milliways_bar | Happy Hour

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Happy Hour

It's one of those mornings (afternoons? He's still not used to the way time works in Milliways.) that Michael Westen has forced himself to remember that while he can function fairly well with a relatively high blood alcohol level - it's sure as hell not a good idea. Rolling out of bed, pretending he's not acutely aware of how empty it is, he runs himself through another cold shower before heading downstairs for an Alka-Seltzer and aspirin.

He leans slightly against the bar in his jeans and plain white t-shirt, sunglasses on against that entirely-too-bright barroom lighting scheme, and mutters; "Alka-Seltzer in water, two aspirin, blueberry yogurt."

When he looks up a small sign has appeared beside his head, his order neatly arranged - on the other side of the bar. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm hung over and I have to go find out who wants me dead this time."

A small note, a real statement to the bar's occasionally cruel sense of humor, appears beside him: Your turn, Michael. You have nothing better to do while you sober up.

Michael frowns, she's right - but that doesn't mean he's looking forward to it, and then slides over the top of the bar and sets up his sign for the shift.

Half-Price You-Call-It

Yogurt (all flavors) on Mr. Westen's tab.

Bartender reserves the right to refuse service to anyone who makes loud noises or bright lights.

[ooc: Have a somewhat hungover Michael's first time tending. Active tagging next four hours, then slower until tonight. Open till I say so.]

[Open, but wrapping up threads. <3 You all are amazing.]

[tiny tags: Emma Swan, Mary Margaret Blanchard, Kate Kane]

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He uneasy smile spreads into a nearly cheshire grin.

"I can make that happen."

He taps the bar and then heads back toward the kitchen, returning several minutes later with a dish large enough to allow room containing soft pink yogurt with sliced cherries and a ramekin of near-liquid chocolate.

"And your favorite..." he dips below the bar again, finding an old but clearly used shaker of ground cinnamon. "Chocolate on top or drizzled in?"

"Drizzled. The cinnamon goes on the top." Mary Margaret's mouth was running its way toward a please small smile.

"Of course it does... just like your hot cocoa."

He remembers, of course, that was several drinks before the headache.

After unwrapping a picnic spoon from a box of them on the bar, he gently stirs the melted chocolate into the concoction before dusting it with a few heavy shakes of cinnamon.

"May I try? It actually looks pretty good."

"Of course. Though it's not a taste most people like." In fact, she only knows two other. Finding out Emma did had surprised her. She couldn't remember anyone before it, who wasn't Henry.

Edited 2012-03-31 21:00 (UTC)

"I'm an adventurous guy... I'm pretty sure if I could handle the camel kidneys in Ethiopia I'm all right with this."

He flashes her another brief, bright smile and unwraps a spoon for himself, taking only a small bite that had a little bit of each flavor.

Not bad... not excellent, but sweet and sort of tangy at the same time.

"I'll let you finish," he pushes the large bowl back toward her; "though, it's not the strangest yogurt I've had."

She wrinkled her nose us, almost cutely in her surprised distaste, as she took her bowl from of yogurt from him. "Camel kidneys, really?"

"You'd be amazed some of the things people eat... camel's really big in the Middle East." He shrugs, "I've had worse."

You spend enough time in enough countries where you can't be sure where your next meal is coming from, you learn not to ask what's in the stew.

She raised her eyebrows inquiringly, since he's ended both of his last statements with it, and there's a spoonful of yogurt presently in her mouth being savored. He can take that as inquiry into strangest yogurt or worst things he's eaten. Or both.

Edited 2012-03-31 21:34 (UTC)

"Believe me, you don't want to know." He shakes he head with a slight grimace... even he's suppressed a lot of it.

He steps back for a moment, his stomach a little queasy at the thought and prepares another dose of Alka-Selzer - moving a little closer as the tablets dissolved in a hearty fizz.

Mary Margaret watched him through another bite of yogurt, seeming to decide concern over concealment might actually be a worthy reason. Even for someone not working at a hospital anymore.

"Have you tried toast yet?"

He understands the question a little too well, not that it was a frequent problem... but once you've spent enough time around lifetime alcoholics you learn the tricks.

"Not good on my stomach yet, working on some yogurt," He looked down to the mostly untouched up of blueberry. "It may be probiotic by the time I finish it."

"I made Emma eat some before she slept." The smallest careful side step in her tone, only in reference, because that really wasn't phrased as an invitation. It's more, maybe that it's small things she does know, that she may never have a reason to use again now.

"You should consider something with substance enough to soak up the alcohol through digestion, not simply cut it. Give your liver a break, since it can only do one job at a time."

Edited 2012-03-31 21:51 (UTC)

The note isn't lost on him, only a hint that she was probably caught coming home reeking of whiskey and tension. Which leads to the natural question of how much Emma had let on... if anything at all.

"Believe me," he responds earnestly, looking at her with red rimmed eyes over the top of his shades; "I know. Once the fizzy kicks in and evens out my gastric acid I'm planning on a sandwich."

It's a curious moment. Wondering what exactly the other means entire.

Like the 'I know,' that maybe could mean more. But even for it being little over a week, Mary Margaret was incredibly protective of Emma, and the softer, more emotional side of herself she chose to share.

"Well, good." Which it was, she nodded, and ate another bite of yogurt. Watching Michael of the earnest with his fizzy drink, his amber shades, and not quite new tensin.

The tension broken, only slightly, he purposefully lets a little information slip.

"I'm glad she made it home okay."

It's innocuous enough that it could mean anything, it didn't have to mean that they were together.

He should be. But even for the small nearly fierce though, Mary Margaret nodded, slowly, watching him. The third time only she'd met him. Considering whether it was him or Emma, considering the fact she'd known him for just a week shorter than she knew Emma now.

"Lucky for us, the door leads to the apartment." She doesn't clarify if 'us' is herself and Emma, as the people living there; or and herself and him, as the person she fled and the place that she fled to.

He may not be a stunning conversationalist, but he can read people well and he's very aware of the question in that statement.

Slowly, he removes his sunglasses and looks her straight in the eyes. With clear meaning, he answers; "Very lucky."

It's not that she's any braver today than any other day, since his removing the sunglasses and looking down at her on her stool actually causes her stomach to tighten rapidly. Making her gulp her current bite of yogurt so the cheesecake and chocolate lose all taste.

It's that Emma is special, and yesterday was a terrible day for both of them. One she hadn't even known entirely about until the end of it. That he was apart of.

Edited 2012-04-01 12:49 (UTC)

And her pause is enough that he knows she's probably already formed an opinion of what happened and it's probably not positive.

"I'll save the awkward judgment and tell you that whatever you may think of me is probably right."

The spoon was still her mouth, as she was slightly trying to frown around it, until she pulled it out. His words were pretty assumptive and negative for a person view point.

A little kindly as she shook her head, but without attempting to say the awkward wasn't there, or didn't have a reason to be there. "I don't think I know you well enough to make any judgements about you."

He looked down a short moment, a slight chuckle rising in his throat. Everyone makes judgments... all the time. Her best friend comes home drunk, probably at least a little upset, and last seen in the presence of an older shady guy she's known only a week?

He'd judge in her place.

"Yeah, well... I wouldn't blame you if you did."

Mary Margaret isn't much like the rest of the world, being pure of heart.

Not that she has any idea about that, or will for a long time. Only that the notion holds true. She lives with Emma, and she's protective of Emma. Trusts Emma. Beyond all reason or lack of time. But she knows very little of Michael so far, with this being their third conversation in a week even.

"Maybe you wouldn't." She agreed, especially given the circumstances, faintly pink about the cheeks, as she readied another spoonful of yogurt. "But I'd prefer to wait until I know you better for now."

It's a trait that Michael doesn't really believe in, but may understand some day.

Slowly, a smile tugs at his lips; "That's a good thing to do, few people would."

Amusingly, if asked, Mary Margaret would probably laugh about the concept, too.

"Try not to take advantage of it." Mary Margaret was affording, if quietly shy edged, the attempt of a teasingly serious face. "It may just be my sudden gratitude at being bolstered by a dessert break between classes."

Though she would really like him not to take advantage of several things where it came to Emma. But there was time enough for all that, since the door kept appearing.

"I'll try." It's the best he can offer, especially since he reasons that once she finds out about what he's getting Emma into in Miami she'll probably have less kind things to think about him.

"And I have access to a lot of desserts."

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