As the name already suggested, the Drunken Slime was a converted pirate ship that had clearly seen better days.
The main deck had been cleared to make room for what looked like a rather hazardous bowling alley.
Ten wooden pins shaped like parrots stood at the far end, each painted in garish colors with exaggerated squawking expressions. Between us and them, a long stretch of deck was marked with... uh... scorch marks. And cannonball-shaped dents.
Pirates mingled around, looking excited.
I settled Penguin down on a barrel, then I got into position next to Llewellyn.
"Right then!" A burly pirate with arms like tree trunks gestured to a rack of cannonballs. "Rules be simple, lads! Ten frames, two shots apiece—'cept the last, that gets three. Standard rules for scorin'. Knock down the parrots, don't sink the ship!"
I hefted one of the cannonballs. It was heavier than I expected, and definitely not regulation bowling ball weight, though someone had drilled in three rough finger holes.
"You can go first," Llewellyn said.
I turned to him, competitiveness shooting through me.
"Want to make this interesting?"
Llewellyn's eyebrow ticked up. "What do you have in mind?"
To be perfectly honest, I was just thinking that I really didn't want to go back to my flat alone after we were done with this. So—
"Winner gets to pick what we do after the Dungeon. Loser has to go along with it, no complaints."
Llewellyn gave me a long look. "You're offering yourself up that easily?"
"…"
Wait…
What did he just say?!!
The crowd roared.
"D'ye hear that?"
"Looks like he wants ye tied to the mast, lad!"
"He's takin' ye belowdecks and testin' yer sea legs on a different kind of wood!"
"Permission to plunder granted, by the look on his face!"
"…"
Had the parrots whacked him in the head when I wasn't looking?!
…Wait.
Realization hit me. My eyes narrowed.
"…Are you trying to make me lose my focus?"
Llewellyn looked amused. "Did it work?"
He sent a grin my way that was… honestly devastating, and picked up a cannonball like it weighed nothing, testing it.
A bigger crowd had started gathering. Penguin had found a perch nearby and was showing off his little hat.
Right, I had to go first.
I picked up my cannonball. The thing was seriously heavy.
"Come on, pretty boy!" a pirate woman with an elaborate hat shouted.
I drew back and let it fly.
Damn it. Not only was it heavy, but I didn't take the rolling of the ship into consideration. It definitely wasn't like playing on solid ground.
The cannonball veered left, clipping three parrots before rolling pathetically into the gutter.
The crowd made sympathetic noises.
I recalibrated my throw, and the second took down four more.
"First round's for findin' yer sea legs!"
"The parrots are wily today—don't let 'em mock ye!"
"One throw to learn it, one to earn it!"
Llewellyn stepped up to the line, cannonball cradled in both hands.
He released it and the cannonball flew straight, smashing into the pins—sorry, parrots—with a satisfying crash. Six down.
"Not bad for a landlubber!" someone called out.
"Aye, but can he do a spare?" another pirate added.
Llewellyn's second throw took three down.
The crowd cheered. Someone passed him a tankard of something that smelled strong enough to strip paint, but Llewellyn shook his head.
"Nine total!" the scorekeeper announced. "A respectable showing!"
Llewellyn stepped back, looking pleased with himself. "Your turn."
I took another cannonball. He was at nine. I was still at seven.
Llewellyn's eyes tracked the movement of my arm, my wrist.
I narrowed my eyes.
He just hummed.
After a moment, like he couldn't help himself, "You're tilting your wrist too far."
"I'm not."
"You are," he said. He stepped forward, grabbed my forearm, and adjusted my grip on the cannonball, fingers pressing into the tendons of my wrist, guiding the angle of my elbow.
Without realizing, my gaze landed on his mouth.
"I know how to bowl," I said.
"Do you?" His eyes moved down too. "Because that first throw suggests otherwise."
Should I just drop the cannonball on his foot?!
"Get a cabin, ye two!" someone shouted.
"Are they gonna bowl or bone?"
"Careful, captain—ye fallin' harder than the pins!"
Llewellyn stepped back, ears red.
I took advantage of his retreat to throw.
The cannonball sailed straight down the middle, connected with a satisfying crack—
Five parrots down.
Then my next throw took down four more. Total score: 16.
I turned and grinned. Llewellyn's ears were still red.
"Oh, look!" A pirate with a magnificent beard laughed. "The lad's melting!"
"Looks like he's the one bowled over!"
"Forget the parrots—ye knocked him down clean!"
Whether he was flustered by all the heckling or not, Llewellyn's next throw was a clean strike.
Damn it. That was ten points, plus whatever he was going to make in the next two throws, which gets counted twice in case of a strike.
"Pressure's on," Llewellyn said, smug. He eyed the cannonball I was holding. "I could help again."
That made the crowd whoop.
"Aye, help him real good!" someone cheered. "Nothing like a steady hand to guide a man's balls!"
"…"
I was speechless.
The double meaning had everyone in uproar.
My throw, fueled by embarrassment and determination, knocked down eight.
The pirates cheered, tankards raised. Someone had started taking bets.
I was feeling too hot, but my next throw was a spare. Ha!
Llewellyn followed up by taking down five, then three. So his total was currently 35. Mine was still pending due to the spare. My next throw would be counted twice, so I had to make it good.
I kept my eyes on Llewellyn.
My fourth frame was just as good—six down on the first throw, picked up the spare on the second. Total still pending due to the new spare.
The crowd was getting into it now, calling out advice and heckling in equal measure.
Llewellyn went again, rolling the cannonball down the lane. It curved beautifully, taking down all ten parrots.
"Strike!" the scorekeeper yelled. The crowd cheered.
Llewellyn raised his eyebrows at me, still looking smug. "I'll go easy, if you ask."
I picked up my cannonball. "Save the soft touch. If you hold back, I'll be disappointed."
The crowd whooped.
"Careful, captain, he wants you all in!"
"No mercy for your sweetheart!"
"Don't go easy on him, he can take it!"
By now, we'd found our rhythm. My next throw was a five, then another spare.
However, Llewellyn's precision was annoyingly consistent. His fifth frame was also a strike.
"You sure you've got the stamina for this?" Llewellyn asked as I lined up my sixth frame.
"You'll know when I'm on top of you."
"HOOO! Straight from the lad's own mouth!"
"On top, he says! Careful, captain, he'll pin you down!"
"That's not bowling talk anymore!"
I threw. Three parrots down. Damn it.
My next throw, however, took down six.
My sequence of spares had ended.
"Total score: 69!" the scorekeeper yelled.
The crowd roared.
"Sixty-nine, eh? That's a team sport!"
"He's settin' the pace—ye'd best keep up, captain!"
"A gentleman always reciprocates!"
I decided I needed some alcohol to survive this and accepted a tankard. After I gulped it all down, someone slapped me on the back hard enough to make me stumble.
Llewellyn's turn and he threw with more force than necessary. Another strike, but the cannonball embedded itself in the back wall.
"That's a Turkey!" the scorekeeper yelled after Llewellyn's third strike in a row. The crowd was going wild now.
"Careful," I said, alcohol loosening my tongue. "You keep pounding like that, you'll leave the whole place leaking."
"Speaking from current experience?" Llewellyn said.
Someone bellowed. "DID YE HEAR THAT?"
"Pins aren't the only thing going down tonight!"
"Sweet Poseidon, just bend 'im over the barrel and be done with it!"
I narrowed my eyes. I could feel the competitiveness flaring up.
Seventh frame. The pressure was building.
Strike! Yes!
More roaring.
Llewellyn's next throw took down eight parrots, then one. His total was now 121. Goddamn it. I needed to catch up.
The crowd was louder now, divided into camps.
"Come on, pretty boy!" my faction shouted.
"Show him how it's done!" Llewellyn's supporters countered.
Eighth frame. I threw and got seven parrots, then the spare. Good enough.
Llewellyn stepped up to the line, cannonball in hand. A droplet of sweat rolled down his neck, disappearing under his collar. He threw.
Eight parrots.
Then an extra one.
Total: 130.
He turned back, and our eyes met. "Want me to show you how to guide it in?"
Oh, this absolute—
I had drunk a full tankard now, though. My gaze dipped to his mouth again. "Maybe. Depends how good your follow-through is."
More uproar.
"This is why I don't bowl," a pirate said. "Too erotic."
"Ye makin' me blush, an' I've seen sirens kiss!"
I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
I almost reached out for another tankard, but it was my turn.
The heckling was still going wild.
"Aye, guide it in slow, captain!"
"Start gentle, then drive it home!"
"Captain's form's flawless—bet his grip is too!"
Ninth frame. The pressure was getting to me.
Llewellyn had built a comfortable lead, but I was close enough that a few good throws could change everything.
My throw nearly went into the gutter—until a wave rolled in, lifted the boat, and nudged the cannonball back on course.
Strike!
I grinned.
Llewellyn's eyes narrowed. He threw with a controlled violence, but he didn't have the waves on his side. He sent seven parrots flying, then two.
Still too good.
"Brutal!" someone shouted approvingly.
Final frame. Tenth.
I needed at least two strikes here to have any chance—and hope Llewellyn wasn't lucky.
First throw—I channeled every ounce of frustration, competition, and everything else into the throw. Strike!
The crowd roared.
Second throw—my arms were shaking now, but I forced them steady. The cannonball flew straight. Strike!
Dead silence.
"One more," someone whispered.
I picked up the final cannonball. It felt impossibly heavy. Llewellyn had moved closer.
"No pressure," he said.
I threw.
The cannonball sailed down the lane, connected with the lead parrot—
Nine down. The tenth wobbled, teetered… but stayed standing.
Goddamn it.
The crowd exploded into chaos.
If Llewellyn was unlucky again… I could still win.
His turn now. I eyed him with raised eyebrows.
Llewellyn threw.
His first ball: strike.
His second: strike.
The crowd held its breath for the third.
He paused at the line, cannonball in his hands. When he glanced back at me, there was something predatory in his expression.
Third ball—
Strike.
The pirates exploded in cheers. Money changed hands. Someone thrust a tankard at Llewellyn, who actually accepted it this time.
"169 to 168!" the scorekeeper shouted over the noise. "Close game!"
What do you mean only one point!!! This was going to drive me insane for weeks!
The crowd was still roaring.
"That's a win! Now tell us what ye'll do with him!"
"Winner's privilege—hope you're flexible, boy!"
"No complaints, he swore it! Claim yer spoils, captain!"
"Hope you like losing, lad—looks like you'll be on your knees tonight!"
I went to scoop up Penguin, who was still enjoying his hat, then the scorekeeper stamped our booklets, looking thoroughly entertained.
We collected our stamps and escaped before the crowd started making demands.
"So," I said, focusing on the cool night air on my face. "What exactly are you planning for your victory prize?"
Llewellyn looked smug. "You'll find out."
Penguin poked his head out of my pocket, chittering.
"Don't look so devastated," Llewellyn said, amused. "I take good care of my prizes."
I might have made a strangled noise.
"Guess we'll see who takes better care of who," I managed.
"Well bowled, both of ye!" A pirate slapped us on our backs. "Though next time, maybe save the courting for after the game, eh? Thought the deck would catch fire from the eye contact alone!"
"We weren't—"
"Course ye weren't," he agreed cheerfully. "And I'm not a pirate! Off with ye now! Two more challenges await. The next challenge's at the Siren's Revenge, three ships starboard."