Voodoo (
boston_bruiser) wrote in
milliways_bar2012-08-03 06:39 pm
Entry tags:
Happy Hour
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.”
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]
“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)
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]

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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."
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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?"
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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."
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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."
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"'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."
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Then --
"I am allowed to ask?"
Beat.
"Why you want to rhyme the word 'polka'."
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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."
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Carefully.
"Not in English."
Beat.
"There are other languages."
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[OOC-Fade on the other thread and hand wave Kate left before going into much detail on herself?]
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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."
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"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."
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Voodoo...doesn't really know what to make of that.
"And what answer was that?"
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"What do you have for juices handy?"
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"Pear'd be good, thanks," she says smirking, "What happened, Bar holding your shirt hostage?"
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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.
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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.)
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The soft southern drawl is ever-present, strong without the teasing lilt.
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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.
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