Happy Hour

[boston_bruiser]

Napkin.

“Okay. Okay. So my tab’ll be all settled after this?”

Napkin.

“Why the fuck not?”

Napkin.

“What? How the fuck was I supposed to-”

Napkin.

“…I ever tell you I really fuckin’ hate it when you get this ambiguous?”

Napkin.

“‘Certain conditions’. Okay, fine, whatever, just so long as it pays off my-”

Napkin!

“...the fuck?”

Napkin.

“...okay, fine.”

Napkin.

“Uh-uh. The pants stay on.”

Napkin.

“So do the boots.”

Specials:

Adios Motherfucker
Creole Scream
Irish Car Bomb
Anything that rhymes with ‘orange’ or ‘polka’
Half-rhymes don’t count

25% off if you got tattoos
Free if I dig the design(s)

Oh, yeah, the bartender’s shirtless.

[OOC: If you feel it’d be a good point for IC discussion, yes, Voodoo has ink of his own – details can be found here on his profile.]

[Tinytag: Kate Kane]

Comments

[pattersongs]

"Going to require elucidation on most of the ingredients," says Mordin, eyeing the board with a curious look. "Can't recall ever encountering any of those, even in bars and nightclubs popular with humans. Probably just shifting tastes."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo eyes the specials board, then Mordin. "Sure thing, doc. Which ones need elucidating?"

[pattersongs]

"Creole Scream and Adios Motherfucker."

What? Mordin knows perfectly well what it means. It's not a word that salarians have, mind, but he knows humans and he's been surrounded by human soldiers before. He hears it a lot.

"Haven't decided if the premise of 'Irish Carbomb' is intriguing enough to ask after yet."

[boston_bruiser]

"Creole Scream - you take four-thirds an ounce of white rum, two-thirds an ounce of white rum, a dash of Angostura bitters, one-third ounce of grenadine, put 'em in a cocktail shaker with some ice, shake it, strain into a glass, then put a green olive on top of it."

He looks at the specials again.

"Adios Motherfucker - you take a half-ounce of rum, a half-ounce of vodka, a half-ounce of tequila, a half-ounce of gin, a half-ounce of Blue Curacao, and two ounces of sweet-and-sour mix, and you put it in a glass on the rocks, top it with two ounces of 7-Up - you prolly ain't ever heard of it, it's a soda - stir gently, and that's it. Irish Carbomb's a bomb shot, so it's a whole other story. That enough elucidation?"

[pattersongs]

Mordin nods cheerfully. "Much more complex than typical human cocktails of my time. Most seem to be 'pour the contents of the glowing purple bottle together with contents of glowing green bottle. Result will be pink.' Would like to try the Creole Scream, please." He taps the leaf-shaped design on his head and notes. "Wasn't born with this, by the way. Tattoo marking popular in my clan."

[makesthings]

(OOC: Warning for slows as I'm still tired from traveling.)

Sam stares at the specials, he's tired and just wants a drink, his sleeves are rolled up and he's a bit sweaty,

"Why orange and polka? Also my Charter Mark isn't exactly a tattoo but sort of like one."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shrugs. "Dunno. Just thought it'd be funny to watch people try 'n rhyme 'em."

Beat.

"They don't, by the way. Rhyme. With anything."

He looks at Sameth's Charter Mark. "I'll count it for quarter-off if you want anything."

[makesthings]

"What's cold and strong? It's been a long day."

[boston_bruiser]

He doesn't even have to look at specials board.

"'Adios Motherfucker'. Shit's loaded like you wouldn't believe," he says as he assembles the ingredients and starts preparing it.

When he's done, he slides the finished product over to Sameth. "There you go."

[cutting_edgex23]

X slips into a seat at the bar, head tilting slightly as she studies the specials menu.

Then --

"I am allowed to ask?"

Beat.

"Why you want to rhyme the word 'polka'."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shrugs. "You can ask. Don't mean I gotta answer."

Beat.

"Kidding. Mostly I just wanted to see people fall on their ass trying to find rhymes for them. They don't got any. Not full rhymes."

[cutting_edgex23]

X considers this.

Carefully.

"Not in English."

Beat.

"There are other languages."

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shrugs. "Any of 'em happen to be drinks?"

[to_serve]

"Oh I love to make a Creole Scream," says a redhead who likely is very familiar to Voodoo. She's also sporting silk slacks and a sleeveless and backless shirt that shows off her ink as well.

[OOC-Fade on the other thread and hand wave Kate left before going into much detail on herself?]

[boston_bruiser]

[OOC: Sure!]

Familiar in the oh it's that one chick who gave Naga that one fish that one time sense? Yes. Fret not, Kate, Voodoo remembers you.

Voodoo smirks. "One Scream, coming up." He gathers up the ingredients - the vermouth, the rum, the bitters, the grenadine, the olives - then gets to work.

As he does so, he spots Kate's shoulder tattoo.

"Well well well," Voodoo says, sliding the finished product over to Kate, "whaddaya know. A Green Beanie."

[to_serve]

Kate gives a lopsided grin.

"Not officially but off the books? Yeah. I was at West Point until Graduation Day when my CO asked a question he wasn't supposed to ask and I gave an answer I wasn't supposed to give but had to due to my oath as a cadet."

[boston_bruiser]

"...uh huh."

Voodoo...doesn't really know what to make of that.

"And what answer was that?"

[thenewblack]

Hello there shirtless.

"What do you have for juices handy?"

[boston_bruiser]

Voodoo shrugs. "Apple, orange, grape, grapefruit, cranberry, pear...coconut...mango...think I saw guava down there somewhere, too. 'long with some bottles I don't even know what the fuck was on the label, nevermind in the bottle. So everything and then some."

[thenewblack]

Artemis hops onto the stool easily, puts her elbows on the bar top and puts her chin in her hands.

"Pear'd be good, thanks," she says smirking, "What happened, Bar holding your shirt hostage?"

[boston_bruiser]

"If she did, I would've gotten it back by now," Voodoo says, pouring Artemis a glass of pear juice and setting it down in front of her. "Long story short, I got so much shit on my tab that bartending alone don't cut it. I gotta tend bar shirtless for the next two, maybe three hours."

[ikissdhimbck]

A cowgirl walks into a bar, and — 




Well, this is awkward.

Miss Bar is asleep, and she didn't plan on getting a table just so she could order a hot tea she intends to take out to the stables with her anyway. She frowns, eyeing the tender from across the room.

Well. He's going to have to deal with her eventually.

She comes up on his far left, leans against the Bar, and waits for a free moment. At least this way he can ignore her if he wants to.

[boston_bruiser]

"What do you need, Barlow?"

True, he could ignore her. But what would be the point?

(For what it's worth, his tone is strictly professional. No warmth nor venom is in it.)

[ikissdhimbck]

"Black tea, with a li'l cream, if y'please."

The soft southern drawl is ever-present, strong without the teasing lilt.

[boston_bruiser]

Kate gets her tea in short order, just as requested.

Voodoo's hands are steady, and when he's done, he leans back against the drinks cabinet, arms and legs crossed as he surveys the bar.