"It depends on just how hammered I get. Remember, in sphinx form, my body mass is considerable, and my metabolic rate is as high as you'd expect for a flying creature. So my alcohol tolerance is somewhere in luxury car fuel tank range. Still, the last time I got throuroughly rat-arsed... oh man, I'd forgotten about that... it's one of those things that seems like a good idea at the time."<br/><br/>She sighed.<br/><br/>"This was around the turn of the last century, while I was in England doing my archeology thing. I got into this massive argument with a British professor on how Stonehenge was constructed and it's original form over drinks in this little pub in Oxford. Of course, even I wasn't around when they assembled the thing, but constructing massive stoneworks is something I do know about. So is ritual magic, and that's it's purpose, a calculator for timing when early ritual magic ceremonies could be performed."<br/><br/>She looked abashed.<br/><br/>"Now I ordered a cask of whisky for some serious drinking, but hand't realised it was single malt... damn that Scottish single malt... I woke up the next morning on Salisbury plain, in sphinx form, and I'd kinda rebuilt it the way it should look. Don't tell anyone. please. The Royal Archeological society faked up an explanation about restoration, but that was just a cover-up, even they fdon't know what really happened. So, yeah..."