bartending

[salver]

All Bobby wanted to do was come in for a six-pack so he didn't have to go out for one. He's got his own idea of what he needs to be doing -- there's a sheaf of papers ripped out of a book to translate and send down to Cheyenne to be pieced back together, and there's his battered old copy of The Milagro Beanfield War to reread for the fifth time -- but apparently the bar has other ideas.

"Yeah?" Bobby asks the bar. "What's in it for me?"

A note appears.

Bobby smiles.




Shortly thereafter, he slings a towel over his shoulder behind the bar, and chalks something up on the board in very precise handwriting:

SPECIALS

MOONSHINE MADE FROM A CACTUS

I DIDN'T ASK WHAT KIND OF CACTUS AND NEITHER SHOULD YOU

AND IF YOU GO BLIND IT'S NOT MY FAULT; CAVEAT EMPTOR

Looks like happy hour is open.

[Open until ten Mountain time! Threadhop! Try the moonshine!

And for the record: there is no known liquor made from the cactus.]

[ETA: The witching hour has happened! All threads are slowtimed. Thank you for tagging in! And good god, what is WRONG with you people that you would subject all your characters to CACTUS MOONSHINE. *laughing*]

Comments

[salver]

The glass of water Susannah gets is big, cold, and prompt. "See if that helps at all. You wanting to try for a third?" Beat. "You still alive?"

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

"I think two will do," she says, with some asperity. "My husband is going to look askance at me as it is."

Or: she will rip his clothes off and he won't know what hit him. It's a definite possibility.

[salver]

"You could always bring some home for him so he could try for himself," Bobby suggests. Helpfully.

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

Her smile is tight. "A nice gesture, but he's riding that famous wagon."

She gulps some water.

[salver]

"Or maybe just a cactus." Bobby's smile gets a little crooked for a minute; it's meant to be something approximating an apology. "My experience, they're tough plants to kill. Which is good when you don't got so much of a green thumb, like me."

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

She laughs. "Now that is funny. My daughter gave one to a friend of ours for Christmas. She'd just set up housekeeping on her own. For the exact same reason."

"Truth be told, if it weren't for her, I wouldn't have many houseplants left myself."

Priorities.

[salver]

"Just not inclined toward gardening, or...?"

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

"I forget about them," she says. "They're like furniture."

[salver]

"Yep," Bobby says cheerfully. "I got one cactus in my kitchen window right above the sink."

And in front of the salt line.

"That way I don't ever forget to water it when it's looking a little peaky. Beyond that? It's weeds outside and that's about it."

[shadowsusannah.livejournal.com]

Susannah stretches, the corded muscles of her back popping and crackling.

Say what you want about cactus liquor--there's a lot to say--but the nearest comparison is probably elephant muscle relaxants. It usually take a one hour massage in physical therapy to forget about her lower back this thoroughly.

"Well, Mr. Singer," she says. "You've seen the foul-mouthed bitch under my classy exterior and lived to tell the tale. Not everybody can say that."

Dead people don't say much. Well, some of them do. Susannah hates those ones the most.