milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When the door shows up for Beckett for the second day in a row, it comes as a bit of a surprise to her, but she heads toward the bar without hesitation, hoping to at least get a cup of decaf out of the deal.

Instead of a cup, a napkin appears in front of her. She reads it with a frown.

"Really?"

Another napkin appears. Beckett reads that one, too.

"Alright," she finally agrees, shoulders sagging in surrender, and slides under the bar to set everything up.

"Just so you know, I'm not very good at--" A third napkin appears and interrupts her. "Fine. But you're going to have to help me."

The specials board immediately changes to a list with Bar's handwriting:

HAPPY HOUR

Cop Car
E Pluribus Unum
Holly Golightly

Beer, wine and other mixed drinks available upon request.

Beckett's eyes read over the list and she makes a face.

"Funny."

A fourth napkin appears: this one with just a smiling face drawn on.

[tiny first time bartender tag: kate beckett]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There's a reflex that's tempted to correct - Beckett, actually - but she keeps her mouth shut.

"Oh, very memorable," she agrees, grinning.

Sad -- he'd probably prefer 'Beckett'. Too many Kates in the 'verse.

"What do you do at home? 'Less you're Bound here, of course."

"I'm a cop," Beckett replies. "With the New York police department. Homicide. And I actually haven't had the unfortunate luck of being Bound just yet."

She's tempted to knock on wood surreptitiously, but curbs the urge.

"I always meat the feds," Mal mumbles, rolling his eyes. "Homicide though.

"You choose that?"

"It was my decision," Beckett says, breezing past the other comment as if she hasn't heard it - which she hasn't. "Though I tend to go for the somewhat more unusual cases - the ones without an easy answer."

The Ng Ka Pe is mostly drained from Mal's glass now, his elbow meeting the glass's side and he leans against Bar to concentrate.

"You like the challenge."

"That's right," Beckett murmurs, half-surprised by the correct guess. Though all of Castle's doppelgangers have proved to be just as observant as he, so she doesn't know why she's surprised.

"So how does captaining a ship work out for you?"

"It's...a challenge. But it's my home; hard to complain about when it is everything you have."

"Seems like nothing comes without its fair share of challenges. But it's nice to have that piece of stability," Beckett says.

"It's a Firefly," Mal laughs. To explain: "When bits fall off your ship, there's only so much 'stability' you can actually claim."

"So not the most stable, then," Beckett replies, her smirk echoing Mal's earlier one. "You have someone on board who can fix it, though, right?"

"Kaylee's my mechanic."

Not onboard at the moment, though.

"She's never not there when I need 'er to be."

"At least your mechanic is dependable," Beckett says. "These days, it's impossible to find one in the city who won't screw you over on something as simple as an oil change."

"That's why I can't understand cars and not wanting to fix 'em yourself.

"You don't get a good mechanic unless the mechanic's more in love with your machine than you are."

"I couldn't have said it better myself," she replies.

Then, "I take it Kaylee loves that ship of yours, then."

"The entire crew does, in their own way. Hard not to love Serenity."

He sounds almost parental about the ship, looking down at his empty glass. "Bother you for a refill, miss?"

"You got it."

The bottle's still nearby, so a refill takes less than ten seconds, and she resumes her position of leaning against the bar.

"That's the name? It's nice."

"Shi a. It has...depending on who you ask, it has different meanings for different folk in my 'verse.

"My medic called it 'vaguely funereal', once."

"A mechanic and a doctor? You're just about fully equipped there.

"But I don't know, I'd say it has more of a vaguely optimistic tone, myself."

"I always thought it did."

At the other comment, Mal tries his best not to smirk.

"Even got a public relations officer you'd like."

"Public relations? You need that all the way out in space?"

The browncoat bites his lower lip in consideration before pulling back one side of his duster, drawing his pistol.

"'Like' is relative? And oh yes, public relations is very rutting necessary."

Her expression remains the same.

"Well, if your crew shows up here as often as you do, maybe I'll run into them at some point."

"You got a gentleman friend at home, Kate?"

She almost chuckles.

"Oh, no. Why do you ask?"