milliways_bar | [ happy hour ]

Entry tags:

[ happy hour ]

Not one to pass up a good business opportunity, Ben’s behind the counter, aiming to earn some credit toward what’s left of his tab.

Specials
† bourbon
† milkshakes
† bourbon milkshakes

The bar is fairly quiet at the moment, so Ben’s leaning on one elbow, doodling on a napkin.

[ tiny tags: gene hunt, mark hoffman, moist von lipwig ]

[ ooc: ~~have at, guys — open till 8:30 p.m. est~~; tag away, and feel free to threadhop all over the place!

eta, 8:33 p.m.: AHAHA, you people. THANK YOU ALL. closed to new threads, but i'll be hitting these as i can before bed tonight, and tagging back all slows tomorrow for those who want 'em! ♥! (threadhopping, o' course, is still encouraged.) ]

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Ben nods, reaching for a lowball glass.

"Bourbon it is, Miss Ellen. Any preferences on the brand, or you feel like bein' surprised?"

"I wouldn't know the difference between one brand and the next, to be honest," Ellen admits. "Pick something you think is good, please? I'll trust you on this."

"I'll set you up nice," he says, and it's a sincere promise.

"There's no stuffy marshal around to stifle anybody's fun."

He may be smirking just a little bit as he pours out two fingers of Blanton's.

"Oh, he wasn't that bad," says Ellen, but she smiles anyway. "Thank you, Ben. I appreciate it. It's been a long day and I haven't even gone home yet."

"He was somethin' that's not for a nice young lady's ears to hear," Ben says, chortling.

He slides over her drink.

"Busy day?"

"Probably heard it anyway," says Ellen wryly. "Thank you."

"Oh- yes. I made a deal with a soldier here a while ago. John's training me in close quarters combat and all kinds of other skills so that I have a better chance of surviving back home and he has something to do with himself while he's Bound. Working with him can be kind of exhausting."

"Kind of? Jesus Ch— uh, good Lord, I'd say that's more than 'kind of.'"

"Well, it's not as bad as it would be if I'd started working with him fresh out of the Vault," Ellen says. "I've had a lot of time to get used to walking for miles with everything I need to survive on my back, so that helps. I still can't keep up with him properly, but I'm getting there- I hope, anyway."

Ben digests this with a slight frown.

"Have you got means of transport out there? Horses or trains, somethin'?"

"No hor-"

Ellen stops, blinking. Then she smacks herself in the forehead.

"I forgot. I went to all that trouble to gather the parts, and I forgot- Ben, thank you so much, I forgot I had the pieces I needed to build a robot horse! You'd think I'd remember something like that..." She shakes her head. "I'm sorry. No, we don't have horses. We have cattle, they're called Brahmin and they make great pack animals, but they're not really the kind of thing you can ride. But I can get that horse together and use it to carry my things, at the very least."

"Happy to oblige," Ben says, more than a little bemusement in his eyes and tone.

A pause.

"Robot horse? Don't think I know that breed."

"It's not a breed. It's a device," Ellen says. "Um. A robot's a....a person or a thing made of metal, designed to do work without having to sleep or eat or be alive. Before the Great War they made a kind of robot horse that they called Giddyup Buttercup, for families to give kids so they could have something to ride and play with that didn't need to be exercised or fed or cleaned up after. When they were done with it for the day they just switched it off, like blowing out a candle."

As Ellen explains, Ben grabs a fresh paper napkin and begins to sketch.

Squinting at his first attempt, he shakes his head, pushes it aside, and starts again.

"Anything like this?"

Ellen looks at it for a bit. Eventually she gestures for a pencil and a napkin of her own.

"Like this."

Ben studies the napkin with critical eyes.

"That's not half-bad. Miss Bar's got drawin' supplies to spare, if you ever get yourself some free time and take advantage."

"Huh," says Ellen. "You think? We never really did much drawing in the Vault except on the chalkboard. Didn't have a lot of paper to go around...."

"Tell you what," he says, giving the counter an affectionate tap with one fingertip. "When she wakes up, I'll ask her to cough up another one of these."

He produces a small sketchbook from his pocket, and a slim case that holds a handful of graphite pencils.

"Comes in handy if you're killin' time with nothin' but your thumbs to twiddle."

"Oh, there's usually other stuff that needs to be done," Ellen says, "but all right. It could come in useful someday, who knows?" She smiles. "thank you, Ben."

"You gotta stop sayin' 'thank you' so much. That's a dirty habit, hasn't anybody told you that?"

But he's only teasing, as evidenced by his tone and the shine in his eyes.

"Force of habit," says Ellen, smiling back. "We put a lot of store by manners in the Vault, and they seem to make it a lot easier dealing with the traders in the Wastes. Even with Crazy Wolfgang."

"I try to mind my manners myself, especially around folks I'd like to keep on the good side."

He raises an eyebrow.

"And especially around people with names like 'Crazy Wolfgang.'"

"He's a junk dealer," Ellen says. "Sells whatever interesting things he finds in the Wasteland. I don't think he's quite as nuts as he claims, but it's best not to ask. The one you really want to be careful around is Lucky Harith. He's a really nice guy, but he's the weapons merchant. I've never seen anybody with that many guns and explosives strapped to one pack animal."

"Your acquaintances are far more interestin' than mine'll ever be, just so you know."

"Harith believes the only way to make sure people are safe in the Wasteland is to make sure everyone's equally dangerous," Ellen says. "Hence the guns. I've never asked him if it's working or not, but he seems to be able to go just about anywhere in the Wasteland without people giving him trouble- he even helped me get a little boy to Rivet City to live with his cousin when giant ants killed the boy's father."

Ben grabs a nearby pitcher and pours out a glass of ice water for Ellen, then one for himself.

"I was right there with you, till you said 'giant ants,'" he says, placing the water next to her bourbon. "How big're you talkin'?"

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aaaaaaaagh_sky - 2010-08-29 16:36 (UTC) - Expand

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