Characters: Leandro, Wren, and OPEN
Setting: The bar, night, day 3
"Okay, this is is how we do..."
Leandro was carefully leaning over a pair of shot glasses on the bartop, an elegant oval-esque bottle gripped in one hand. It was full of a dark bronze liquid that, once uncorked, bled a green-sweet moss smell into the air. "It's Don Julio, fairly nice stuff. I was expecting some crap Cuervo, but you might like this. We're going to drink it auténtico, not Americano. That means no salt and no lime, not like a big baby."
He grinned crookedly at that, not expecting Wren to know the difference. Nevertheless, he wanted her first ta-kill-ya experience to be the best it possibly could be, very much minus the shredded clothes and passing out of the usual collegiate first-timer's setting. The mossy liquid went into each shot glass in a thin layer, one a little thinner than the other. He shorted her a bit off the usual level of the shot, just in case it really was too much for her to handle. Then each glass was held between his fingertips, the lesser one offered out to her.
"Alright, tip your head back a little like you're looking at the ceiling, and chug the shot as fast as you can. Pretend you're taking cough syrup. Don't worry, you
will taste it." Leandro just could not suppress his grin in anticipation of drinking such a nice tequila himself. He gallantly went first, tipping the shot into his mouth and gulping it down. Naturally, it went from about 0 to 60 in less than a second, building up to a firebreathing cinnamon burn not unlike a full mouth of Indian cuisine. His eyes went wide and watered a little, and he had to shake his head, jaw swung open.
"Whew! Ya ya ya!" he punctuated the occasion. As the seconds went by it was mellowing out into the aftertaste that marked it as a nice quality – earthy, warm vanilla and pure, sweet agave.
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