[Ling turns red alright—redder, after the wrist move, just sitting there for a second before he remembers to lift said wrist and get ready for the actual shot part of doing shots. He's still staring at Greed, so it makes a ridiculous picture, holding his wrist up and not even looking at it or at the alcohol, and he blinks and looks down only when he nearly fumbles the shot glass all over the bar.
Salt-drink-lime, salt-mistakes-lime, fingers-wrist-mouth, jesus—he sputters for a second when Greed tells him to swallow, then throws caution to the wind, licks the salt and throws back the shot.
Then he actually does cough, once, twice, not huge choking coughs but smaller, still embarrassing wheezes. The salt does nothing to help the burn, he understands now, and picks up the lime to all but shove the whole thing in his mouth out of pure frustration.
Well, he didn't die. He's quiet for a moment and then speaks around the piece of lime, because of course he does,] I paid real money not to taste anything.
no subject
Salt-drink-lime, salt-mistakes-lime, fingers-wrist-mouth, jesus—he sputters for a second when Greed tells him to swallow, then throws caution to the wind, licks the salt and throws back the shot.
Then he actually does cough, once, twice, not huge choking coughs but smaller, still embarrassing wheezes. The salt does nothing to help the burn, he understands now, and picks up the lime to all but shove the whole thing in his mouth out of pure frustration.
Well, he didn't die. He's quiet for a moment and then speaks around the piece of lime, because of course he does,] I paid real money not to taste anything.