Emperor Sagan
Lord Commissar
Inari continued her raid on the crates for anything alcoholic. While she preferred to limit her intake as kitsune had famously low tolerances for drink, she could manage enough. The key was not to drink while in disguise. And since she wasn't using any glamor to shift into her human form or anything else... then there wasn't much of a problem. More people in the group than not were showing signs of being broken, or were simply not agreeable on really anything. It was like she was trapped in a permanent funeral procession, except without the rice, and the singing, the hugging, and everything that made it remotely bearable. Alcohol was needed to rectify this situation.
One bottle became three, then five, and then upwards to nine large bottles of various alcohol and liqueurs, some in clear glass and others in frosty brown. These drinks were perhaps the closest thing to a miracle substance in the world. You could drink it. You could cook with it. You could start fires with it. You could disinfect wounds with it. You can torture people with it, if done cleverly. There were a lot of fun uses. For now, it was drinking time. All these bastards be damned. She'd had enough of the whining, the moping, the tears. They needed fireworks and drums. Hell, they had just taken out a high value target and got out in one piece, albeit at the lack of loot, but ultimately that wasn't the point. Celebrations were a required process to living and these people didn't seem to comprehend that.
Chuckling to herself, Inari scooped up the nine bottles in her arms like it was a crop harvest, and she wobbled over to the truck, the bottles making an ungodly clinking racket. She sat them out on the edge and took stock for a moment, before she grabbed the one she was already drinking and began downing more of it.
"I only share if ask nicely," she announced to anyone nearby. After all, the only ones worth sharing with were the ones with the capacity to do so. She left her makeshift bar only for a moment to ransack the crates for a few personal goods, like crackers and rice, if there was any, along with vegetables she could cut up, and then back to the truck it was. Another swig, another smile. Now this would make everyone else tolerable.
One bottle became three, then five, and then upwards to nine large bottles of various alcohol and liqueurs, some in clear glass and others in frosty brown. These drinks were perhaps the closest thing to a miracle substance in the world. You could drink it. You could cook with it. You could start fires with it. You could disinfect wounds with it. You can torture people with it, if done cleverly. There were a lot of fun uses. For now, it was drinking time. All these bastards be damned. She'd had enough of the whining, the moping, the tears. They needed fireworks and drums. Hell, they had just taken out a high value target and got out in one piece, albeit at the lack of loot, but ultimately that wasn't the point. Celebrations were a required process to living and these people didn't seem to comprehend that.
Chuckling to herself, Inari scooped up the nine bottles in her arms like it was a crop harvest, and she wobbled over to the truck, the bottles making an ungodly clinking racket. She sat them out on the edge and took stock for a moment, before she grabbed the one she was already drinking and began downing more of it.
"I only share if ask nicely," she announced to anyone nearby. After all, the only ones worth sharing with were the ones with the capacity to do so. She left her makeshift bar only for a moment to ransack the crates for a few personal goods, like crackers and rice, if there was any, along with vegetables she could cut up, and then back to the truck it was. Another swig, another smile. Now this would make everyone else tolerable.