milliways_bar | (no subject)

Grace saunters out of Captain Perry's office, already tapping a cigarette from her pack, and tries not to smile. The guys are all looking at her, thinking she's in trouble with their new boss. Quite the opposite. Perry's an old friend from Vice and if Grace loved laughter any less, she'd warn Butch about being all UT in her face, at least for awhile; but he’s been a big boy in a unit full of Sooner fans for years now. It'll be entertaining.

She shoulders open the door to Major Crimes, then the stairwell, and mutters a half-hearted curse. Milliways. A few days without Earl’s making her soft. Whatever, it’s still a bar. Better to smoke with a drink than without one.

When Bar gives her the note, Grace tosses back her head and laughs. She looks at it again; laughs again.

"Sure thing. I could use time to think."

Because pouring drinks in between drinking her own will help her figure out why the motel manager got dead in one of his guest rooms. Obviously. Pushing her hair back, she pulls some not-so-random drink ideas from the proffered book and goes to work on the specials board.

HAPPY HOUR!

Absolut Hell
Holy Water
Jack and coke
and
Shots of Yukon Jack

Dance with the bartender, get a free shot. Bartender's choice.

Smirking, Grace rummages around behind Bar until she finds the sound system remote and cranks the volume to almost too loud. The classic rock already playing suits her fine. Time to shake up this place, she thinks. Time to shake Earl loose.

"Belly up, people. What'll be?"

(tiny tags: Grace Hanadarko, Cal Chandler, Michael, the Pirate King)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

With a "tch" of sympathy, "I guess that proves just how magical the world we usually live in is."

Her expression of vague wonder quickly fades when she actually tastes the drink.

"De," cough, "Licious."

"Ain't it just?"
Seriously, it's like he's drinking honey.

"You a'right there? If you want to add some Coke to that, I won't hold it against you."

"Nah, I'm okay."

Her voice is a little raspy until she clears her throat.

"Drinking straight Jack is one of those essential life skills for someone like me. Or at least it will be until it becomes commonplace for cops to drink Cosmos." Another sip, and this time she doesn't react. "Practice is good."

Well color him impressed, both by the profession and by her willingness to continue her beverage as is.

"So you're a cop now, huh? How's that workin' out for you?"

"Well, I'm FBI, really."

As if that makes it less impressive somehow.

"Hey, I can follow people around, tap phone lines, and rough people up all in the name of national justice. Plus I get paid for it. So I'd say it's going pretty well."

She has in fact only done two out of those three things. Guess which two!

"Woah ho ho! Lookit you, the big bad Fed. Man, I to think I used to feel bad for the criminal element back when I was workin' the vigilante beat."

Raph is deadly serious here. He knows by reputation that Veronica is NOT a person you want to piss off.

You know, if you ever need any help with the roughin' people up part, lemme know. I still freelance from time to time."

Deadpan, "Hey, you know, I could probably teach you a few things these days."

She attempts to crack her knuckles impressively, but the movement fails to result in anything louder than a tiny pop.

"... I'll keep you on speed dial."

He chuckles again.

"Don't sell yourself short there, kid. You ain't big, but you've got center o' gravity on your side. Still carry the taser? Do they even still make tasers in the future?"

"Tom A. Swift's Electric Rifle? Man, that thing was made for the future!"

She's gleeful.

"They've actually been toned down in the last few years. Had a tendency to kill people instead of just stopping them very, very painfully. I don't carry an official one, but I keep a few of my old ones around at home for... sentimental value."

"An' by sentimental here you mean for makin' other people cry, right?"

Raph might be wondering where he can get his hands on one of those rifles that don't kill people, but just hurts them really bad.

"Think you could snag me one? You know, just for decoration."

"Peeing-your-pants scared is a sentiment I occasionally seek to create in other people, yes."

Veronica gives Raph a look, then taps her chin, thoughtful. "I can make some inquiries."

"Normally I ain't a big fan o' guns, but if this one just smacks people 'round a bit, an' doesn't actually kill them? That could be fun."

"Well. Fun for you. Not so much for them.

"And you should never use it on the elderly, pregnant women, or anyone with a heart condition."

"You say that like there's another definition of fun."

Silly silly Veronica.

"Somehow I don't see any of those three pickin' fights here in the bar.

...

Okay, maybe the pregnant women."

"You do not know the elderly like I do."

"You wanna bet? I spent most of my youth bein' smacked to high heaven by handbags after savin' little old ladies from purse snatchers. Far as I'm concerned the old Bats got it comin'."

Veronica gives Raph a Very Serious Look.

"Raph. Promise me if I get you a taser, you will not use it to zap old ladies."

"I promise I won't take the first swing, but I don't promise nothin' when it comes to my personal security."

Sigh.

"I suppose that's as good as I'm going to get."

She rolls her eyes at him. "I'll make some calls."

"You're my favorite Federal Agent." Of course she's the only one he knows by name, but that shouldn't lessen the sincerity too much.

"Aw, shucks. Hopefully you'll remember that next time I'm looking for a favour from you.

"Now drink your Jack."

"Yes Ma'am."