"Ha! Who says I think you're cute, old man?" Ciri counters with a snort, while she does take the time now to give him a good, long look down her nose. She cocks a fist on her hip, lips pursed as though thinking very thoroughly about this.

"I've crossed swords with men decades older than you, and I wouldn't dare go easy on them. Don't embarrass yourself."

Whether she means not to embarrass himself with pleas for mercy against being punched (?) or not to lose to her in the drinking contest even though she seems determined to win (??) is extremely unclear.

But Ciri has accepted the challenge. She sits with a soft thump on the opposite side of the couch, leaning over to grab one of the tiny cups and give it a sniff. It's not that she hasn't had hard liquor, though it is less common and far more expensive on the Continent -- but in a world where everyone drinks alcohol pretty much all of the time instead of water (considering the quality of water in many places, for one thing), the concept of taking shots is a foreign one.

"Why the dainty little vessels, though? So you can feel better about yourself when you tell your friends you downed twenty cups of drink?"