Mrs. Falls a lot wanted to never be sober again, and she was running out of ways to get there. She sat at the patio table with a beer in each hand. Behind her, the brewery poured a golden waterfall down its wall, endless and free. She drank both mugs empty. Then she waited. The buzz faded fast, like it always did. Her body kept burning it off. Sober crept back in every time. "Same problem," she muffled. "Drink stops working. Then I gotta drink stronger." She had chased this for weeks. She wanted to be drunk forever, with no more mugs, no more refills. Just buzzed all the time, built right into her bones. But nobody knew how a person got there. So each new drink had to hit harder than the last. Beer, then whiskey, then the stuff that peeled paint. Now even that felt like water. A banjo twanged from the next table. She turned. It was the hillbilly banjo player who camped at the brewery most nights, the one who never paid for a drink and never left. Beside him sat his round friend, a harmonica pressed to his beard, cheeks puffing. "You lookin' rough, ma'am," the banjo player said. He plucked a string. "Chasin' the forever buzz again?" "Can't catch it," she said. "Body won't hold it." The harmonica player lowered his instrument. He pointed a thick finger at the beer waterfall. "You been sippin' cups," he said. "Cups run out. That there don't." Mrs. Falls a lot stared at the falling stream. Gallons a minute. It never stopped. She had never thought to drink the source itself. "You'd drown," the banjo player warned. He grinned anyway. "But it'd be a heck of a song." She pushed up from her chair. Her legs wobbled. She dropped both empty mugs and left them rolling on the boards. The waterfall roared closer as she walked. With a crack of her hips and a toot from her caboose, she silently smirked to herself “give it to me baby” She climbed the stone lip of the catch basin. Foam splashed her boots. The banjo player struck up a fast tune. The harmonica joined, wild and loud. Mrs. Falls a lot leaned forward and opened her mouth under the stream. Beer hit her like a fire hose. She gulped and gulped. No mug. No end. It poured straight down her throat, gallon after gallon. Warmth flooded her at last, deep and steady, the strongest hit she had ever felt. Then it kept coming. She couldn't stop. She couldn't step back. The stream held her pinned against the wall, filling her faster than she could swallow. Her belly swelled tight as a drum. The music turned to laughter behind her. She was finally drunk without a cup. But now she could not get free of the waterfall, and it would not shut off. Just before everything went black she noticed a squirrel with a beer, one she had never seen before, staring at her intently. Finally her world fades into oblivion as she hears the words “welcome to my world”

Mrs. Falls a lot woke on soft grass, a beer still in each hand. Above her stood a tall tree with fat acorns and a house tucked in the branches. A wooden sign read NUTS WORLD. She sat up. Her belly no longer ached from the beer waterfall. The squirrel from the stream watched her from a low branch, sunglasses on, cigar smoking, a beer in his paw. "You drank the falls," the squirrel said. "That's how folks land here." He hopped down. His shirt said NUTS. "Name's Nuts. You want what I got. I can smell it on you." Mrs. Falls a lot took a swig. "What I got is questions. You said welcome to your world. Then nothin'. Why'd you drag me here?" "Didn't drag you. You fell." He blew smoke. "I know how to stay buzzed forever. No cups. No refills. Just you, wasted, always." She leaned forward. That was it. The thing she chased for weeks. "Tell me," she said. "Trade first." Nuts pointed his cigar at a big burlap bag under the tree. It sagged, half empty. Bold letters read NUTS' NUTS. "Spent all spring filling that. Somebody's been robbing it. I want the thief." "Find him yourself. You got a squirrel nose." "Nose says three scents. Sweat, guilt, stale beer that ain't mine." He flicked ash. "Three thieves. I only got two paws. You help me catch 'em, I tell you the secret. That's the deal." Mrs. Falls a lot stood, wobbled, and did not spill a drop. She wanted that secret more than she wanted air. "Fine. Where do we start?" Nuts sniffed the bag, then the wind. His ears twitched. "That way." He led her past the tree to a clearing. Four women stood there laughing, beers raised, cheeks pink with drink. Acorns bulged in their pockets. "Them," Nuts said flat. "Stale beer. Guilt." Mrs. Falls a lot walked up slow. She knew drunks. She knew how to talk to them. "Ladies," she said. "Nice acorns. Where'd you get 'em?" The redhead grinned. "Off the ground. Free for the taking." "Ground don't have pockets," Mrs. Falls a lot said. She nodded at the bag-shaped bulges. "That squirrel worked all spring. You drank his beer and robbed his stash." The blonde's smile dropped. The four glanced at each other. Then they ran. Mrs. Falls a lot did the only thing her body knew. She fell. She threw herself forward, arms wide, beers cradled tight. Her weight crashed across all four women and dropped them flat in the grass. Acorns spilled everywhere. Nuts strolled up, unbothered. "Huh." He scooped nuts back into the bag. "You catch like you drink. Sloppy. Works." The four women groaned under her. Mrs. Falls a lot rolled off and stood, drinks intact. "Got your thieves. Now pay up. Tell me how to stay buzzed forever." Nuts pulled his shades down. His eyes were serious. "Deal's a deal," he said. "But the secret ain't a word. It's a place. And you won't like the walk."

Nuts led her out of the clearing and stopped at the mouth of a trail. It ran narrow through the trees, all twisted roots and broken stone. A cracked sign hung above it. THE TRAIL OF TEARS, it read, the letters dripping like they bled. "That's the way," Nuts said. He blew smoke. "Only I know it. You wander off it, you don't come back." Mrs. Falls a lot squinted at the roots. "No map?" "No map. Just me." He flicked ash. "And you're too drunk to walk straight, so stay behind my tail." She took a swig and followed. The path fought her. Roots grabbed her ankles. She fell three times, and three times her body cradled the beers safe as she hit the dirt. Nuts didn't slow. He hopped root to root like they weren't there. Halfway up, a second sign made her stop. Bold letters. NO BOOZE ALLOWED. STRICT ENFORCEMENT. Beside it, another warned PHAT GIRLS BEWARE. "That one for me?" she asked. "Both are," Nuts said flat. "Told you the walk was ugly." She raised a bottle at the no-booze sign and drank on purpose. "Nobody's takin' these." "Good," Nuts said. "You'd need 'em where we're going." The trail opened onto flat rock. A squirrel waited there. Dark fur, a cape hanging still, a fedora pulled low. A cigarette burned between his teeth. He looked like Nuts turned inside out and left in the dark. Nuts stopped cold. His cigar drooped. "Bolts." "Brother," the dark squirrel said. Same face. Colder eyes. Mrs. Falls a lot looked between them. "You two kin?" "Twins," Nuts said, and the word came out sour. Bolts Nutworth stepped forward. Smoke curled from his mouth. "You've been busy, brother. Filling a bag. Making friends." His yellow eyes slid to her. "She the muscle?" "She's nothing to you," Nuts said. "Someone took what's mine," Bolts said. "I traced it here. To you." He tapped ash off his cigarette. "So I'll ask once. Where is it?" Nuts didn't answer. His paw tightened on his beer. Bolts smiled without warmth. "You always were slow." He turned and walked back into the trees. "I'll be close. Both of you." Then he was gone. The rock went quiet. Mrs. Falls a lot drained one bottle dry and let it drop. "That the place?" she asked. "Where I get permadrunk?" Nuts pushed his shades up. For the first time he looked shaken. "The place is past him," he said. "And he won't move." He stared at the trees where his brother vanished. "Wasn't supposed to be here. He's after my stash. My beer. My smokes. All of it." Mrs. Falls a lot looked at the dark trail ahead. She'd crossed a whole cursed path for the secret. Now a caped squirrel stood between her and it, and Nuts had gone stiff with fear. "Then we go through him," she said, and cracked open her spare beer.

The dark squirrel came back for them. He stepped out of the trees, cape stiff, cigarette burning low. He blocked the trail and smiled his cold smile. Mrs. Falls a lot had no time for this. She lowered her head and charged. Her boot caught him square in the chest. He went flying, cape flapping, and vanished into the brush. Nuts stared at the empty spot. His cigar hung loose. "Thank you," he said, quiet. She'd never heard him say it before. She drank to that. The brush where the dark squirrel landed went still. The path ahead cleared, and Nuts pointed with his beer. A tower rose out of the rock. It climbed and climbed until the top disappeared in cloud. Ledges spiraled up its sides. Ramps. Ladders. Broken bridges swinging in the wind. "What you're looking for is up there," Nuts said. "I ain't climbing that," she said. "I fall enough as it is!" "You want permadrunk? Then deal with it." So they climbed. Ledge after ledge. Ladder after ladder. She fell twice on the ramps, and both times her arms curled tight around the bottles. Nuts hopped ahead, sure-footed. Hours passed. Her legs shook. They stopped on a wide ledge and sat, both breathing hard. Nuts slipped away without a word. When he came back he carried something on his back and set it in front of her. A wooden keg, strapped in leather, with two metal nozzles below. "Built it in spring," he said. "For emergencies. This counts." She stared. "That thing fly?" "Try it and see." She buckled the straps over her shoulders. She kept a beer in each hand. She twisted the valve. The nozzles roared. She shot straight up the tower's throat, past ledges and swinging bridges, wind tearing at her hair. Nuts scrambled up the ladders below, cursing. She crashed onto the top and rolled. The keg hissed and died. She sat up. Cloud drifted off, and the summit spread flat before her, scorched black. Something huge moved on the far rock. A dragon rose to its full height. Red scales. Yellow eyes that burned. Smoke leaked from its jaws. It looked her over slow, then it sniffed the air. It smelled her, and the tower around her, before it did anything else. "You smell of rancid beer sweat from a mile away," the dragon said. His voice was flat and clipped. "But you climbed my tower. Say why." Mrs. Falls a lot got to her feet. She raised both beers. "Came for permadrunk," she said. "It's up here somewhere." Nuts hauled himself over the edge, gasping. He saw the dragon and froze. "Oh, no," he whispered. The dragon opened his mouth. Fire glowed deep in his throat. "Wrong answer," he said. Mrs. Falls a lot drank the last of one beer and dropped the empty. "Then burn me," she said. "I ain't come this far to walk down." “I admire your courage and will” said the dragon. “Let’s settle this a different way, meet me at my arena in the lands below, how you get there is on you”. The dragon then flies away. “Now we gotta go all the way back down!” She curses wildly. “Before you lose your mind there’s one more thing I forgot to mention” said Nuts with a smirk. “I’m a flying squirrel, hop on”.

The bluegrass players sat on the brewery patio. Buzz Daily picked slow at his banjo. Beside him, Big Larry rested his harmonica on his belly and watched the door. Mrs. Falls a lot ran the band. She was the drunk, heavy woman who kept a beer in each hand and never let anyone take them. She'd gone off after the waterfall and hadn't come back. "She's been gone a while," Buzz said. "Yep," said Big Larry. Buzz looked at the beer waterfall pouring down the brewery wall. "Let's take a drink from that and go find her." Big Larry stood. He didn't argue. He tucked his harmonica in his overalls and walked to the waterfall with Buzz. They cupped their hands under the golden flow and drank. Then they leaned in and gulped straight from it. The stream filled them fast. Buzz's legs buckled. Big Larry swayed once and dropped. The world went black. They woke on grass under a giant tree. Acorns hung thick in its branches. A sign nailed to the trunk read NUTS WORLD. "Who the heck is Nuts?" Buzz said, holding his head. "Don't know," Big Larry said. "But look at those women." Four women stood nearby, each with a beer, laughing loud. Buzz grinned. "Two for each of us." The women looked the old men over. They laughed harder and walked off into the trees. "Well," Buzz said. "That didn't work." They stood. The waterfall drink still had them wasted, steady on their feet the way only deep drunks get. Big Larry pointed at a narrow trail cutting into the woods. Twisted roots and broken stone marked it. A crooked sign warned of tears. "She went that way," he said. "Bet on it." They took the trail. Roots grabbed their boots. Buzz fell twice and Big Larry hauled him up each time. The drink kept the fear off. Hours passed. The path fought them the whole way. Then the trees thinned. They broke through into a clearing. A tower rose out of the rock and climbed until the top vanished in cloud. Ledges and ladders spiraled up its sides. Buzz tipped his hat back and stared. "Ain't no way she climbed that," he said. "She can barely walk." "She falls more than she stands," Big Larry said. Buzz shook his head. "Let's look around some more." They circled the tower's base. No sign of her on the ladders. But the black rock at their feet was scorched. Deep claw marks scarred the ground. Something huge had landed here and dragged itself off toward a wide pit in the earth below. Big Larry knelt by the marks. He pulled his harmonica out and held it tight, the way he did before a fight. "She didn't go up," he said. "She went down there. And she ain't alone."

Mrs. Falls a lot stood at the edge of the tower with Nuts. Below them, the pit waited in the rock. Nuts had built the tower and jetted them up it. Now he was a flying squirrel again, and he meant to carry her down. She weighed three times what he did, and she gripped a full beer in each hand. "Get on," Nuts said. He crouched, sunglasses down, cigar clamped tight. "Hold your beers. Don't shift." She climbed onto his back. His legs shook under her. He spread his arms and leaped. For one second they glided. Then the beers tipped her weight sideways. Nuts fought the drop like a squirrel caught in wind. He couldn't level out. "Too heavy," he grunted. "Can't steer." They fell fast. The pit rose up at them. Mrs. Falls a lot did what her body always did. She pulled both beers to her chest and cradled them. They hit the ground hard and punched a crater into the earth. Dust flew up in a ring. Broken rock ringed the sunken center where they'd landed. She sat up in the hole. Both beers were whole. Not a drop spilled. Nuts crawled out of the dust beside her, hat gone, cigar still lit. "Still alive," he said flatly. They climbed out of the crater. Ahead sat the arena, a wide floor of cracked stone ringed by fire. On the far side crouched the dragon. Flames curled from his mouth. He was the beast who had challenged her from the tower and flown down to wait. "Well," Mrs. Falls a lot said. "This is it. This is my moment." "Right behind you," Nuts said. They crossed to the arena. Heat pressed on her face. The dragon rose on the scorched floor and fixed his burning eyes on her. "You defeat me, permadrunk is yours," he said. "You lose, you die." Mrs. Falls a lot lifted both beers and drank. She did not answer. The place she'd crossed the whole trail to reach waited on the other side of this fight. Just as the dragon spread his wings, a shout came from behind the flames. Two old men stumbled to the ring's edge. One clutched a banjo. The fat one gripped a harmonica in his fist. Mrs. Falls a lot knew them. Her band. Buzz and Big Larry, who played the brewery patio with her. They'd chased her all the way into this world. "There she is," Buzz said, staring at the dragon. "Aw, hell." Big Larry didn't slow. He shoved past the fire and stood at her side, harmonica up like a knife. "You started a fight without us," he said. The dragon's head swung toward the two men. His nostrils flared, reading their scent. His eyes narrowed. For one breath, he forgot Mrs. Falls a lot entirely and stared at the strangers who'd walked into his arena.

The dragon still stared at Buzz and Big Larry. His nostrils flared. Nuts saw the opening. The old squirrel dropped his beer, spread his arms, and shot across the arena floor. He darted between the dragon's claws, quick as water down a drain. The dragon snapped at him and missed. Fire scorched empty stone. Nuts kept moving, forcing the beast to twist and chase. It bought Mrs. Falls a lot a breath to think. She watched the dragon flinch each time flame left his throat. Sound rattled him. She turned to Buzz, who fronts the bluegrass band she played with back at the brewery. He picks faster drunk than most men play sober. "Play," she said. "Your worst. The ugliest thing you know." Buzz grinned through his beard. "Now you're talkin'." He tore into it. Big Larry blew his harmonica off-key beside him, notes bent and screeching. It was the worst song ever made. Strings screamed. The harmonica wailed like a hurt cat. The two hillbillies leaned into every sour note on purpose. The dragon's head jerked back. His ears flattened. The sound clawed at him worse than any blade. He roared, but the roar came out weak. He shook his skull side to side, trying to lose the noise. His flame sputtered. "Take mine," Buzz shouted. He shoved his banjo across the stone to her. This was no ordinary banjo. A metal spout curled from its body, and a nozzle jutted from the base. "She shoots beer. Pull the neck back and let go." Mrs. Falls a lot set down one beer. She hated to. But she grabbed the banjo and hauled the neck back like a bowstring. Beer loaded into the spout with a hiss. She aimed at the dragon's open mouth, where fire glowed. She let go. A hard stream of beer blasted out and hit the flame dead center. It hissed. Smoke poured up. The fire dimmed. "Again," Big Larry said between wails. She pumped and fired. Beer poured down the dragon's throat. He choked. He tried to breathe fire and got only steam. She fired again, and again, faster than she'd ever moved. The band played louder. The beer filled him. The great beast staggered on the cracked floor. His knees buckled. Beer ran from his jaws. The last coal in his throat went dark and cold. He crashed down onto the scorched stone. The impact shook the ring of flames. Then he lay still. Ignis Dreadmaw was dead. The arena went quiet. The band stopped. Mrs. Falls a lot stood over the dragon, banjo dripping, chest heaving. She picked her second beer back up. Nuts limped to her side and stared at the huge carcass. "You want permadrunk," he said flat. "It's not the fight. It's him." He nodded at the dead beast. "You have to eat the dragon." Mrs. Falls a lot looked at the mountain of red scales. She drank. "Then somebody find a fire."

The dragon lay dead on the cracked stone. Fire still ringed the arena, but the beast inside it was cold. Mrs. Falls a lot stood over the carcass with a beer in each hand. Somebody had to make a fire big enough to cook a mountain of red scales. Big Larry solved it. He was the heavyset hillbilly who played harmonica in her band, the one who followed her into this world just to find her. He wiped his mouth and looked at the dead dragon like it was a hog on a spit. "Cooked lizard back home all the time," Big Larry said. "This ain't much different. Just bigger." Buzz laughed. He shoved cracked timber from the broken floor into a pile. Nuts dragged over a snapped beam, cigar clamped in his teeth. Mrs. Falls a lot set one beer down long enough to help stack, then snatched it back up. Big Larry struck a spark off the scorched stone. The wood caught. Flame climbed fast and hot. They rolled the dragon onto the fire, all four of them shoving at once. Scales hissed. Fat popped and dripped. The smell that rose was not meat. It was beer, thick and sweet, boiling out of the beast she had filled to the throat. "That there," Buzz said, breathing in, "is the best thing I ever smelled." They ate. Mrs. Falls a lot tore off the first piece and bit down. The dragon tasted like every drink she'd ever chased and never caught. Warmth spread from her belly outward. She didn't sip it. It was already in her, working. Buzz ate and hollered. Big Larry ate and went quiet, chewing slow, eyes half shut. Nuts ate with both paws, cigar set aside. The fire burned low as the four of them worked through the beast, greasy and grinning. Then it hit. Mrs. Falls a lot felt her head go loose and light. Not from a bottle. From inside. The room tilted the way it did after a long night, except she'd taken no long night. She swayed. Both beers stayed cradled in her hands, safe as always. Buzz fell off his log, still laughing. Big Larry lay flat on the stone and blew one soft note on his harmonica, then let it drop. Nuts leaned against a chunk of rubble, sunglasses crooked, grinning at nothing. "We're gone," Buzz slurred. "Clean gone. Ain't touched a drop in ten minutes." He was right. The beast had put them all under, permadrunk and free. Mrs. Falls a lot looked at her two beers. For the first time in her life, she didn't need them. The wasted feeling came from her own body now, steady and endless. She lifted a bottle anyway. Habit. Or pride. She drank. Then the world went soft, and she went down with it, still holding on. THE END.