"Ah, but you have failed to factor in my abiding desire to not having you mucking around in there inebriated," she says rather coyly. "We'll just see how long this lasts, hm?"

It is perhaps the next swig that gives her the inspiration to add, "I'll make you a wager." She smiles pleasantly at him. "We've got the arm pretty well hollowed, but the hand is its own separate segment. All the tools are in there, those are gonna need to be stripped out, and if you want to be able to put them back, you're gonna have to take them out a lot more carefully than the rest of that shit." She nods at the mess on the table. "They need to be handled real delicately, lots of little interlocking parts. So I'll wager you can't get those out completely in, mm, I'm feeling generous, so forty minutes." She grins. "If you don't, you finish the bottle. If you do, I'll finish the bottle."

A dangerous game, one that stands a chance of actually making this bearable.