Happy Hour: 'Medicinal Purposes Only' edition

[i_got_vision]

Butch's temporary roommate had come back to his health and proper senses and moved along, without so much as an awkward word of explanation--in that way, at least, Johnny Hooker's not too different from Sundance--and so after a day or two of relaxing on his own, just to make sure he didn't catch whatever that was, Butch is the very picture of health as he returns to the bar tonight. Must be all the pure thoughts and clean living... or maybe it's the whiskey.

Anyway, he hadn't really expected the note that appeared on the bar, but he's seen how these things work and figures he can fake it. Behind the bar he goes, rummaging around with amusement until he finds a few particular dusty bottles somewhere in the back. That accomplished, he writes:

Specials:
Jamaica Ginger
Hood's Sarsaparilla
Parker's Tonic
Old Taylor

It's a public service, okay? Just think of all the poor folks who have been sick.

[tinytags: Butch Cassidy][ooc: three of the specials are patent medicines, but unlike the real things back in the day, let's just say none of these contain hard drugs or adulterants. They do however contain alcohol. Also, open for new tags until the next happy hour goes up, but for now am going to bed and will resume tagging in the morning!]

Comments

[ikissdhimbck]

"Well, well, well."

There's one patron who certainly could have used some medicinal intervention last week. At least Kate is progressively looking better, and that cough is starting to go away.

"When y'said you needed t'make a lil' coin, you weren't kiddin'."

[i_got_vision]

"Evenin', Miss Barlow," he says with a grin.

It's probably for the best that Butch was upstairs dealing with Johnny while Kate was sick; that cowgirl outfit was hard enough for him to handle.

"Well, I've got one, but you know how it is--figured it might get lonely in my pocket, so I'd see if I could earn another one to keep it company."

[ikissdhimbck]

Kate had enough people to worry about, after that incident in the blue scrap dress.

She laughs, tipping her hat off so that it hangs by the stampede string.

"Careful, now. You get two coins in your pocket, you're liable t'start a fire rubbin' 'em together."

[i_got_vision]

"Or they might start conspiring against me--and then what if I got another coin? I'm starting to think having no money at all is the safest thing. I may be out in the cold, but I don't have to worry about my clothes catching on fire."

[ikissdhimbck]

She chuckles good-humoredly and shakes her head.

"There are good an' bad things t'say about money. But things tend t'get a lil' shady when your means of aquirin' said money is taken into account."

She winks conspiratorially.

"Could I get a nip of the sarsaparilla?"

[i_got_vision]

"Now, Miss Barlow," he says, attempting to look serious, "you know I'm an honest rancher."

A pause, as he gets a glass down.

"A very honest rancher. And an honest bank robber, too. How I was as a horse racer, well... that, I leave to your imagination."

Technically he was honest. More or less, anyway. His partner was the dishonest one.

[ikissdhimbck]

"As honest as a railroad man, Mr. Cassidy, an' you an' I both know them are God fearin' men, every one."

She mirrors his solemnity in every respect, save for that sparkle in her eye.

"You best not cheat when I have you out for our race, or don't think I've forgotten."

[smallgayjew]

Posner slings a stack of books onto the bartop before taking a seat. He doesn't notice the bartender at first glance, and when he does, he looks a bit surprised.

"Could I just get a tea? With honey."

He sounds a bit like he may be coming down with something.

[i_got_vision]

"Just tea?" Butch asks, surprised. "Sure, uh..."

Okay. Tea. Can't be that hard. He's pretty sure he's seen a--there, there's the teapot. And a cup... nothing's in the sort of order he would put it in, if it were his bar.

"...do you know where they keep the honey? Is it in a jar?"

[smallgayjew]

"I think there's a pot in that cupboard," Posner says, pointing to one below the teapot.

And now he's a bit worried that this is going to be some really spectacularly awful tea, but he figures he can live with it this once.

[i_got_vision]

Butch's parents are English, so that should count for something, right?

And hey, an assortment of teas. The names don't really mean much to him, so he chooses one with a brand name he recognizes; he figures he can't go wrong with that.

So the tea goes in the pot, along with some hot water from a kettle by the coffeemaker.

"You feeling all right?"

[smallgayjew]

It's a start, anyway. And so far Posner is eyeing the method with a sort of approval.

"I think I'm getting a cold. I reckoned I'd try nipping it in the bud."

[i_got_vision]

"There seems to be a lot going around," he says. "Had a fella staying up in my room for a few days last week with an awful fever. It hit him so hard he didn't even know who he was, but he's fine now--nothing a few days of rest can't fix."

He puts a spoonful of honey in the cup.

[evilontheloose]

"Old Taylor." Because Jordan likes good bourbon: a short girl with a cybernetic left forearms, short enough to almost need help getting onto a high stool.

[i_got_vision]

"Excellent choice," he says with a grin, as he reaches for a glass.

Her age doesn't get any particular notice from him; he's pretty sure he started drinking at younger than she is. Her arm does earn a raised eyebrow--he's seen Civil War veterans with prosthetics, of course, but much more primitive ones. A shame for such a pretty young girl to have to go through life with something like that.

[evilontheloose]

"Real bourbon is always a good choice." The girl smiles and nods; as long as there's no staring at her arm, she'll not be bothered.

Of course, it is a piece of work: the forearm is somewhat bulky, well thicker than a normal arm, but the hand is slender, long fingers, fully articulated and dexterous.

[i_got_vision]

He's not staring; there's a glance to see if he can figure out what it's made from and how it works, but he knows it's not polite to stare. (The veterans he's known haven't been fond of staring, and they made it very, very clear.)

"Some folks swear by these other drinks, but I know what I reach for when I get sick. Or when I'm feeling perfectly fine."

He pours a glass, and sets it in front of her.

[evilontheloose]

Metal, and something else.

Likely he does not know plastic, or advanced polymers. "A guy with some sense, then." Jordan grins, and downs half the glass, holding the liquid in her mouth a moment before swallowing. "Hmm... real bourbon."

[i_got_vision]

He has no idea about plastics of any kind. He just knows it's not a material he's ever seen before.

"Not watered down or anything. Only the best, here."

[starrydome]

"Are there any of those that you can recommend?" Elrond asks.

He has a deep, pleasant baritone and might sound somewhat British. His hair is long and black and his grey eyes are bright and intense.

[i_got_vision]

"Oh, all of them," Butch says. "But if you haven't got any particular illness yourself, the Old Taylor's probably the best one for you. Especially if you like whiskey."

[starrydome]

"In that case, I would like ti try the whiskey," Elrond says. "As my people never sicken and it would be wrong of me to use something that might aid another in need of a cure."

[i_got_vision]

"Your people must be lucky, then," he says, getting a glass and pouring some whiskey. "I've seen so many sick people around here lately--I know they got doctors and everything here, but even so, you see people walking around all glassy and confused."

[starrydome]

"Yes, we are fortunate in that," Elrond agrees. He cants his head a little at the continuation and then says, "Maybe I should offer my services then. I am a healer and enough Men have lived in my house that I feel confident in treating the diseases of Mortals."

[i_got_vision]

"Sure could've used you the other day," he says, sliding the glass of whiskey over. "Had a fella staying with me--he thought he was a friend of mine and it took me a while to figure out that he wasn't, he looked just like him. But he was real sick, and had nobody else to look after him. But he's fine now."

A pause.

"...you're not mortal, then?"