God, if only she could remember anything. Anytime she tried to recall, a dull throb took over her head as though warning her to get back. Not only that – but she simply couldn’t remember anything, even when ignoring the pain. Her lips pressed together and became a thin line at the thought, her eyes looking at her hands. She held one out in front of her, gazing at it as the skin began to pulse and bubble, the bones elongating as her hand became meatier and less dainty than the one it had been, the skin darkening. She continued altering her hand, as it not only took the time away but amused her, as well as unlocked some of her past. She’d often stare in the mirror, changing into various people that she could not remember but her eyes had seen. This was the only way she could know that a past existed. This was all she had to hang on to. Thankfully she was alone for now, as a small and petite woman with a hand that looked sewn on and continued changing could be a bit terrifying to witness.
A loud cracking sound and then the whine of old hinges signaled that the door to the cellar had been prized open. A grunt, then a groan…followed by a wet sounding fart was heard at the top of the stairs, as a large shadow appeared on the stairwell. A menacing sight to be sure.
~Creak…Creak…Creak~ The wooden stairs groaned under the weight of a being that was coming down, and holding onto a small lantern with large hairy digits. Douglas “Duggie” McGee – the giant, who was also a groundskeeper at the Mansion, was making a small trip down to the cellar to restock his flagon of scotch. During the course of the night, he had emptied it after enjoying a game of cards with an ugly garden gnome. Finding his flagon empty, Duggie decided that the best place to refill was in the dusty cellar.
Reaching the stone floor, Duggie’s sandals slapped against the solid floor. He set the small lantern on top of a pile of wine barrels, and then rubbed his gnarled hands together. He believed that he would be the only soul down in the cellar that day. Most of the staff would be going about their duties for certain, and with a wry grin that exposed his lack of front teeth, he started to go through the racks to find a good sized bottle of scotch.
As he searched, he hummed a tune from his homeland. The odd cough escaped his lips, when his hand passed over some dusty bottles. Did the maids never come down from their rooms to clean this place? A small mouse scuttled along a large case of red wines, as the Giant soon found his prize. A one hundred year old bottle of scotch. Taking it down from its shelf, he pulled off the cork stopper with his teeth and spat it across the room. He then upended the bottle to his waiting lips, and took a good swig, that would make any mild mannered man near cough to death.
“Ahhhh!…That be puttin’ the fire in mah bellie!” The giant roared, before letting out a loud belly laugh that would near shake the walls.
Turning around, Duggie then happened to notice a wee lass on the floor.She was having a drink too. Duggie was a bit taken aback to see the girl and then pointed at her with a raised brow.
“Bit early for a tipple, lassie.”
Of course, she wasn’t a fool and knew the plan to be a bit of a stretch as she glanced up to see him pointing at her, a snappy thought coming to her head. “Don’t you know it’s rude to point?” Though from what she had observed, something told her that he didn’t care much for manners. Instead, she stood, holding the bottle of Allie Sisell wine limply at her side. “I could say the same to you, couldn’t I?” How funny that he questioned her drinking habits when he’d just downed a bottle of scotch that would normally knock men out as though it was nothing. “Though, I think we both know it’s never too early for a drink.”
Again, not as though it’s even alcoholic to you… She thought, quite bitterly. How she wished she could be drunk enough to not remember this encounter.. though she didn’t remember far too much to begin with. She stood there quite awkwardly, staring up at him. She’d seen him around the grounds, of course, but she’d never actually gotten his name. “Who are you?” She asked him, lamely. Though it could have been worded better, she found that direct questions were always the best route. Amaria was sure this man had seen her as well, though perhaps under a different appearance. Her voice remained the same, however, in its sultry and low tone… despite her changing looks.
“Don’t you know it’s rude to point?
What a conversation starter. This little fire brand that the Giant had uncovered on his quest to wet his whistle was one for the books. She was quick off the mark with the snappy comebacks to boot. It actually surprised the Giant to hear such a wee lass speak with such a tone. His brown eyes gazed down to the bottle in her hand. Allie Sisell wine – a good year too. The giant tossed the empty bottle of scotch over his shoulder without thought or care, and you could hear it smash as it hit the stone floor. Shards of glass going in all directions. He was about to reach for a second bottle, when the cheeky wench asked the same of him. Why was he drinking so early?
“Happy hour is every hour for the likes of me.” He said with a deep baritone, before tapping his chest. “You are in the presence of one Douglas McGee…..and I eat lassies like you for breakfast. Ha!” He gripped the cork of the second bottle of scotch and this time was a little cheeky in where he spat the cork, making sure it flew right over her head.
As he started to fill his flagon, he watched the girl out of the corner of his eye. “I seen you before….I think. I was about to say…if you’re a maid, you’re doing a crappy job of it. Look at all the dust down here, aye?” He gestured at all the dusty bottles and barrels of wine.
“Oh, yes, I’m a maid. That’s precisely why I lack any of the proper cleaning supplies and am drinking alcohol.” The sarcasm in her voice dripped this time, her brow raising. “Though I will be sure to put in a request later, since alcohol is the most important thing here. Not like living quarters, or anything.” Now that she thought about it, actually, the alcohol probably was more important to him than the living quarters. She waved her hand before he spoke, cutting him off. She’d closed her eyes, not seeing his facial expression. “Don’t reply to that, I’m sure an alcoholic such as yourself will likely disagree.”
Could she be an alcoholic? Was it possible to be one if you were immune to alcohol? She was so much smaller than him, as her form she took on now was from years ago, back when nutrition was scarce and thus height lacking. Granted, she could change her torso and legs, but that was pointless. What she lacked in her current physique she made up with an attitude that filled the room. “That being said, what are you? Job wise and species wise? I was guessing troll, but you’d be more attractive if you were a troll..” She grinned then, her deadpan expression faltering. “Ah.. no, but truly. What are you?” Down to business. Blunt. Obtaining information. This was nothing new to her.
The Giant let out a loud bellow of laughter at the maid’s remark that eating women was a strange diet. For you see, it was actually a bit of a double meaning to old Duggie. With a lopsided grin, he leaned on a stack of barrels, that groaned under his weight.
“Well, there is eating a woman….and then there is EATING a woman out. HA HA!” The drink had already started to go to his head. Not every giant was the kind that ground a man’s bones to make his bread, well not the one standing before Amaria, that was for sure. Having filled his flagon with scotch, he tossed the second bottle away, before tucking the leather flagon beneath his coat. A light pat and he then directed his attention squarely on the petite and rather boisterous woman before him. He had to admit, her scathing sarcastic wit was truly entertaining to the wandering Scot.
What came as even better news was that he was right on the money. She was a maid…and a bad one at that. Duggie rubbed his bearded chin, then picked out a morsel of pasta which must have been hidden in his beard for a good few days. He casually popped it into his mouth as he listened to how she should put in a request for proper cleaning supplies.“I could pluck a turkey and make you a duster in a blink. Heh…then you could do the simple thing of…waving it over dusty cobwebs, while still being able to suckle that their wine bottle.” If she thought that she could ever pierce his rough hide with her sarcasm, Amaria would need to think again. Water off a bloody duck’s back. The woman taunted that he must be an alcoholic for the way he was carrying on.
Duggie brought up his curled fist and then said – “Pot calling the old kettle black, aye?” He already got the feeling she liked the odd drop a bit too much too. A daring little head wobble, as he tapped his nose, the Giant then decided to entertain her questions with what he believed to be truth.
“Well, I’m not a bleeding elf, or one of those blood sucking bastards that walk around the halls with a rod shoved up their arses….measly gits. No…I’m a Giant. And…for your information, lassie; we aren’t meant to be beautiful. Not like some trumped up Princey boy. All frilly shirts and shit. “
He had a point.
“Okay, kettle.” Amaria sat on an empty top shelf across from him, hopping up with ease as it wasn’t too tall to begin with. “Obvious you aren’t meant to be beautiful. I see that, and to be frank, I like frilly shirts.” Well.. they were in style when she was a teenager… granted she couldn’t remember being a teenager, but that was besides the point. “Plus, I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t fit in a frilly shirt. They’re for thin men, mostly… save the few that get them custom made, I’m sure.” She smirked then. “I promise to buy you a frilly shirt sometime. God, I would love to see that.”
She leaned forwards, her elbows against her knees. “You know what I’d love to see even more?” She began, her voice insinuating something sexual as her voice turned to that of a seductive one. “What I’d really love?” She smirked. “You, losing hopelessly in a drinking competition against me.” She sat back then, her voice becoming serious again. Then again, she did have an unfair advantage.. but he didn’t know it, and that’s why it was so fun. Amaria grinned as he seemingly considered the challenge. I mean, looking at it from an unknowing point of view, she was a barely 5’2”, petite, thin, woman. And he, well. He was not. He was a literal giant.
Continuing through the darkness, the demonic shapeshifter eventually hopped up on a barrel, proceeding from there on to climb ontop of a shelf. He was not out of sight to the giant whom was already so awfully tall, but he didn’t mind. He was, at the moment, just an innocent cat, right? Right. As if.
Hopping from shelf to shelf, he’d eventually reach the one nearby the two where he promptly sat down and gazed down at the two with eyes as black as night. They didn’t even reflect any light, they were nearly only two black holes. A drinking contest? he thought, leaning his little head forwards while squinting some, both ears perked curiously. Against a giant.., the cat held back a snicker. No, he was not aware of Amaria’s impressive ability to not get drunk, but he would be soon if he stood around for a bit longer. This reminded him of that old Scandinavian fairy tale, about that kid who had an eating contest against the giant. What a morbid ending it had. he child held a rucksack against his stomach which he filled with large spoons of food. Rather than getting full, he was simply filling up the rucksack. Meanwhile, the giant eventually had enough. He asked the child how come he could eat so much. The kid brought up a knife and said ‘when there is no more room in my stomach, I slice it open and let all the food fall out, then I sew it shut and start all over again!’. The giant accused him of cheating, but then he fell for the cheap lie and grabbed his own knife; eventually slicing open his own guts. The kid got away in one piece, having slain a giant in the process. Clever little shit. He truly hoped that was how this was going to end, would be entertaining with some bloodshed around here for once. Laying down, the cat began to absent-mindedly lick it’s paw. ”Perk” of being a shapeshifter, you accidentally inherit the traits of the forms you take. Wonderful, he’ll be spitting hairballs for days.
“ARE YOU CALLING ME FAT?!” The Giant roared as the girl was giving as good as she got. Saying how frilly shirts were for thin men mostly. “It’s relaxed….muscle.” Duggie declared, giving his ample size gut a good pat. Typical, a woman has to go and do a blow below the belt. He couldn’t give a toss about some frilly shirts, but he didn’t like to be told he was fat, even if she used a clever way to say it. “You can stick your frilly shirt right up you arse lassie, but something tells me its about as tight as that of a cat’s.”he said this as he happened to notice a strange black cat watching them
“No offence.” Duggie said out of the side of his mouth to the cat. The giant’s attention resumed back to the girl who was now going on as most women do, with this sexy like voice and moving her body like that of a cobra. Seriously, women, you can’t trust em. She wanted…no she would LOVE for the Giant to take part in a drinking competition. Amaria wanted more than anything to drink him under the table. To see him lose.
Now here was a girl that was little over 5’2″, asking a Giant who weighed…-cough- a lot, to go drink for drink, glass for glass. The Giant, was not stupid. He narrowed his gaze as he stared at the girl with now a heightened sense of suspicion.
“What do I get…..if I beat you, lassie? Hmm?”
Duggie glanced around the cellar at the many rows of bottles. The Giant then looked back at the girl. “I know…if you lose…you gotta flash me your tits.”
He looked awfully smug at himself for thinking up those terms, her eyes narrowing as she crossed her arms over her chest. “No. I refuse.” But of course, it wasn’t really her choice. Amaria glared. “Fine. But if you fail to look fast enough that’s not my problem, I’m not doing it twice. And if I win, you have to wear one of those frilly shirts for a day. No excuses, no hiding around. You have to go about your daily business.”
Amaria got up then, going to the back corner of the cellar and grabbing a foldable table. She undid it, then looked around for a cupboard. They had to have glasses here.. she spotted one, noting its height and scowling a bit. When she was sure Duggie wasn’t looking she changed her legs, growing in height. As far as the giant could figure she was human.. however, their not-so-feline friend could clearly see this. She easily took the glasses down, bundling them in her arms. She held maybe 12, placing them on the counter below and then grabbing more. She shrunk then, running back and forth to the table and placing the shot glasses. There were about 15 for each person. “Choose the alcohol. Make it strong.” She mumbled then. As if it even mattered. “Though I might just let the fact that I beat you be rewarding enough. I mean, hey, that’ll shame you for centuries.”
The Giant guffawed as the girl refused to his terms. What was one little flash of her tiny tah tahs to the likes of him? They were probably no bigger than a sunny side egg each, but he was a breast man and he did enjoy seeing a good pair of pink nips. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth while cocking his head ever so slightly to the right while the girl deliberated on what she was going to do. Finally, she agreed but the terms were that he had better get a good look cause if she did take off her shirt it was going to be one hell of a quickie.
“Ahaha. Done. I win, I see tits. You win, I look like a pirate for a day and wear the frilly shirt.” He did agree but only because he was so sure he would win.
Watching the girl get a small table that would be used as a place to sit the glasses, the Giant pulled up a large cider barrel and sat on it. He kept the girl in check, while she placed the glasses down on the table and asked what drink they would have and it had to be a strong one.
The Giant rubbed his beard and then smirked at the girl.
Simple as that, a drink that was sure to send one under the table quickly, but who? The Giant pushed up his sleeves and then turned over one of the glasses waiting for it to be filled.
“Lassies…first.” He urged.
Amaria began to turn all the glasses over – evidently she wanted this to be done quickly. She poured vodka in each, figuring that if the giant did not finish his fill she surely would. “Your turn.” Her eyes flicked up to him, watching him grip the small shot glass in his large hand. It looked humorous, actually, much like an adult being told to have a tea party with a child. At this she stifled a snicker, the thought quite amusing. As he downed the glass she took no time waiting or bracing herself, she picked up the next shot glass and downed it with ease.
Again, a slight burn but nothing to phase her. Put on a show, put on a show.. the words repeated in her head as she cleared her throat, even going so far as to grip the table to make it seem as though it was needed support. As if. Amaria closed her eyes, breathing out and then looking up at his amused face. Oh, how much it pained her to avoid a smirk. He actually thought he was going to win this and get a view. Another amusing notion.
You have to remember that a shot glass to a giant, is like a thimble to a child. The amount of alcohol that it contains is but a sip really. The girl did the honors and poured each shot so they were evenly matched and of course, she stood rather than sat, since she could try and be eye to eye with the giant. Duggie watched the girl with piqued curiosity on how she was taking each shot, to match him drink for drink. He knew that the vodka should burn each time and he was judging her facial reactions to see how it affected her.
When she declared it was his turn, the Giant tapped his tiny glass to hers and then raised it to his lips, downing it with ease. Duggie let out a large “Ahhhh” sound as he then placed the empty shot glass down – top to the table, ready for the next one. The Giant held a bemused expression as he watched the girl take her second. Oh this lass was putting on quite the performance. He was sure she loved a drink and it would take a few to knock her out. The Giant? Well, he had all day and the gardens and grounds keeping could wait.
“Why does this feel like a child’s game and not a man’s contest? Hmm?
Oh the Giant was a suspicious old goat to be sure. He adjusted his sitting position so that his kilt widened – his sandaled feet moving outwards leaving nothing to the imagination if the girl happened to stare beneath his kilt. He picked up the next shot glass and held it as though a dainty thing, before downing another and slamming the little shot glass on the table.
“Did I tell ya lass…I got an iron gut. I could drink a keg and still remember ya name.” He teased.