[ happy hour ]

[almosthonorable]

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.) ]

Comments

[the_gene_genie]

'I'll 'ave a Scotch,' says the man, dumping himself down on a stool gracelessly and lighting the fag hanging out of his mouth.

'An' don't go puttin' any milk in it, alrigh'?'

[almosthonorable]

Ben slides over an ashtray; nodding, he reaches for a bottle of good Scotch.

" -- folks put milk in it?"

[the_gene_genie]

Gene scowls like this bloke might be taking the piss and jerks his head towards the Specials board.

'Bourbon milkshake?'

[almosthonorable]

Dry as the Arizona desert, "It's better than you might think, sunshine."

He pours out two fingers of Scotch and slides over the glass.

[the_gene_genie]

Gene takes it, drinks it down in one and pushes it back for a refill, eyeing the guy the whole time.

'I'll take your word f'r it, Sunshine.'

He was intruiged by the guy's cowboy clothes but not he's just pissed off.

[almosthonorable]

Ben's lips twitch as he obliges, pouring out three fingers this round.

"Ben Wade, 1866."

[the_gene_genie]

He pouts the way he does when he's thinking, then takes his fag out of his mouth with his left hand and offers his right abruptly.

'Gene Hunt. 1973.'

[almosthonorable]

"Pleasure's mine, Mr. Hunt," Ben says, giving his hand a firm shake.

"Since we're bein' so civilized, would you wanna try a little bit of one of those milkshakes on the house?"

[the_gene_genie]

'No.'

Seriously. No.

'I'm no' a ponce. An' by the look of it, you shouldn' be either.'

A jerk of his head indicates the attire, like his meaning should be self-evident.

[diced_tartan]

"I can't imagine the effect that stuff has on your system," a familiar London accent says absently.

He's off the crutches already, and busy working on a crossword. In fact, he hasn't even looked up from it.

[the_gene_genie]

'Wha', Scotch?'

The accent is, indeed, familiar. Which is why he doesn't even look around as he answers, just drags long and deep from his smoke.

[diced_tartan]

"I believe that's what you were drinking the last time we spoke, wasn't it?"

Nicholas may not be a heavy drinker, but he does notice things.

[the_gene_genie]

'You're observant. You shoul' think about becomin' a copper.'

He may mean more to that than just a casual jibe.

[diced_tartan]

Nicholas finally looks up at him.

For a moment, he almost considers pulling out his badge and warrant card (which he carries with him everywhere), but thinks better of it.

"I believe I told you last time we spoke that I'm in the Met."

[the_gene_genie]

'Yeah, you did.'

Gene still doesn't look over.

'Bu' carryin' a badge around don' make you a copper, son.'

[diced_tartan]

Oh, Gene. You have no idea, do you?

"So what does make someone a police officer, then?" Nicholas asks.

He's a little curious about what Gene has to say on the matter.

[the_gene_genie]

'Catchin' scum, obviously.'

He thinks this should be obvious, even before you turn up for training.

'The best way you can. Bein' part of a team. Roughin' up th' bastards tha' deserve it and lookin' after the people tha' need it.'

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"The only thing milk might possibly be good in is a cup of caf," Han comments.

(He's agreeing with the gentleman -- though there's nothing gentle at all about Gene's appearance -- a few stools down.)

[the_gene_genie]

'Caf?'

Say what now?

'...you mean coffee?'

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Yeah, coffee. S'called 'caf' where I'm from."

Han is currently nursing a glass of Woodford Reserve, himself. No milk to be seen.

[the_gene_genie]

'Where's tha' then, the moon?'

It sounds modern.

...more modern than his modern.

'Or are you jus' another Yank?'

Beat.

'An' anyway, milk goes in tea an' all.'

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Actually, Corellia. It's got a moon, though."

A beat.

"The hell's a 'Yank'?"

[the_gene_genie]

'...I knew a prozzie wi' that name, once.'

This may or may not be true. He might just be taking the piss.

'Yank's an American. This place is full of 'em. Gets proper annoyin' after a bit. There's no talkin' to 'em at all.'

[rebel-falcon.livejournal.com]

"Americans are from Earth," he recalls. "I'm not. Corellian; human, if you're wondering."

[the_gene_genie]

'Well, I wasn'.'

He eyes the guy up and down, like he might have previously been concealing alien status and now he has to double-check that he's telling the truth.

'Wha's a Corellian? I mean, apar' from an alien.'