milliways_bar | (no subject)

"We met here. He was already dead." Still quiet. "I knew that. And I still fell in love. He had to leave--something to do with the destiny of his kind in his world."

Three guesses what date he left on, Faramir.

Faramir nods understandingly. "It must have been hard for you both. I am sorry, Sara. If... you would prefer to be alone..."

"No, it's okay." It really is--there are no tears on her face. "I'm just remembering him...and I'm very thankful I knew him."

He smiles. "Then would you permit me to buy you a drink? Tea, ale?"

"Make it a shot of vodka."

Faramir chuckles. "I'll make it two. Wait, I'll go get them."

He leaves her for a minute and heads to the bar, returning with two shots, and hands one to her as he sits next to her.

She downs it without coughing once. "Thanks."

Faramir knocks back the shot as well, like a pro.

"Any time. I have learned, among other things, that true friends are often for getting one another drunk when necessary."

Smirking, him? NEVER.

"Try your best--I once drank two of my brothers under the table and their diet consists primarily of whiskey."

Granted, there had been a little help from Bar by way of a mysterious fuzzy purple drink, but that's neither here nor there.

"My dear Sara, is that a challenge?" He raises a brow.

"If you have to ask, I wonder if you'd even be up for it." Oh, SNAP!

"I will have you know that the things that go on in even the most structured of officers' gatherings, which their Captain is frequently obliged to take part in, have given me some practice in such sport." He crosses his arms. "Try me."

Sara orders them nightmares.

Again, not a single cough.

This is no manner of drink he has ever encountered. But... he matches her, smoothly. "Intriguing flavor..."

"It's not as nasty as some variations I've had."

Round two. Robert Frost would sue for copyright infringement.

Good thing Robert Frost's not here. Not to mention what Tolkien would do if he saw his creation in this situation.

Faramir again knocks back the glass and places it on the table. He looks at her smugly.

Her hands aren't even shaking. It's rather premature for him to be smug.

Red Death #2. Narration highly approves of this drink.

The narrative is frightened.

Faramir downs it.

"Where do you get these names from?"

"People name mixed drinks," she says with a shrug. "I'm being nice and staying away from the dirty names."

His smile widens, a touch of mischief.

"Why?"

"I didn't think you'd want to down a cowboy cocksucker or try sex on the beach."

Well, he asked.

...

Prince of Ithilien facepalming.

"I was being nice," she says placidly before ordering one of the aforementioned drinks.

Mmmmm. Smooth.

Very tasty.

"Are you sure you can keep this up?" he asks, out of politeness, really.

"If I pass out, please turn me on my side so I don't choke to death on vomit is all that I ask." But she's nowhere close to that. Her words aren't even slurring.