[Wait who's turn is it on the poke war? North's turn? No wait it's his, shit, he forgot. York adjusts by tangling his other foot in North's, pulling himself and his stool closer by dint of determination, well waxed tile, and North just weighing more than he does by a stupid amount. Damn dude being tall and built and tall.

North is clearly onto something here. Clearly. Another sounds good. York raps his knuckles on the table, leaning into and against North while he waits for the next set of shots. ]

I would do no such thing. I've got some class, Ev. Only the finest pine scented ethanol cleaner for me.

[A beat, a wink, and a sigh as another set of shots are set before them.]

To surviving!