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Ben Wade ([personal profile] almosthonorable) wrote in [community profile] milliways_bar2012-01-26 01:09 pm

[ happy hour ]

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.

milk punch
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. ]
aintnocoonhunt: (Default)

[personal profile] aintnocoonhunt 2012-01-26 08:28 pm (UTC)(link)
His fingers are struggling through the ritual of rolling. Ben will have to wait a moment while he licks the paper, fiddling the too dry leavings into some semblance of a cigarette and setting it between his lips. Only then does he tug off his glove and delve into a pocket for his matchbox.

"I suppose we'll start with that, then."
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[personal profile] aintnocoonhunt 2012-01-27 12:21 am (UTC)(link)
His elbows rest on the bar, and it takes another moment of careful application of flame to paper before he can draw a lungful. With that first sweet comes a wet cough that he makes no motion to cover.

"Much obliged, Mister...?"

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[personal profile] aintnocoonhunt 2012-01-27 12:53 am (UTC)(link)
Rooster's one good eye follows the man's hands. One might think a lawman such as Marshal Cogburn would become accustomed to watching a man's hands, along with a host of other signifiers that might reveal his character or at the very least his demeanor. Perhaps that's the truth of it, and perhaps, it's just where his gaze has fallen.

"Rooster Cogburn, US Marshal, out of Fort Smith. Judge Parker's court. A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Mister Wade is a cut above the kind of gentlemen the Marshal usually encounters, and as such, he will afford him every courtesy. Besides, this isn't his jurisdiction, and unlike some in this place, he isn't overburdened with anything that might be misconstrued as a sense of duty.
Edited 2012-01-27 00:54 (UTC)
aintnocoonhunt: (Default)

[personal profile] aintnocoonhunt 2012-01-27 01:27 am (UTC)(link)
Of course, the man's emphasis on his title is its own revelation. He's also not burdened with much humility either.

As for the question, he shrugs, scrubbing a hand through his beard as he takes up his glass. "It ain't Missouri. The pay is steady, I'll give it that."

The milk punch leaves a froth of white on his mustache, unnoticed for the moment as his attention has fallen back to the glass in his hand.

"I'll be damned. That's sweeter 'an a Sunday peach."

Clearly, another noisy sip is in order.
aintnocoonhunt: (Default)

[personal profile] aintnocoonhunt 2012-01-27 02:16 am (UTC)(link)
The Marshal sucks the remnants of the drink from his beard, and sniffs, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"I can think of worse fates, truth be told. Did the -- " he waves a hand to indicate the mystical presence he's come to accept as the author of his indignities, "she show you how to make this? Or is this your own infernal concoction?"
aintnocoonhunt: (Default)

[personal profile] aintnocoonhunt 2012-01-27 11:14 pm (UTC)(link)
"S'that so."

He pauses to contemplate the tome Mister Wade is referring to.

"How much more complicated can it get than applejack?"