~ Yelena Trotskaya and Ippolyta the Manreaper VS Maiya Moréz and Rosa Vesperī ~
"Kolgan's Landing", western continent of Dixie, frontier world of the Imperium of Sidhae.
Ippolyta's accipitrine talon of a finger jutted through space, as if to carve into the young Caerelian's breast from afar. First came and went a flash of trepidation, as what first registered was the tone of her voice, like a buzzsaw ripping through corrugated iron. Fast to replace it was incredulity, when Rosa parsed the semantics of Ippo's sentence... and cogitated it as a demand for alcohol. Before she could even part her lips for a response, a snort from her nearby partner indicated one already forthcoming. A snort, followed by peals of sardonic laughter.
"Pfffffff, hahahahahaha! What, Rosa!? Oh hermanita, your glass eyes must be fogging up! Dear Crēscerela here could tell you whether or not a certain wine's grapes were first kissed by the nether lips of virgins before being pulverized with a silver pestle engraved with poetry written three millennia ago, but hold her own against a knockoff Tianguo vase sloshing with what can only be described as concentrated stable cleaner? Well, I'm sure you can infer the end to that story. Now..."
Maiya turned to face Ippolyta front-forth, flaming tresses gently swaying in warm gusts rolling across the desolate warscape.
"I very well know my way around the inside of a cask. Shit, if you've a thirst I'd be happy to regale you with stories of how I trounced every single Blackpowder Corsair in a bumbo-chugging contest over a round or two-dozen. That said... my pockets are a little light right now, and I've the sense you could tipple your way through half a bank vault. Since Little Red Riding Bitch over there already seems heatin' for a fight, why don't we determine who picks up the tab..."
Maiya's arms swept outwards in wide crescents, billowing open her cloak and revealing the glinting receivers of several wheellock pistols holstered around her torso. Already cradled in her fingers were the lacquered cherrywood grips of two long-necked sharpshot guns, silver and red shining in the light of the warfare raging above.
"...the old-fashioned way, eh?"