“A difference between dancers and dancers,” Sona repeated, blankly, clearly not getting whatever Cecilia might be implying. Of course, she had not been around to hear Toni’s earlier comment, but even if she had, she probably would have missed the implication. In her head, Sona was beginning to wonder if Cecilia were speaking a different dialect of the language than she was. Between this and the strange question about missing her room when she was only a few decks away it, Sona began to wonder if the same words they shared had very different meanings. In particular, maybe she was speaking a tonal dialect, and there was some subtle tonal variation between ‘dancers’ and ‘dancers’ that Sona was not able to pick up on.
But she did pick up on Toni’s interest in the fact that Sona and Cecilia were not drinking their drinks yet. Torin distracted her, apparently with an offer to dance, but Sona got the hint. Clearly she was being rude not to have touched the drink that was given to her as a gift yet.
And so, Sona picked up the shot glass and... without any warning or indication of what she was about to do, threw her head back and downed the whole shot in one massive gulp. Then she slammed the empty glass on the table.
For a moment, Sona’s face looked like she was stifling a scream. She was holding her breath, and her cheeks reddened deeply, and her eyes watered. She gripped the side of the table with her hands like talons, the knuckles white with the effort. Sweat formed on her face, and the muscles in her neck were taut.
And just as her face was starting to go from red to purple, she finally opened her mouth and exhaled a painful-sounding, dry gasp. As the air escaped her, her body relaxed, past the point where she had begun until she was slightly slumped, and panting slowly.
Then she looked up, her face still slightly pink and sweaty, her eyes still moist with tears, and said, in a breathy gasp without any voice: “... not... bad....”