Happy Hour

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Carter is in the bar tonight, feeling anything but pleased, although the casual observer probably wouldn't notice thanks to the winged helmet obscuring most of his face, the breastplate, large wings, and various items attached to his weapon belt. Heading out to patrol and ending up in Milliways instead isn't exactly his cup of tea. Neither is being told, via napkin, that he's up for tender duty.

Ten minutes later, Carter's mace is lying innocently on the counter top, and he's behind it, still in uniform, with just one thing scribbled on the special's board:


Today's Special
Black Hawk
half off


He might tone down the surly. Maybe.

Comments

[not_his_pa]

William just wants to get something for dinner and stops and stares when he sees Carter behind the Bar.

Then he realizes he's being rude and tips his hat while trying to look like he wasn't staring, "What's in a black hawk, sir?"

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Staring is good, as long as it's accompanied with a nervous look.

"Whiskey, sloe gin, and a cherry."

[not_his_pa]

It is since William's not really used to the idea of superheroes or costumes,

"Oh, could I just get a coffee, sir?"

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Well good, then. Intimidation helps in his line of work.

"Sure."

He turns away briefly to locate a mug and deftly pour the kid a coffee, setting it down in front of him a minute later.

[not_his_pa]

"Thank you, sir. Are you a bird, sir?"

He's not sure if that's the right question, but he's not sure what else to ask.

[52-dropoff.livejournal.com]

"Which one are you, the original or the one from Thanagar?" Something about the costume seems different. Enough that the first thing Charlie does is ask a question, not even bothering to introduce himself.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Carter ... is a little confused, considering that the only people who really understand about the ship are himself, Nabu, Chay-Ara, and Adam. So Charlie is going to get a level stare.

"Going to order?"

[52-dropoff.livejournal.com]

"Just tea. Cinnamon maybe." Hawkman is playing the Let's Keep It a Secret game? Interesting.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Nope. Hawkman is playing the I Don't Know Who the Hell You Are game. It's slightly more fun and conducive to his currently grouchy mood.

"Let me know when you make up your mind." He'll get the hot water started, at least.

[52-dropoff.livejournal.com]

"You must be new at bartending. I hear you're supposed to treat customers nicer. But then I was never in customer service, either.

"Not that superheroes do that usually. Unless the League - or the JSA - has a customer service line." Ollie mentioned once or twice that the original Hawk could be easily baited. Hard to resist that.

[basic_powers]

...Sometimes, the best thing to do is take a visit to Gara to get some happy-fun times in as wolf cub. That was a day ago, and tonight Tyler honestly feels more like getting a bit of dinner and a treat from Bar instead of sticking around in his room at the castle.

Which is why the boy walks up to the bar in medieval clothing, and upon spotting the man bartending, draws his head between his shoulders and barks in surprise. Then claps both hands over his mouth to look faintly embarassed.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Barking kids isn't quite a common thing around Carter, nor is the garb the boy is wearing, but he limits his reaction to a raised eyebrow.

"Want to repeat that in English?"

[basic_powers]

"....no?" He's still looking embarassed...and given a moment, Carter might recognize the face of the boy as Tyler draws his hands away from his face.

The boy certainly doesn't recognize the man behind the bar.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

"Fair enough. Let me know when you want to order."

The kid is somewhat recognizable. Carter's mask tends to obscure a good portion of his face. Jaw might be vaguely familiar, though.

[basic_powers]

"...could I get a blueberry milkshake, and a hamburger for dinner...please?"

Yeah...the jaw could be called familiar, but it's not exactly ringing any gongs. Tyler's just going to edge close to the bar, enough to look at Hawkman's mask to make his order, and to wait for it to come out of the kitchens.

[starrydome]

"A Black Hawk, please," Elrond says, slipping onto a chair.

It is early morning at home, but it is an interesting name for a drink and he is too curious a creature to pass it up.

The man behind the Bar has the bearing of a warrior, but Elrond can't help thinking that the helmet seems somewhat impractical in battle.

Elrond is wearing a grey robe, dark blue pants, and his long, black hair is intricately braided and studded with small, silver stars. He couldn't find rest and braiding is good work for restless fingers. One of which has a rather nasty looking cut. That is what you get for not paying attention when moving about an armoury.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

The man's garb is given a brief once-over; Carter's seen stranger, mostly in Star City during the late sixties when the damn hippy era was in full swing.

No, he's not a fan.

However, he is a bartender so Elrond will only wait a couple of minutes whilst the human goes about mixing his drink and pouring it into a glass, adding a cherry on top, and slides it over.

"Here."

[starrydome]

"Think you."

Elrond takes a sip, looking over the weapon that's been put aside, but nott too far aside.

"Are you expecting unrest?" he asks, managing to encompass the weapon and the man's helmet in the same discreet movement of his hand.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

"Anytime."

His head cants to one side, possibly giving the impression of some subtle form of amusement - eyes even twinkling a little under the ornate mask.

"One learns to always expect unrest. Makes for a longer lifespan."

[starrydome]

"That is very true," Elrond agrees. "Still, I am glad that it is unrest in general and not specific incidents you have armed yourself against. It would have been a sad state of affairs had I arrived here unarmed if arms were needed."

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

Kendra's been outside by the lake, sitting quietly in contemplation of the sky, the strange stars, and the shadows and silence. She wonders if each star one has its own planet with its own entrances to Milliways.

Eventually something makes her stand and walk back into the bar, and as soon as she's inside her eyes alight on Carter. Something very much like an electrical current caresses her spine; she is shocked into silence, torn between the impulse to run to him and stay where she is for the pure excitement of watching him move.

She shivers, unable to speak but full of questions. How had he known about Milliways? And what is he doing behind the bar? And why hadn't he told her about Milliways? But she hadn't told him about her discovery, so she has no reason to complain.

It looks like a Carter. Who else would dare to wear the Hawk regalia?

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Katar would, but he's far in this Carter's future. She might notice a few differences after some study - his height is an inch or two shy of her own grumpy old bird, and the jawline isn't quite right, but the two are very similar otherwise. His wings are retracted into the back of the breastplate he wears --another difference-- so that he can move behind the counter more easily.

The mace lying innocently on the bar top does look about the same.

He glances up casually a moment or two later, like he's aware of being watched. Blue eyes widen, and then narrow, when they finally fall on her, conducting a slow look-over of her kit: armor, helmet, weapons - and the wings.

Carter's shoulders straighten almost instantly, quite possibly giving the impression that he might leap the bar at any moment and demand an explanation for her garb, and perhaps her presence.

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

The message is received loud and clear. This isn't her Carter, but it's a Carter, of that she's sure. She knows she's being perused in depth, and she knows that stance.

Still, the familiarity almost chokes her, because that's exactly what a Carter would do.

She practically runs for the bar, dodging patrons skillfully - no small task for someone with a wingspan, and outright pushes a patron out of her way with an apology.

When she reaches the bar, she stares at him from beneath her mask. Her gaze, if he could see it, would be almost white hot.

"Carter?" she mouths, silently. He's in costume, after all, so she won't say his name aloud until he does.

[warmace.livejournal.com]

Doing anything other than watching her approach, possibly to the detriment of a customer trying to get his attention for a refill - and being rebuffed with one narrowed glance in his direction - is par for the course. Carter knows full well that engaging in fighting-type activity is not allowed inside of bar.

He does occasionally remember to follow rules. Sometimes.

She's not Shiera; that much he can tell once she's up close and personal, noting the difference in eye color and height. Whoever the woman is, though, she wears the Hawk ensemble like a seasoned pro.

"Who are you?"

Yeah, see, he's gotta figure out why he's got this nagging feeling that he should know who she is.

[accipiterpuella.livejournal.com]

It's not her Carter.

Her face almost crumples under her mask. Almost, but not, although her lips quirk into something in the territory of sadness.

First order of business: Is this a Carter or someone pretending to be him? She well remembers Ch'al Andar -- Golden Eagle; how could she not? The naked brutality Carter had perpetuated on him for what Ch'al Andar had done to her after he played at being Hawkman was deserved.

She leans closer to him over the bar, hoping against all hope that this isn't an evil Thanagarian or Katar Hol. She knows that's selfish, but so be it.

"It's me," she whispers. "I wear the Hawkgirl regalia because I'm Hawkgirl. I'm Kendra. The next life after Shiera's. And who are you?"

The urge to reach out and touch him is almost uncontrollable.