Happy Hour

[veryscaryrobot.livejournal.com]

When Cameron stops by the bar, she gets a slip of paper along with her order (which was some kind of pamphlet, tucked immediately into her pocket). She reads it.

A few minutes later, the specials board reads,

Today's Specials
select items for reduced price

Pencils
Absinthe
Chopin

Cameron waits behind the bar and (apparently) attempts to stare down everyone who passes her, like all good customer services providers.

[OOC: I'm going to run out and get dinner in a moment. Will be back! AND BEHOLD, I RETURN.]

Comments

[veryscaryrobot.livejournal.com]

A freshly-scrubbed, cat-free esophagus. In case that was a concern.

"No." A brief pause. "She's my mother."

The coffee clumps gamely onward.

[isaysimplewords]

It's always a concern. One can never be too careful, with cats.

"Ah," Cal says. "I - can't imagine calling my mother by her first name."

This is a powerful understatement. To put it mildly.

[veryscaryrobot.livejournal.com]

They say cats will fit anywhere their heads will fit...

Cameron looks away from the coffee, and toward him. "Have you experienced recent brain damage?"

[isaysimplewords]

Also under closed doors. They just enjoy making the humans open the doors instead.

Cal blinks. Conversational whiplash!

". . . Sorry, what?"