It was a test of endurance and stamina that she had never known before.
Steel gritted her teeth, a bead of sweat running down her brow as her face wrinkled in a combination of pain and determination. She had been challenged, so of course had to accept. However, she was ill-prepared for the feat that was placed before her, and now she was both regretting the decision and hell-bent not to falter.
It was the heat that was the worst part. Anything referred to as "Ifrit's Kiss" would involve fire of some measure, but it was beyond anything that Steel had ever experienced before. And all she could see through tear-stained eyes was the Miqo'te standing before her, arms folded across his narrow but toned and taut chest, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
And those eyes...they never seemed to move. As if they were issuing the will to fail.
Steel slammed her fist onto the table and picked up another small wing. The food item was innocuous enough, save for the bright red color that coated the flesh. Several cleaned bones lay spread about the bowl before her. It was the last one....just three, maybe four more bites, and victory would be hers, and the Miqo'te who called himself Snarl would be defeated.
Steel wrenched her eyes shut as she took several hurried bites, pulling the chicken meat from the bones. Again, her senses were assailed by a torrent of firey spices. It tasted the same every time--initially delightful, perfectly seasoned and cooked...but then the wing would bite back, throwing torrents of comet-level heat into her mouth and down her throat.
She doubled over and coughed, her fist banging the table another few times as if the food would relent with her tapping out. It didn't. Each wing had compounded the agony, but victory was so close. So tantalizingly close....
She looked up at the small bone between her fingers pleadingly, looking at the final bite of poultry meat hanging off of a tendon. A rivulet of the red sauce ran down the meat, dripping into the bowl. She growled and took the last bite, chewing and swallowing as fast as her muscles would allow.
"You've still got sauce on your fingers."
Steel glared angrily at the tanned, shirtless Miqo'te, then at her fingers. The sauce, indeed, coated her left hand tauntingly. She fiercely jammed each finger into her mouth, whimpering around the firey lightning that coated her tongue as she sucked each digit clean.
Snarl grinned broadly, his tail swishing in delight at the victor. He reached to his hip and placed a sizeable bag of gil. Two lithe female Miqo'te, wearing things that barely qualified for clothing, framed the Roegadyn, one presenting a tall glass of milk. The crowd before her erupted in raucous cheering as the other female raised Steel's hand into the air victoriously.
She was too busy chugging the milk to acknowledge, but success--and the drink--tasted sweet.
Steel gritted her teeth, a bead of sweat running down her brow as her face wrinkled in a combination of pain and determination. She had been challenged, so of course had to accept. However, she was ill-prepared for the feat that was placed before her, and now she was both regretting the decision and hell-bent not to falter.
It was the heat that was the worst part. Anything referred to as "Ifrit's Kiss" would involve fire of some measure, but it was beyond anything that Steel had ever experienced before. And all she could see through tear-stained eyes was the Miqo'te standing before her, arms folded across his narrow but toned and taut chest, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth.
And those eyes...they never seemed to move. As if they were issuing the will to fail.
Steel slammed her fist onto the table and picked up another small wing. The food item was innocuous enough, save for the bright red color that coated the flesh. Several cleaned bones lay spread about the bowl before her. It was the last one....just three, maybe four more bites, and victory would be hers, and the Miqo'te who called himself Snarl would be defeated.
Steel wrenched her eyes shut as she took several hurried bites, pulling the chicken meat from the bones. Again, her senses were assailed by a torrent of firey spices. It tasted the same every time--initially delightful, perfectly seasoned and cooked...but then the wing would bite back, throwing torrents of comet-level heat into her mouth and down her throat.
She doubled over and coughed, her fist banging the table another few times as if the food would relent with her tapping out. It didn't. Each wing had compounded the agony, but victory was so close. So tantalizingly close....
She looked up at the small bone between her fingers pleadingly, looking at the final bite of poultry meat hanging off of a tendon. A rivulet of the red sauce ran down the meat, dripping into the bowl. She growled and took the last bite, chewing and swallowing as fast as her muscles would allow.
"You've still got sauce on your fingers."
Steel glared angrily at the tanned, shirtless Miqo'te, then at her fingers. The sauce, indeed, coated her left hand tauntingly. She fiercely jammed each finger into her mouth, whimpering around the firey lightning that coated her tongue as she sucked each digit clean.
Snarl grinned broadly, his tail swishing in delight at the victor. He reached to his hip and placed a sizeable bag of gil. Two lithe female Miqo'te, wearing things that barely qualified for clothing, framed the Roegadyn, one presenting a tall glass of milk. The crowd before her erupted in raucous cheering as the other female raised Steel's hand into the air victoriously.
She was too busy chugging the milk to acknowledge, but success--and the drink--tasted sweet.
