Cherion didn't waste a single second. Shoving past a hysterical noble who was currently trying to force a heavy goblet of wine down the suffocating boy's throat, he stepped directly behind Derrick's chair.
Before Marchioness Avery could even process what was happening or scream at him to stop, Cherion hauled Derrick upright by his armpits. He wrapped his arms tightly around the young lord's upper abdomen from behind, balled his right hand into a fist, and placed it thumb-side-in just slightly above Derrick's navel.
As he locked his grip, Cherion's mind flashed back to a violently chaotic Friday night shift during his Taco Hell days. A customer had aggressively inhaled a carne asada taco at the restaurant. Cherion had been forced to drop his mop and perform the Heimlich maneuver right next to the self-serve salsa bar while his manager yelled about table turnover times.
