"The stronger, the better," he adds; it all seems straightforward enough, not that he thinks the rules are for anyone's benefit but the barkeep. Any other day, having a drinking contest with himself was the stuff of fever dreams or fantasies riled up once he was already thoroughly inebriated. Might as well make the most of it.

"Ready?"

He picks up the cup closest to him and raises it in a mock toast before knocking it back. The other him is right though, everything about it is different. Instead of the clear simple rice wine, this one takes on a brownish, amber hue. The scent is strong and dark, and he doesn't quite drain his cup before setting it down, unaccustomed to the way it burns his throat.

"It's... different," he says, when he trusts his voice not to come out raspy or coughing. He looks at what remains before finishing it, taking a moment longer to taste it this time.