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]

Lower than PBR is pretty bad.

Bobby restrains a full-on shudder. "Means it's probably domestic. Which isn't necessarily any kind of death sentence, but we'll see what we can find for you -- okay, this one'll work."

He's found the series of moving taps; the one he pulls down is Sam Adams Winter Lager. "If this doesn't suit your taste, we'll find something that will." The pint glass goes on a coaster in front of her.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"All right," says Ellen with a smile. "Thank you very much, sir."

She's not used to beer having reasonable color, or anything approaching a genuine amount of taste; it's like the difference between supermarket teabag tea and one of those hand-picked hand-rolled teas made by trained monkeys in the forests of Sri Lanka or something.

Ellen may be spending a while pondering this particular sip before going on to the next one. It's not a bad pondering, it's just being smacked in the mouth with unexpected levels of quality.

[salver]

Bobby watches the process, arms folded loosely.

"Well?" he asks, after a moment. "How's it suit?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"... those poor, poor soldiers," says Ellen finally. "The Army had them drinking dishwater."

[salver]

Bobby laughs.

"You know, that don't surprise me one bit. They're fond of cutting corners where I'm from -- and I'm guessing you and me, we're not from the same place."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"Quite probably not, no," Ellen agrees. "Who was the first man on the Moon, where you come from? That's usually the simplest way to figure out whether it's the same place or not."

[salver]

"...Neil Armstrong?" Bobby hazards.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen nods. "When I was in class, it was Richard Wade," she says, "and Mark Garris, and Michael Hagen. So, yes, it sounds like we're not from the same place at all."

"My name's Ellen, by the way."

[salver]

"And I'm Bobby." A small, brief, bright smile. "Least there's still a space program."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen opens her mouth, thinks about it for a bit, closes her mouth, and reaches for the beer instead.

This one is probably going to take a little while to explain, and he might not really want to know.

[salver]

Smile doesn't last for long. "Or was, anyhow."

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I'm sorry, sir," says Ellen. "That was hundreds of years before I was born."

[salver]

"Well, I suppose I'm more sorry on your behalf than anything else." And he really doesn't seem troubled by it. "Can I go out on a limb and ask if maybe things aren't great where you're coming in from?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"That's probably a very good way to describe it," says Ellen. "I'm still just getting used to being out there."

[salver]

"...out how?"

Call it morbid curiosity.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"I grew up in an underground fallout shelter outside what used to be Arlington, Virginia," says Ellen. "I spent the first nineteen years of my life underground, with no windows. So the surface is kind of weird."

[salver]

"Reckon it would be," Bobby says, and refrains from taking off his (disreputable) hat and scratching his head. "How long've you been out?"

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

"A few weeks now, if you include the time I've spent here," Ellen says, "but I don't think it's been more than a week in total back home."