milliways_bar | Bartending - or as the worm turns

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Bartending - or as the worm turns

You can hear her complaining from her doorway.

"No. No no no. You are NOT doing this to me today!"

Oh, but Bar is. Defeated, Clementine - dressed in her other work uniform - trudges toward the bar.

Being given the Gift of Napkin is almost predictable at this point.

"You're picking tonight, too? Fine..." It's one last thing she has to do.

Taking a moment to strew the board with festive lights, she scribbles:

~FIESTA~

Mexican Flag
Mexican Breakfast
Mexican Coffee
Mexico Pacifico

Cinnamon Churros
Caramel Flan Candy
Hot or Frozen Chocolate
Full menu

If the waitress dips her hat into your drink, it's free!

"Sometimes I think I hate you," she whines, fiddling with the string of lights behind her. The night is young, and so is she.

[OOC: Tagging and backtagging all night everywhere, 'til about six AM EST. This is open 'til tomorrow's tending. Sam and Michael's thread comes last, for plot purposes.]

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Here, have an Alyx.

An Alyx with not one, but two screaming infants on her person, one in a carrier strapped to her chest and another being dandied over her shoulder.

The one over her shoulder is screaming because his stomach hurts and he needs to be burped. The one in the carrier is screaming because her brother is screaming and it's keeping her awake.

See Clem's face, Alyx?

But she's always happy to be helpful.

"Here," she points toward the stool before her, "let me get you drunk."

"Can't. Still breastfeeding."

She sits down anyway, though.

"...That's why my girls are gonna stay my property." But she's not completely unsympathetic. "Want me to hot chocolate you?" she peers at the babies. "When did you pop, anyway? Last time I saw you, you were out to here." There's gesturing.

"A little less than four months ago. And yes, please." She runs her hand in tight little circles around her son's back. "C'mon, Eli, let it out, you can do it..."

"Gotcha. Frozen or hot?" She points at Eli. "Is he gassy or dying?"

"Frozen sounds good--"

hic! goes Eli and immediately stops crying.

"There we go."

"There's my answer. Do you need me to warm a bottle for her?" She runs to the machine, which spins out a nice, thick, rick brew, and squirts on some whipped cream. Alyx gets a cherry, too, as Clem passes down the mug.

"Nah, they both just ate, we're good." Alyx gently sets her son face-up on the countertop before taking the mug. "This is Eli, by the way. The one in the carrier is Hope."

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A door slams open, bellowing the concussive blast of an explosion on the other side as Michael Westen and an already battered and bloody Sam Axe are sent slamming through it and onto the floor.

With a low moan, Michael tilts his head back - his ears ringing and a bright stab of pain from the impact ripping through him - as he grabs for Sam.

"Shit."

Edited 2012-09-09 04:23 (UTC)

Sam falls limply beside him he was sure he was going to die, if the first experience hadn't killed him that last blast surly would. He wasn't a man that didn't want to die. But this was it there wasn't a part of his body that didn't hurt.

He just groans out a bit hearing Mikey swear.

Clementine actually did the smart thing for once, following the homeland security training she'd been through recently and throwing herself to the floor behind the bar. She stays there until the flash of heat abates, and sfter recovering from her own duck and cover,peers over at the smoky lump of barely-moving humanity. It's the clothing that tips her off.

And all of her training isn't protecting her now, with her heart on the line.

"Michael?" she makes a sound - a gutshot noise of base pain - at the sight of the other body. "Sam."

For a woman with no arm strength, she can vault a bartop pretty quickly when she wants to.

Edited 2012-09-09 04:36 (UTC)

Michael groans, not hearing let alone seeing Clementine come over the bar as he manages to roll onto his side and reach for Sam.

He's got a pulse, that's a good sign. He can feel the trickle of blood down the back of his shirt, but it doesn't matter - Sam needs help, it's a damn miracle he made it off the boat.

"Help!" He shouts, looking up but unable to focus on any face in particular... the word concussion floats through his rattled mind, but he's a lot more worried about the fact that he's not getting any breaths out of his friend. "We need a medic! Now!"

Clementine reaches them before anyone, but it's not Sam she touches.

He looks too broken.

Instead, she launches herself at Michael. "What the fuck did you do to him?" she growls, shaking him for good measure.

"Excuse me."

There's a blond, not-particularly-impressive-looking man in trail-dusty clothes and black glasses at the end of the Bar.

"Medical professional here. What's going on?"

Michael winces at the sharpness of Clementine's voice and manages to look up at her long enough growl through clenched teeth; "I just saved his life from a heroin smuggler."

The sound of an unfamiliar voice catches his attention with the words 'medical professional' and he groans; "There was an explosion, he's been being held for days..." he closes his eyes and rolls onto his back with a grimace; "Pulse. I don't know if he's breathing. Help, please."

Edited 2012-09-09 04:54 (UTC)

"You call that ALIVE?" she shouts. Then the last words penetrate her consciousness and she makes another gutshot sound and steps out of the way. "I'm a cop," she says, "I can do first aid..."

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Okay, Milliways, you can stop with the girls with the guns and cowboy boots. Tommy's got his hands full with one outlaw as it is.

"Hiya, Clem. Uh, nice sombrero. Lemme guess: all those drinks involve tequila."

If only it were Bar's cowgirl fetish at work! Sadly, this is just what Clementine wears to pay off the bills.

"That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," she teases. "The chocolate's virgin, and I can scare you up some coffee or soda if you want it."

"I didn't know bandits wore Daisy Dukes, but I like those, too," he adds, leaning over the bar to get a better look at her outfit. "So, what's with the getup? It's not Bar's idea, is it? And I'll go with the coffee, thanks -- just black is good."

She snorts. "I don't know if they do body shots, either, but this outfit's seen more booze than a Budweiser plant." She leans against the bar, hand in elbow, gestures to her legs. "It's my other work uniform," she explains. "I work at a dive bar back home for tips."

"Oh. Really? Well, I hope the tips are worth the effort of gettin' into those shorts."

She snickers. "I've squeezed my butt into tighter things." Wouldn't he just like to imagine what? "C'mon," she whines, "I need tip money - let me get you something good." She punctuates the suggestion by 'subtly' leaning forward, against the bar.

His eyes naturally wander to where they want to go, and he does grin appreciatively, but he shakes his head.

"Coffee's good enough for me. Don't worry, though, I'm a big tipper."

She chuckles. "I'm plenty familiar with your big tip." She bustles off to pour the coffee. "Cream? Sugar?"

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