milliways_bar | (no subject)

"Elevators."

He has a reason - if she asks.

[ooc: alas, no - I'm at the evil!workplace and cannot have AIM or Y!M - b/c they will hurt me]

"Elevators, then."

She clicks her glass against his, and takes a gulp.

"... why elevators?"

He drinks from his glass as she does.

"That's how I get here. On my elevator. Figure I should drink to it at least once, or it may stop bringing me."

He grins and finishes off his glass.

She laughs, and pours him another. We... are probably going to need a few more bottles, aren't we.

"Fair enough... in that case, let's drink to the doors to every bar in Denver, hey?"

"Doors to the bars in Denver, it is."

He raises his glass...

And they drink, for a few hours, coming up with increasingly less logical things to toast.

At the end of the fourth bottle of tequila, she looks over at him, surprisingly clear-eyed.

"All right. Either we need limes, or we need to switch... to... something... else. What else was it you wanted, again?"

[ooc: ahhh - all hail the reverse of slow-time! Milli-time-lapse!]

"No limes. We need Scotch." Which he would always remember, b/c it's what he almost always drinks.

"The real question is, do we drink it now, or wait until tomorrow?"

She blinks at him.

"Why on earth would we wait? You're awake, I'm awake, and we're sober enough to be arguing about it. I say we drink it now, but remember you're ordering."

"Good point. And yes, I am."

He leaves, but returns momentarily with a bottle of Scotch - good stuff, not Glenmorangie, but good enough.

"This should do." He fills the glasses - why get clean ones and make the kitchen staff have to work harder? *g*

"Are we toasting again, or just drinking?"

She takes the full glass, and raises an eyebrow at him.

"What do you mean, this'll do? And did you have something else to toast to?"

"I mean the bar's out of my usual brand and this is the next best thing. It's still good Scotch, but I'm picky. Sometimes."

He holds up the glass for a moment...

shakes his head.

"Nope. I got nothing."

"All right then... how about this? To whatever your usual brand of scotch is."

She grins, and lifts her glass.

"That would be Glenmorangie. Good choice."

*clink*

And he downs the entire glass... what? It's Scotch.

She raises an eyebrow, but doesn't follow suit. She downs a respectable portion of her glass, but hey, it's still a decent Scotch... worth savoring. A bit.

She looks out the window - not the observation window, but a small window that looks out over the lake.

And then she stands, and walks over to it.

"... did you know it's almost sunrise?"

One of his eyebrows moves up his forhead and he turns to look out the window.

"Nope. Wasn't really paying attention..." he replies as he stands to follow...

"Let's go watch it... it's been ages since I've done a proper Dawn Patrol. Grab the Scotch, let's head out by the lake, what do you say?"

Not much - but, he does snatch the bottle from the table - leaves the glasses, too much trouble - and follows...

"Dawn Patrol?" he asks as he meets up with her again.

"Oh, come on, you're five hundred years old, don't tell me you've never had a Dawn Patrol!"

He quirks the eyebrow *at* her this time.

"I've watched the sunrise before, yes, but I don't think we called it 'Dawn Patrol'. That phrase actually has other meanings..."

And he takes a pull from the bottle.

She rolls her eyes, and holds out her hand for the bottle.

"Well, in my view, Dawn Patrol is what happens when you stay up all night, drink yourself sober, and go watch the sun rise with some coffee. But I'm feeling lazy, so I'm going to wait for the coffee till Richard comes downstairs. What other meanings have you got?"

Hands over the bottle - at least she doesn't insult him like Kronos does - though that does get amusing.

"Eh, well, Dawn patrol, not as fun as, maybe, Kestrel patrol, but... has it's uses." Oh the smirk...

She takes... a rather large gulp of the Scotch. And does not immediately return the bottle.

Her curious grin has a faint brittleness to it.

"And what on earth would you do on such a patrol?"

He slides his hands into the pockets of his jacket - the one that he grabbed and slid on as he slinked out the door - the one the mun didn't say he had with him, but as he generally does, yeah, he's wearing it.

"Depends. It's not like stalking. It's much classier. And it looks a lot more casual."

She takes another shot's worth from the bottle.

"Classy, casual stalking. Right."

"It involves... well, the last time, telling a cop that she was a bad liar," he notes with a grin. "Told me she worked for the Met."

He glances at her. "You work for the Met?" he asks... already knowing the answer, of course, but... 'tis fun.