Chess, Not Checkers

The moment the cork was removed from the top of the bottle, the room was filled with the bittersweet scent of fermented grapes. Artorias wriggled his nose at the strange scent, wholly unfamiliar with alcohol in any capacity. Sirius offered him the first sip, deigning it a step into adulthood for the young wolf. Artorias smirked and took the bottle graciously, bringing the neck up to his nose for a tentative sniff. The smell of alcohol was strong, but it was offset by the grapes somewhat. His brow furrowed; did adults really like this stuff that much? What did it even do? Well, there was only one way to find out.

Bringing the bottle to his lips, Artorias took his first swig of alcohol. The wine hit his tongue and immediately he flinched at the strong taste, immediately noting the sharpness of the alcohol mixed with a muddled sweetness of fruit. He swallowed and smacked his lips together while he considered the flavor, trying to keep from coughing on the strange drink. While it had been very unexpected, he couldn't say it was wholly unpleasant. Maybe it was more of an acquired taste that he'd get used to over time?

"Y'know, for something made from fruit, it's a lot less sweet than I expected," he remarked, the bittersweet taste lingering on his tongue while he passed the bottle back to the Warlord. Maybe after he'd shared a few more sips with Sirius, the drink would go down smoother. "Thanks, Seer, for letting me do this, I mean." He shot Sirius an appreciative smile, wondering if the Warlord realized just how much it actually meant to him, or how much he looked up to him in a fatherly capacity.

"Artorias Carpathius"