No one ever won an argument with a drunk Bethany. Her inner Hawke stubbornness started to come out with a vengeance. As it stood, right now she pulled the large mug towards her and took a healthy swallow off the top. She coughed, wheeled, then said with a thick voice, "The shriek would be something that snuck up on you. Down the throat, then POW!"

She punched her hand into her palm, then made various faces of pain. "Ow. That ... Really hurt my fingers."

There might be a pout now, Herc.