[stmercy2020]

Okay, fair warning- this will be the last Sylph story from me for at least a week.  I still have a few more stories to go, I think, but I'm going to be moving next week and won't have much time to actually do any writing.  Additionally, I'm going to be working on other stories in what little spare time I have, so Sylph is going to be on the back burner for a bit.

I wanted to put a car-wrecking scene in this story, but it just didn't work out, so it'll have to wait for later.  I hope everyone enjoys this story…

One last little disclaimer: Any resemblance of any characters or places in this story to other fictional characters designed by popular authors is entirely intentional.  It should be noted, however, that said characters and places are analogues only, not copies, as many of those characters are no longer around in 2007, and certainly none of them live in New York anymore.

The other Sylph stories:
Ch 1 "Morning Routine": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5548.0/
Ch 2 "Moving Day": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5573.0/
Ch 3 "Meet and Greet": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5586.0/
Ch 4 "Slumber Party": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5641.0/
Ch 5 "Student Orientation": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5678.0/
Ch 6 "Assisted Compositions": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5689.0/
Ch 7 "All-Nighter": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5711.0/
Ch 8 "Rat Race": http://amaz0ns.com/option,com_smf/Itemid,135/topic,5753.0/

***Please note: all Sylph stories are intended as stand-alone stories; that is, you should be able to read them all by themselves and understand them and enjoy them.  They do have a chronological order, but it isn't necessary to read them in any particular order, as each story should be self-contained.***

Sylph in “Strong Drinks”
by: stmercy2020
This work is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 3.0 License. To view a copy of this license, visit http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/3.0/ or send a letter to Creative Commons, 171 Second Street, Suite 300, San Francisco, California, 94105, USA.

<groan…>

<creak…>

“Sylph…!”

“Whups.  Got it!”

Just looking at the immense teenager, it was clear that the sturdy salon chair hadn’t been designed to carry the incredible weight of her frame.  The hydraulic pillar that made up the base had compressed as far as it could and Sylph was still carrying most of her weight on her downward-stretched fingertips.  Triceps large enough to stand on bulged out of inhumanly large and firm arms as she struggled to keep herself from shifting.

Ivan had been at work for over an hour and he had achieved what could only be described as a miracle.  Under his deft touch Sylph’s face, already pretty, had become beautiful.  He had styled her chestnut hair, added some very subtle color to her eyes and cheeks, and applied a warm tulip color to her lips.  Jen nodded approvingly.  Sylph’s face looked elfin.

As good as the work on Sylph’s face was, though, it was in the clothes that Ivan and his group of highly-paid helpers had earned their extravagant price.  Realizing that there was no reasonable way to design a top that could accommodate her arms or trousers that could contain her massive legs, Ivan had designed instead a sleeveless scoop-neck blouse and mid-thigh skirt combination that served to showcase and augment the already monstrously large physique of his customer.  He had opted to do everything in dark earthtones, both for the contrast between Sylph’s clean, light skin, and also for the slimming effect dark colors had.

Finally finished, Ivan stepped back and got a small mirror, then seemed to reconsider.  A small mirror simply didn’t have the necessary scope to allow his customer to appreciate the depth and quality of the work he had done.  Sylph looked around at her friends, saw the pleased looks and was, in her turn, also satisfied.  She stood up.

“So,” she began self-consciously, “what now?”

Jen and Bekka grinned at each other.  Kalida stepped forward.  “We thought maybe we should hit a restaurant- get some dinner?  There’s a new place out in Suffolk…”

Mike’s Place was a smallish building set back from 25A.  It had a gravel lot in which people parked in no particular order, white siding, and an oak door, cracked vertically through the center.  A single yellow bulb hung over the door.  What it did not have was a sign of any sort.

The inside of the building was cozy, comfortable.  The bar was polished cherry wood and around the large room were several tables and large, tall-backed chairs.  Opposite the door was an enormous fireplace which, even now, had a merry blaze in it.  An impromptu stage had been set up against the south wall, next to the door, and a tall, skinny man was tuning a twelve-string Gibson while a man who appeared to be rather closer to his evolutionary roots than usual was stretching his fingers over an old beat-up upright piano.  A cigar box was at the end of the bar and, Sylph was surprised to see, it was filled with dollar bills.

“Kali, my favorite Hindu goddess,” boomed a man that looked like an overweight Santa Claus, “come to add a little life to the party?”

Kalida dimpled at the huge man.  “Hi, Sam,” she greeted him, “let me introduce my friends.

“This is Bekka,” she said, indicating the busty redhead.  Bekka grinned and curtsied, and Sam shook her hand graciously.

“The tall, Nordic woman is Jen,” she continued.  Sam nodded at the tall woman and was rewarded with a flash of teeth and a slight upturning of the lips.

“And this woman is Sylph,” she concluded.  Sylph curtsied and Sam caught her hand and raised it to his lips.

“Enchanted,” he said, and Sylph blushed furiously.

“Guys, I’d like you all to meet my doctor and friend, Sam Webb.”

“Just call me Sam, or, if you must, Doc.  Anybody says Doctor Webb and I look for my father, and he’s been dead for ten years, now.”  As he spoke, he ushered the girls to a table in a well-lit corner of the room.

Actually, Sylph noticed, the entire establishment was well-lit.  There were no menus to be seen, but a man wearing a smock and an honest-to-God priest’s collar came over as they say down and introduced himself as ‘Thomas’ and asked them what they were interested in.  Kalida told him that they were looking for some dinner.

“Okay, Kalida- let me see what I can whip up.  Any special requests or conditions I should know of?  Anybody a vegetarian?”  They all shook their heads and Thomas disappeared into the back.

“Um, Kalida?” Jen muttered, “we didn’t even tell him what we wanted…”

“Relax, Jen- they’re amazing here, I swear.”

As they waited for their meal, the place began to fill up, slowly at first, with people coming in solo or in groups of two, then much faster, with parties of up to six coming through the door all at once.  Sam and Thomas seemed to be everywhere at once, greeting people and making them welcome.  Finally, a huge man with freckles and thinning red hair came out from the back and stepped behind the bar, evidently indicating some sort of beginning to the evening’s festivities.

As the two men on the stage began playing their instruments in earnest, the crowd got quiet.  The music was a kind of bluesy-folk, for the most part, with elements of early rock and country thrown into the mix to keep it interesting.  Father Thomas came out and placed four huge plates on the table, one in front of each of the girls.  Sylph noticed that they had each received something different, but it all smelled fantastic.

The plate in front of Jen had some sort of pasta with shrimp in a light pink marinara.  Bekka had a salmon steak soaked in wine and served with what appeared to actually be fresh vegetables.  Kalida had artichokes and potatoes with a lemon, butter, and egg sauce served with a grilled chicken breast.  Thomas set down Sylph’s plate last, an enormous slab of corned beef- it must have been more than a pound of meat- served with genuine sauerkraut and baked apples.  Before they’d managed to even begin to eat, Thomas was back again with four large, glass mugs, each filled with a beer of some sort.  Jen’s appeared to be a reddish-amber brew, while both Bekka and Kalida had very dark beers- Kalida’s was clearly a stout or extra-stout of some variety.  Sylph got a very pale, slightly cloudy ale which she sipped hesitantly.  It had a light, slightly exotic flavor that reminded her a little of rye.

“Kalida,” she hissed, “I’m underage!”

Kalida shrugged.  “See that really, really black woman over there?” she nodded.  Sylph looked and saw a large woman with skin just a few shades darker than midnight sitting with an even larger, even darker man.  “That’s Tandi.  She’s a cop.  If she’s not giving Mike any trouble about it, I think we’re okay.  Just don’t overdo it, okay?”

Sylph nodded, relieved, and sat back to enjoy her meal.  While they were eating, several of the patrons started moving tables around to clear a space in the middle of the floor.  Very soon, only two tables remained- one with a sleeping Scotsman, and the other with a large, grinning man with his hand upraised.

“Oh, no,” Kalida groaned, and the other girls looked at her.  “That’s Stack Martenson.  He’s an okay guy until he gets a few into him, then he gets a little belligerent.  He’s refusing to move until someone beats him armwrestling.”

“So what’s the big deal?” Bekka asked, “He looks kind of shrimpy- why, I could probably beat him.”

Kalida shook her head.  “Nuh-uh.  He looks tiny, but he’s like Popeye, or something.  I’ve seen him pull a bus out of deep mud all by himself.  I’ve never seen him beaten armwrestling.”

Sure enough, customers were lining up at his table to take their turns, and he was putting their arms on the table one right after another.  He was gentle, but it was pretty obvious that no one was even offering him so much as a little challenge.  Sylph got up from the table.

“Where are you going?” Jen asked.

“I thought I’d help clear the dance floor,” Sylph replied innocently.

First she went over to the sleeping Scot’s table and tapped him on the shoulder.  After a few words, she hoisted him onto her shoulder, then placed her other hand under the heavy wooden table and lifted it in much the same manner as a serving tray.  Holding it well over her head, she moved it over to the edge of the space and gently placed the snoozing man on top of it.

She looked over to where Stack was sitting.  The line ahead of him was considerably shorter, now.  She went and stood at the back, casually waiting her turn.

Finally, it was her turn.  She sat down gingerly on the heavy wooden chair and placed her arm on the table.  Stack’s eyes bulged as he registered suddenly that the huge mass of meat in front of him was attached to a single arm, and not actually possessed by three large people as he had originally thought.  Further, he realized, he wasn’t yet drunk enough to be seeing double- that gigantic forearm actually was larger around than his leg- possibly even larger around than his waist.

His eyes followed the forearm back to a bicep that appeared to be an over-inflated basketball attached to a deltoid larger than one of those giant pumpkins farmers sometimes liked to grow to enter into state fairs.  Her trapezius muscles  were insanely wide and thick, sloping from her shoulders and seeming almost to swallow her neck.  Crazily, attached to that unreal mass of muscle was one of the prettiest, most feminine faces Stack had seen in years- and, as a broadway talent scout, Stack had seen many beautiful women.

Sighing, Stack placed his arm on the table and gripped the huge woman’s hand.  Her hands were smooth, but calloused, hardened from years of pounding reps with weights that most people couldn’t even begin to imagine.  Her grip was gentle, but firm.

Sensing that something momentous was in the offing, Doc Webb came over and placed his huge hands over the contestants grip and counted down.  Stack immediately pressed against Sylph’s arm with staggering force.  His grip was capable of crumbling brick and the strength of his shoulders and arms was like nothing Sylph had ever felt before.

Sylph gasped slightly, enjoying the feeling of something actually presenting a challenge to her muscles.  This relatively small man was pouring in more pounds per square inch than she’d felt since lifting the rental truck on her way to NYU.  It wasn’t actually humanly possible, she knew, but she didn’t really care as she matched him force for force.  He hadn’t yet managed to move her arm, but she hadn’t made any progress against him, either.

Her bicep peaked and an enormous vein appeared on top of it, as her muscles demanded and received more blood and oxygen.  Immense striations appeared in her normally smooth muscle as her arm went from lean to impossibly ripped.

Sweat broke out on Stack’s forehead and his face turned red as he strained against Sylph’s titanic might.  Glancing up briefly, Stack was amazed to see Sylph’s arm actually growing, her bicep and forearm looking impossibly hard and shredded and vascular, her deltoid, trapezius, and laterals actually expanding until the loose fabric surrounding them began to pull and the strong stitching began to strain and pop.

Sylph felt her wrist turning slightly under Stack’s grip, felt her arm slipping an inch.  She dug deep down.  How bad do you want it? she asked herself.  He was steadily forcing her arm over now, and she was barely two inches from defeat when she clenched her jaw and bared her perfect teeth, letting a low growl build into a powerful roar as she brought her arm to a dead standstill.

She took a deep breath, expanding her ribcage, then another.  With a yell, she pushed against his arm with a strength that she’d used to shatter ballistic glass.  Her hands had a grip that had left fingerprints in solid steel, and she brought all of that to bear against Stack’s superhuman arm strength.  Slowly, majestically, her arm returned to the starting point, then overtook it.

Stack couldn’t begin to fathom how she was doing it.  She had stopped him inches from victory and completely reversed the flow of the competition.  It felt as if she might tear his arm off, she was pressing so hard, now.  Even so, her grip still seemed gentle and he realized with a frightened start that, whether she knew it or not, she still had untapped reserves.  He looked into her eyes and saw strain there, but also an ocean of calm.  As hard as she was pressing into him, he was sure she had more.  Groaning, he poured all of his inhuman might into his arm.  They stopped again, but Stack had no more to give and he couldn’t reverse Sylph’s immense advantage.

Finally, after nearly five minutes of struggle, Stack’s arm gave out.  It happened suddenly, but Sylph’s muscle control was so minute that she managed to feel it and release enough of her grip and pressure so that she gently set his arm on the tabletop instead of crushing it and smashing him through to the floor.  It was then that he realized the entire bar had stopped whatever they were doing to watch the contest.  Nodding at Sylph, he stood up and shook out his arm, then went around the table to where she was still sitting and took her arm in his hands and raised it above her head in the traditional victory salute.

“Lass,” he said, “that’s a powerful strong right arm you’ve got.  Congratulations!”

She grinned at him, then slipped her arm around his waist and hoisted him into the air.  “You weren’t bad yourself,” she murmured, and he grinned as she spun him about before carrying him off to the side.  Several other people cleared his table and the chairs, and then the musicians struck up a lively Irish reel.

Mike came around the bar and walked up to Sylph holding a small glass.  “Seems to me you’ve earned this one, tonight.  On the house!”

Sylph took the glass from him and sniffed it dubiously.  “What is it?” she asked the redheaded bartender.

His blue eyes twinkled.  “Why, it’s exactly what a young lass like yourself needs- a good, strong drink!”  Sylph smiled, shook her head, and downed it neat.

[cpbell0033944]

Nice, stmercy, very nice.  I must admit I don't think this quite hits the soaring heights of your previous Sylph chapters, but it's still very, very good indeed. 😉

[stmercy2020]

I may have been a bit distracted while I wrote this one.  I know that I'm setting Sylph up for some repercussions in the morning…

[cpbell0033944]

I may have been a bit distracted while I wrote this one.  I know that I'm setting Sylph up for some repercussions in the morning…

Hangover? ;D

[stmercy2020]

Well, you know they say- "Beer before liquor…" ;))

And Sylph is not an experienced drinker.

[cpbell0033944]

Well, you know they say- "Beer before liquor…" ;))

Never heard that one, mate, must be an American saying.  The only one I know of here is "never mix grape and grain."

[stmercy2020]

Heh.  The guy who mentioned it to me was Canadian, actually- the saying has pretty much the same meaning, though.  The full saying is, "Liquor before beer, never fear.  Beer before liquor, never sicker."  It's a little silly, but it seems to be a pretty good rule of thumb.

[cpbell0033944]

I don't drink beer, so I doubt I'll ever need to worry about that (I find it too gassy).  Now, a good Highland or Speyside malt is another matter entirely… 😉

[00tree]

Hangover? ;D

Wouldn't it be the most appropriate time to write a drinking story?   😀

[stmercy2020]

Y'know, I completely missed the implications there. ;))

I so rarely get hangovers (I suspect because I so rarely drink to excess), that it never even occurred to me that cpbell was suggesting that I might have had a hangover while I was writing…

No, honestly, I just have sufficient ADD that when my brain wants to work on something other than what I'm doing, I sometimes don't finish with quite the skill or flourish that I really like to.

Rereading this story, I wish I'd done more (anything) with punning at Mike's Place, and I wish I'd put in rather more after the armwrestling.  I suppose it's not really too late, but I don't know how badly I want to revisit this scene, just now.

Maybe I'll deal with some of those issues in a flashback sequence…

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