milliways_bar | (no subject)

God grant me the serenity to make it through the weekend without people pissing me off for no reason--

Bar presents Tommy with a note on a napkin.

"Oh, c'mon, again? Didn't I just do one last month?"

Another note. Which he crumples up, gritting his teeth.

"Alright, okay, fine."

And because Tommy is still lazy and has the laziest imagination ever, he repeats his specials for like the billionth time.

SPECIALS

Guinness (Irish dry stout a.k.a. beer)
Bushmills (Irish whiskey)
Johnnie Walker (Scotch whiskey)
Baileys Irish Cream (what it says)

Ladies! Get 50% off any drink if you kiss the bartender!
(location of kiss negotiable)

Kids, animals, bound people drink free
Mixed drinks cost extra

And with that, Tommy hopes for a quiet shift as he leans against the back counter and catches up on some reading. And by reading we mean this week's issue of Sports Illustrated, since he doesn't really do books.

[ooc: omg how are you all amazing? I have no idea, but you are. Open forever but slowtimes are officially in effect!]

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"What if I punch the bartender in the cock, will that get me half-off?"

That'd be a very familiar SEAL in combat gear, taking a seat at the Bar.

(Believe it or not, that's his definition of a friendly greeting.)

Edited 2012-08-31 20:50 (UTC)

Tommy glances up, and-- everything that happened between himself and Voodoo and Kate rewinds through his mind in a flash. An uncharacteristically subdued moment passes, before he sets the magazine aside and steps up to the bar.

"Nope, that'll cost you full price and a whole lot extra, plus a guarantee that I return the favor. So, what'll you have?"

"Water."

He doesn't make a habit of fucking around with liquor when he's carrying a loaded M60.

(Tommy might notice a few bumps and bruises on his forehead - not too visible, but they're there.)

Edited 2012-08-31 21:00 (UTC)

Easy enough. Tommy dumps some ice into a glass, cracks open a bottle of water, fills the glass, and sets both the glass and the bottle down in front of Voodoo.

He gestures at Voodoo's head. "What happened?" he asks, his tone a little flat, but curious nonetheless.

"Your girlfriend beat me over the head with a bucket."

With that, he takes a drink from the glass.

Eric walks up to the Bar and looks over the specials board.

He is back in 1780 get up and has regained his equilibrium after the excesses of previous nights.
"I would like to order a drink, " he says.

"'Scuze me, what?"

Voodoo looks at Tommy.

"Your girlfriend," he says, enunciating and pantomiming his way through the sentence, "beat me over the head - with a bucket."

Tommy gives the guy's clothes a brief once-over before putting his magazine down.

"Alright, what can I get'cha?"

"Okay, I heard you. But-- what the hell? Why? Was it 'cause--ohh. It was the 34D thing, right?"

"No shit, Sherlock."

He takes another drink of water.

"Apparently someone told her about my little guesstimate."

Tommy.

There's a familiar kid sitting on a stool in front of the bar. He's reading a letter.

He's also got on a floppy green cap and a green tunic, with chain mail peeking out of the collar and sleeves, and arm guards circling his forearms. There's a sword and a shield visibly strapped to his back.

Edited 2012-08-31 21:41 (UTC)

"While the specials selection does look delightful, I am afraid I will have to go with blood," Eric replies. Casually.

"Okay, look."

Feeling a migraine of wtfery coming on, he rubs his temple and exhales a sigh.

"Number one: I had to tell her 'cause I needed to know from her if you felt her up, you know this already. Number two: she got pissed off at me when I tried to calm her down by figuring that it was just some stupid shit you said. Number three: goddammit, I wish I'd been there when she hit you with the bucket."

Blink.

"Uh. Blood? As in-- blood?"

"Yeah, and now you know, don't you? Asshole."

He takes another drink.

"Tell you one thing, though. The way those things jiggled when she was winding up? They're natural, for sure. You are one lucky son of a bitch."

"Hey, Link, how's it goin'?" Tommy goes over to where he's sitting and gestures at his clothes and weapons. "That looks new."

He looks up from the letter as if not realizing he was reading a letter on a barstool in front of the bar at Milliways Bar.

(This is likely true.)

"Huh...? Oh!" He folds the letter, stuffing it into one of his pouches. "Hey, Tommy. I...made it to the senior class."

Doesn't look happy about that at alllll.

" As in human blood." He points. "I believe there is some in that cupboard."

It's a fridge.

His jaw sets, and he closes his eyes for a moment, reining it in, reining it in.

"Listen," he says his voice level. "I was wrong. Okay? I know, I-- jumped to conclusions. I do that. A lot. I also lose my temper. A lot. So. What you said, about Kate, it just-- y'know, it just set me off, and yeah, I lost it a little, and, y'know-- sorry about that."

There.

That wasn't hard at all.

"Huh? Oh, it's cool, dude. Just name the lovechild after me and we'll call it even."

He sets the glass aside.

"Okay, seriously. No hard feelings, man. I said some shit I shouldn't have, did some stupid stuff - hell, if we'd swapped places and you'd been talking about-"

He stops himself. Looks down.

Sighs.

"...I would've lost my shit, too."

He clears his throat, looks back up at Tommy. "So yeah. Apology accepted."

Wide-eyed, Tommy turns to where the guy's pointing.

Holy shit, they keep human blood in the fridge??

"Um. Ohh-kaaayyy..."

Tommy currently has his DO NOT WANT face on.

But he'll go to the refrigerator, and he'll look for the blood, and whatthefuck, there's bottles of blood in there. Thoroughly skeeved out, he takes one, shuts the fridge, and sets up a tall glass.

"Is this, like, a thing for you or what?"

YES, HE IS JUDGING YOU.

"Oh, really? Cool, congrats!"

This is probably not what Link wants to hear!

"--Uhh. What'sa matter?"

"Zelda's...gone missing..."

Tommy nods. "Thanks, man." There's still a hard set to his mouth that's not without some regret, though this has been a weight off his chest.

And at least they can go back to busting each other's balls again.

"And like hell I'd name our kid after you. I ain't having people call him 'Dipshit' all his life."

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