milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Chandler's always known that eventually, he'd get caught. You can only skive off of work to go to a bar so many times before someone notices. He'd just never expected that someone to be the Bar.

He's being put to work, because he keeps ditching work. That's the way he sees it. He's never tended a bar. He's never even waited tables. He's had one job his entire life, and that was statistical anayalsys and data reconfiguration. Still, he goes behind the Bar, and fumbles around, trying to figure out what it is he's meant to be doing. Eventually, he comes up with a plan.

Happy Hour
Apologies in advance for the new guy

SPECIALS

Rum and Coke/Rum and Diet Coke
Chocolate Milk
Coffee

And that exhausts the list of things he can make on his own. Grabbing a Yoo-hoo for himself, he sits back and waits for something to happen.

Fake!Tag: Chandler Bing

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"What kind of drink?" Chandler asks. "They got all sorts of things back here."

From his perspective, it's a little terrifying.

"Have you got something with pineapples?" she asks.

Even female, Urquhart likes fruit.

"Uhm..."

Chandler ducks behind Bar, and begins looking around. "I got pineapple juice," he calls up. "You want anything else, you're gonna have to tell me how to make it."

"I think there's a little book back there," she says, "with recipes. Just look up what you use pineapple juice in?"

Chandler eventually finds the book, and begins flipping through it.

"Daiquiri?" he offers.

"Yes, please," she says, sweetly, leaning over the bar to peer at the book.

Chandler finds some rum and a blender, and starts fiddling with the recipe. He's not usually a fan of mixed drinks, so he's never bothered learning how to make them.

Eventually, he gets it figured out, and passes the drink across the bar.

"There you go," he says easily. "Let me know how it turned out."

She drinks.

"It's good," she assures him. "It combines fruit and alcohol in a very nice way."

"I only like pineapples on pizza," Chandler says. "I don't understand pineapples, either. They're neither an apple, nor do they come from a pine tree. Why are they called pineapples?"

He'll ramble at anybody.

"Have you ever seen one of them?" she asks, sweetly. "Whole, I mean?"

"Yeah," Chandler says. "Why? Haven't you?"

"I have," she says. "Its pattern is a little like that of a pine cone, don't you think?"

Something about this woman is very familiar all of a sudden, but Chandler can't seem to place it.

"But where's the 'apple' part come in?"

"Because it's a fruit?" she says, archly.

Urquhart's patience with idiots, morons, and dumb babblers hasn't increased with the changed gender.

"Well, so are cucumbers," Chandler points out. "And oranges. Limes. And kiwi. "But if anything, the way a pineapple segments, it seems more appropriate to call it some sort of... pinecitrus, doesn't it?"

"Citrus don't have that hard core in the middle," she says. "And they're much juicier."

"Well, excuse me," Chandler says. "So, what do you do, then? You some sort of fruit expert or something?"

"I'm rich," she says. "Fruit are just a hobby."

It's true, too. It only leaves out the three or five most pertinent facts.

"Is," Chandler corrects, incorrectly. "Fruit is just a hobby."

"What?" she asks. "Fruits are a hobby."

"That works too," he says. "You need anything else?"

"No," she says. "It's a nice drink. Thanks."

He can go, if he wants to.

He's more interested in figuring out where he knows this woman from. The fact that he's naturally attracted to strong, bossy women has nothing to do with it. Nothing whatsoever.

"Have you ever been to New York?" he asks.

"No," she says. "I've heard stories about it" -- seen the name on a globe -- "of course, but I haven't been there. Why?"

"Hmm..." He takes a moment to think. "It just seems like we've met somewhere before. Like I know you from somewhere."

Which is funny, because he doesn't recognise her at all.