[ happy hour ]

[almosthonorable]

Ben Wade is greeted with a handful of surprises when he enters the bar.

One is delicious.

Another is unexpected, to say the least.

And the last, well. He never minds this particular request so much.

"Happy to," he tells the counter, while he withdraws what's sure to be a spectacular cherry tart from the basket at his elbow. "As long as you don't mind me askin' a favor of you."

A napkin appears.

"Now that's just lewd," he says, smirking. "Flattered as I am, I'll have to say no, ma'am. What I need is for you to hold on to a couple things for me -- if you'd be so kind, of course."

Moments later, Ben's signature black hat and his infamous gun are in Bar's care, where they'll remain for the next few weeks, if not months.

He gives the bartop an affectionate half-smile before rounding the counter, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he goes.

Not long afterward, the specials board bears his uniform scrawl.

specials:
milk punch
bourbon
coffee
bourbon coffee
While he waits for customers, he helps himself to that tart -- which is, predictably, delectable -- and a glass of milk punch.

[ ooc: open for business all day and most of the evening, y'all. have at! and we're closed for the night, as of 11:03 p.m. EST — thanks for tagging, everybody! I'll pick up slows asap tomorrow for all who want 'em. ]

Comments

[ostro_goth]

Teja is leaning on the bar, looking at the board.

"Milk punch?" he says.

[almosthonorable]

"I was skeptical, too," Ben says, pointing to his half-empty glass. "But the bourbon makes it sing."

Probably because Ben added a boatload of said bourbon, but that's beside the point.

[ostro_goth]

"It is milk and bourbon?" Teja asks.

That sounds strange.

[not_his_pa]

William doesn't really want to talk to Wade yet but he needs to apologize to Teja.

So he walks over when he's sure Wade is helping someone else and says, "Sir, I wanted to apologize for causin' you trouble."

[ostro_goth]

"Greetings," Teja says, turning to look at him. "You did not cause me trouble; I merely stopped you from causing any for yourself."

[hecu_marine]

"You know," says the fellow in Marine Corps fatigues as he makes his way up to the Bar, "I ain't normally the sort to mix liquor'n wake-up juice, but shit if that bourbon coffee don't sound like a good idea just now."

Something down by his feet makes an oddly electronic-sounding mrrryip? noise.

"You be quiet, Mrs. Wilson. You ain't gettin' nothin' but water, not in your condition."

[almosthonorable]

"I can tell you it's better than a good idea, friend," Ben says, and snags a clean mug for the coffee.

Over his shoulder, as he pours from the percolator: "And just water for the missus?"

[hecu_marine]

"Yes please," says Shephard. "Down, girl. Ain't no way in hell I'mma let you hop up on a stool just now."

There's another vaguely electronic noise, this one faintly disappointed. If Ben looks over the Bar he'll see something that looks like a ... okay, at this point it no longer looks like anything, but there was a time when that creature was described as 'Satan's own stripey Christmas ham'. Kind of hard to call something that obviously pregnant even remotely ham-like, though.

[sunbaked_baker]

Have a baker, Ben.

A baker carrying a sleeping baby, in fact, looking tired but otherwise all right. Babysitting is nothing new.

"Hi there, barkeep," she says with a smile for Ben.

[almosthonorable]

He swallows his last mouthful of cherry tart, and grins.

"Well, hel-lo, Little Miss -- "

A pause; Ben eyes the baby, and quirks an eyebrow.

"Now, have I been gone that long?"

[sunbaked_baker]

She laughs, shaking her head. "No way, Ben Wade."

"This is Terry, my apprentice's son. I'm just taking care of him while his mother is visiting family down in Redtree, and the bar decided to show up."

It's... good that July has grown close to Paulie's mother since Paulie's death. They both needed the support.

[aintnocoonhunt]

Once again, he has his head down over his tobacco pouch as he crosses the threshold into this peculiar place. A glance around reveals that it is not the saloon he was expecting, but as his agenda consisted solely of alleviating his hangover with the hair of the dog, it matters not. (And not that he puts much stock in appearances, he finds himself relieved to not be in his long johns this time.)

He selects the nearest stool and occupies it with a groan like a rusted cemetery gate. One eye peers at the board, and then across at the man behind the bar.

"What kinda saloon serves milk punch?"

[almosthonorable]

Ben swipes up the last of a minor spill near the percolator, and turns to address the newcomer.

"The kind that makes sure it packs a wallop," he says, bemused. "I'll surely vouch for the potency."

[starrydome]

Elrond looks at the specials board, speculativly.
Then he looks at the Man behind the counter and asks, "Which choice would you recommend?"

He's shedding his outer, dark grey wool robe as he speaks, having just gotten in from someplace quite a bit cooler than this. Underneath he is wearing a blue linen tunic dotted with white delicate embroidered blossoms, down the sleeves. His hair is pulled back and his ears and eyes are very visible.

[almosthonorable]

As Ben dries a just-washed coffee mug, he tips his head toward the newcomer in greeting.

The man's appearance is certainly intriguing, but Ben doesn't openly stare at those ears — it's just not the polite thing to do.

"That depends on what you're lookin' for," he says, ever the diplomat behind the counter. "The milk punch is even better than I thought it'd be, but it's icy. If you just came in from the cold, somethin' hot might suit you better."

[scurlock]

"I ain't sure I like the sound of 'milk punch'," Doc muses aloud, as he approaches the counter and catches Ben's attention. "Though I will take a bourbon coffee with a bourbon on the side."

It's been a Day and a half, out back.

[almosthonorable]

"Well, it packs a punch, if I do say so myself." Ben reaches for a nearby bottle of Blanton's, and pours two fingers. "But I guess I won't fault you for wantin' somethin' hot."

[wheelsy_sheriff]

The front door opens to a rain shower and a man in uniform.

Bill ducks in and shuts the door on the weather behind him.

His shoulders relax a fraction when he has a look around, and he gives the door a grateful pat before heading for the counter.

There's only tthe smallest hesitation on Bill's part when he sees who's tending before Bill sits down.

Pulling off his cap, Bill runs a hand through his wet hair.

"Can I get some of that coffee?"

[almosthonorable]

A fresh pot has just finished brewing when Bill takes a seat.

Ben swipes up the last vestiges of an unfortunate cowboy-versus-espresso machine mishap, and turns to nod in Bill's direction.

"You surely can," he says, "and I'll say thank you for not askin' for anything fancy from that."

The espresso machine earns a cutting sideways glance before Ben snags a clean mug for Bill's coffee.

[gotpoetryinme]

McCabe looks up at the board and shakes his head. The clientele at his saloon hadn't really been the cocktail type. Neither was he.

He sits down at the bar. "Double shot of whiskey," he says. He skips the egg this time. Right now he's only looking to get drunk as economically as possible.

[almosthonorable]

"Evenin'," Ben says, with a nod.

He reaches for what's become a familiar green bottle, but pauses just as his fingers wrap around its neck.

"You have a preference, or anything'll do?"

[waco_jim]

Jim sits down and raises an eyebrow. "The hell's milk punch?"

[almosthonorable]

"A kick in the pants, if you make it right," Ben says, without missing a beat as he rinses a shot glass.

"It's sweeter than your mother's voice, but there's enough bourbon in there to make up for the toothache."

[filemyclaim]

Dixie's had just enough bourbon over the past couple of days, so when she sees Ben after a very (very!) long time, she has to sashay over and give him the business.

"Hmm. I wonder what your favorite drink might be."

[OOC: Gah, late by inches :/ Can delete if you'd like!]

[almosthonorable]

Dixie paints such a pretty picture, Ben can't help but smile.

(Of course, she was stunning in that wimple; now, she's downright radiant.)

"Miss Dixie, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe you may be pokin' fun at your bartender with that sweet voice of yours."




[ ooc: no worries in the slightest -- the more, the merrier, beebs! I wouldn't dream of deleting your tag-in. ;D ]