The Hot Wings Challenge

Asuna has been something of a homebody as of late. Considering she's still trying to break-in her monster mountt, it makes sense. And it has nothing at all to do with someone who no longer is in this film.

She is behind the bar, dropping off two plates of wings. They are slathered in sauce that is a shade of red best called 'angry'.

"Alright, both of you know the deal. You finish this, you eat for free and the whole place gets drinks on the house. Should you fail, well, everlasting shame is your prize."

She smirks and looks between the two men.

"Best of luck to you."

"Does this even count as an eating contest?" suspicious tones opine from somewhere over Asuna's shoulder. Robert, of course, who is hovering with a highly questionable expression plastered across his features, and his arms folded over his chest.

He's not eating. He's not drinking. He's just hovering. Possibly preparing to take someone to the hospital. "It looks like torture," he continues, without missing a beat. "I think you could run a nuclear reactor with those things, and still have enough left over to contaminate an underground reservoir. Can you even actually -taste- anything over that?"

Asuna laughs at the interesting comments coming from over her shoulder. She turns before answering them to see just who is maligning the world's most unhappy meal.

"You know, I'm not certain. When I made them initially they didn't work quite right. It seems there is a unique crowd that simply has to make everything a matter of endurance. I only smell them, these days."

Behind her, the first bites are delivered. It isn't long before one of the men is sweating. With five wings each, it's not a huge meal to work through, but it's far from a promising start.

"Can I get you something? I can make real food, if you want to enjoy an actual meal as opposed to going to battle with one."

SpritesHero holds up a single finger. It's half-way between a respectful 'please wait' and a less respectful 'shush'--the sort of gesture one might offer to a girlfriend at a movie right before one gets dumped--but he's not one for politeness at the moment. No, he is completely engrossed in the unfolding disaster before him.

"Some things deserve attentive respect," he murmurs, with the reverent tones of one inside a church. "Even if only for the sheer, baffling lack of judgement involved. Ten coppers on the fellow on the left to drink something that isn't milk or pineapple juice, resulting in tears and snot everywhere."

Asuna grins at the gesture and turns to look at the competitors. By now, sweaty man has turned red. Strangely he's gone red and now seems to be going pale. The chef taps her chin as she watches.

"So I may have used a bit too much spice this time around. But the other man is.. oh."

His nose and eyes are both running. He's only finished two wings and has made the spicy food blunder. He's slowed down. The raw heat only builds, though.

"Yes, I imagine we will not be handing out a victory this time, will we?"

"Well you can't drop the bar anymore, now that you've set it," Robert objects. Two-wings-man is evidently dismissed at this juncture in favor of the color-changing fellow. "No, I'm afraid you're rather stuck where you are, young miss. It'd be a bit insulting to walk things back, wouldn't it. Keep it as it is. They'll be coming back. Again. And again. And...oh look, I don't think I've ever seen quite that shade of purple yet."

Beat.

"Certainly not on a person. Maybe on a trifflid."

Beat.

Leaning forward, Robert allows himself a squint. "What on earth did you -do- to this food?"

"I've spent some time roaming Yamato to find the ideal spices. Of course, my main interest is to make foods that are spicy and taste great, but it occured to me that there was an opportunity to add something truly unique to this place. Thus we have this, Dragon Tongue Wings."

Asuna arches an eyebrow and watches two wings man curiously. He seems rather overwhelmed by the moment, and has to tap out by going for the milk.

"I have to give him credit, he's the first person to give up before embarassing themselves. As for the other.. hmm, interesting. I wonder how long he can endure this."

He's finished three wings and is picking up the fourth. It's not clear just how well he can even see, though, with tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I made these and I wouldn't be caught dead eating them."

"I don't think that's something I ever want to hear from a chef," Robert confesses. The interest has faded a little at this point though. Crossing to the bar he leans on it, keeping one eye on the remaining competitor, and the other eye on Asuna. No, not literally. He's not a chameleon.

"It is interesting, is it not? To think that such competitions exist here in the tower. I'd thought of them as a surrogate. A way to show a certain amount of machismo when alternatives are in short supply. But here?"

Robert trails off, gesturing vaguely in an upward direction. "I wonder."

"I'm not sure either of those two are exactly raid material. They may have weapons with them, but I doubt they'd be willing to use them for much. Which is fine. We can't all live on the frontlines, and nobody signed up for the price of failure that we've been saddled with."

The last competitor folds in disappointing fashion and the crowd laughs. Sure, there are a few playful barbs over losing them all a free drink, but nobody seems terribly eager to give it a shot, either.

"And thus ends another attempt at gustatory bravado. Now, if you'd like to try something edible, let me know. I can get you something that is meant to be eaten."

Poop. Robert's eyes stray to the corner of his 'screen', and he visibly grimaces. "Speaking of the tower, think I'm going to have to rain-check on your offer," he apologizes as he straightens. "I've got to dash. Skirmish practice today." And then he's off in a rush of wind, leaving behind a single, glittering coin on the counter. A tip, evidently. Not that he had anything to eat, but there it is.