of the Kindred in the room who will return his gaze. With one hand he tears himself out of the remains of his bloodied and tattered shirt with one hand, his other slowly gesturing with what he has created from the ruined pages of the book. The long competition has allowed Durham time to work the twisted edges smooth and has taken the time to craft a bulbous head which swings at each in turn.

"And now ladies and gentlemen, Kindred of all ages, I shall conclude the dare Elder Price placed my way. Before I do, as I suspect I shall be lost in this for some time. I dare the good Jean-Jacques to seduce someone in the room, other than myself."

He offers the large and bloody member round, for the audience to examine as he removes his breeches. Slowly and without haste, it soon becomes abundently and irrevocably clear that Durham is enjoying this. His own package standing to the same rigid design as his artwork.

"I had originally planned to ask to service one of you, but I rather think that might nullify the challenge. So instead," he plucks the work back, "if I may."

He takes it first into his mouth, to add some of his own blood tainted saliva. Rolling the tip gently around on his tongue and just slightly nipping it ever so gently with a fang. Enjoying, no obviously savouring, the reaction of the audience.

After nearly a minute of this, he removes the stained work from his mouth, text from the print quite obviously staining his tongue and the roof of his mouth. He moves it into his right hand, walking towards one of the footstools. "I have found I am somewhat of an exhabitionist." He purrs.

Slowly he lowers himself onto his work, with a slight groan.

Over the next minute or so he slowly lowers his entire body, down onto the work. Panting, and groaning slightly, a schene of blood sweat forming on his abdomin. His own mirroring organ strains, twitching and standing for the audience. Once he has fully descended, Durham lets out a little moan and remarks "You know, as a lad in private school I always fantacised about being in a work of fiction, and now one is in me."

Then he begins to slowly draw it in and out, losing himself to the pleasure.

[Manacledairman]

Aldrich rises from his seat and stumbles toward a sofa, he stops and reaches for his right leg seemingly in pain, he rubs the muscle a small amount and then continues on his way to the sofa. He lays down face first before turning to the rest of the group.

"Sho it appears as though I manage-d to dare myshelf. Well played keeper. Well played." He coughs and splutters a little before relaxing.