milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Atton's getting ready to interview somebody.

In his case, this means wearing menacing looking sunglasses as he fiddles about with mechanical parts on the table. The sunglasses are interview-related, the parts not so much.

Botherable.

[The post is for a bartending interview, but it's not plotlocked.]

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"I'll have to remember you prefer cake."

She laces her fingers together and rests her chin on top of them.

"I do. Back home I even owned my own bar for a couple of years. Seventh Heaven, we called it."

"Nice." Atton scribbles something down. "So, if your worst enemy asked for a drink, what would you do?"

"My worst enemy."

She can immediately think of a couple of people she'd be unhappy to have come up and ask her for a drink.

But Sephiroth would definitely be the worst.

"You mean here, right? In my own bar," she admits, "I'd punch him without question. But here, I guess I'd have to give him his drink. I'd just make sure security knew about him, because he's really not safe to be around."

...and she'd probably end up punching him when she's off-duty, but she bites back that thought for now.

"The Milliways bartending establishment is delighted to inform you that we encourage any contributions to the lively deadly poison trade we have in Milliways. While we cannot condone poisoning the drinks of people you dislike, we can assure you that poison can be supplied in faux-whiskey bottles to make your 'it was an accident!' defense all the more convincing."

She almost laughs out loud.

"That's good to know. If I didn't feel bad about living off the fund for the bound while I'm here, I'd have to donate to that cause."

"It is good to know. What would you do if you were woken in your sleep by the cries of a telepathic woman?"

Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Do I know the telepathic woman ahead of time?"

She... doesn't think she really gets the question at all.

"Well, whether I do or not, I'd put on my gloves and hurry to wherever she is. She's probably in trouble if her cries are waking me up in the middle of the night."

"If you were canned tuna, would you be stored in oil or water?"

She raises an eyebrow, but at this point the strangeness of the question is almost expected.

Almost.

"Definitely water."

"You don't think that water would reduce the taste?"

She tips her head to one side, seemingly taking it very seriously.

"I like the texture better, but if it does reduce the taste, you've picked the wrong brand. The bartenders here aren't paid in tuna, are they?"

"They are if they want to be. Are you, or have you ever been, either an alcoholic or dead?"

Now those, she's pretty sure, are serious questions.

After what's come already, she's not surprised he wore sunglasses for the interview.

"I'm definitely not an alcoholic." Bartenders and alcoholism aren't a good mix. "And I think the closest I've ever been to dead is a week-long coma."

Atton spends a few moments noting these down.
"Tastes great? Or less filling?"

It's another question she's not sure she gets, but she answers quickly enough. "Tastes great, of course."

She idly watches him jotting down notes, but doesn't make any attempt to actually read whatever's being written.

"If it tastes good enough, no one minds if it's filling."

"Oh, nice one." Atton continues scribbling. "Why d'you want t'be a bartender?"

Her face softens a little.

"Because I enjoy it. Because it's something I'm good at."

She absently makes a loose fist with her hand and then flexes her fingers again.

"And there's always the fact that it'd give me something to do with myself while I'm here."

"Okay. I think that's all the questions I want to ask. Do you have any questions for me?"

She wasn't tense to start with, but something in her shoulders relaxes a little anyway.

"If I get the job, should I be prepared to defend my stance on tuna?"

She smiles for a moment.

"But seriously, do bartenders here usually wake up to telepathic women in their heads?"

"I haven't yet. I can't speak for the bartenders."

At first she's reassured, but then she raises her eyebrows.

"I thought you probably were one."

She gives him a wary look.

"Unless you really are doing this just for the cake."

"I am. I meant the other bartenders."

Well, so long as it hasn't happened to him, she guesses it's not exactly a frequent thing.

"I guess that's it then." She straightens in her seat. "Do you... have any idea when I might know the outcome?"

"Not so much, no. Just keep checking the noticeboard."

"I'll keep an eye on it."

Rising from her chair, she gives him a smile.

"It was nice meeting you."

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stuck-mynock.livejournal.com - 2008-04-14 02:03 (UTC) - Expand

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