milliways_bar | (no subject)

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"But musing what an easy thing it were to mix our opiates in a larger cup," Autor says, patting the counter in preparation to hop over it. "And drink, and not perceive"—and here he hops—"sleep deepening lead his truer kinsman up, like undistinguished Night, darkening the skirts of Eve.*"

After a few minutes of setting up his prior preparations, the boy reaches for the specials board. "Good night, Bar."

Bitter Chocolate Aria
Hot chocolate & one croissant

Submission Sonata
Virgin strawberry & wasabi daiquiri

Ode to Blood
Giga ant eggs, sour apple juice, seltzer water, flavored ice

Fiery Trigon
Grenadine, lemon juice, apple juice, passion fruit juice, & cinnamon

Silent Overture
Free coffee if you can prove that you’re knighted

Note: Virgin bar.

[This post is open forever.]

*Ode to Sleep , Richard Chenevix Trench

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"Thou well canst do so, if thou art wooden enough to meet her hard demands," Poins says, smirking. "And if my face should please thee, here it is: thou mayest well keep looking at it, if the drink keeps coming."

Autor covers his forehead with his hand and indulges in a giggle-snort. "It is not in pleasure that your mouth has me flushing for!"

He adds the last bit of juice to Poins' drink and passes the chilled glass over, but not before garnishing it with a couple of cherries and a pink umbrella straw.

"If you want alcohol in it," he says, sighing as he props his elbows on the bar, "I really can't stop you. Nearly everyone else has taken as they've pleased."

Poins does not yet add spirits, but will try what he was given.

"Tis tasty," he then says. "I would not dare imagine that thou thinkest me as sweet and pleasant as this drink turns out."

"Pfft," Autor says, turning his nose up in the air. "No, I was just balancing out the board. You have to have something sweet up there."

Amongst the other two sweet drinks.

The kid turns to make tea for himself. "Really, though I wanted you to like it, and for it to have three equal parts. Juice seemed the best way to go about it," he says. Then he turns back, grinning. "If you were to make a drink for yourself, what would it be?"

"Wassail with sack," Poins declares, "marrying one good thing with yet another."

"The Spotted Apple?" Autor offers, raising a brow.

"On a bad day, I am more spots than apples," Poins says. "Alas, it fits me well."

If Autor were different, he'd reach out and clap Poins on the shoulder, and tell him to cheer up, friend.

He presents him with a chocolate croissant instead. "This is going to taste terrible with your drink."

"Did Sunshine make it?" Poins asks. "Then it cannot be -- all that she maketh tastes as if from heaven."

Autor hides behind his teacup. "Hm. Given the amount of fingers burned, I suspect there's a bit more, 'oh, hell,' in this one."

"A hellish pastry made by thine own self?" Poins grins.

"I should have put chilies in it just for you," he says, wrinkling his nose. Actually, wait, that might actually taste somewhat good. Hm.

"Well, are you going to use your teeth to smile at me or eat?"

Poins grins, and bites the pastry, his smile like that of a large, evil fish.

A fish with teeth, apparently. Autor leans back on the counter and watches him behind his teacup.

For a few seconds. The boy rustles around in his food bag and snatches up a croissant for himself, which he tears a little piece off of.

"Tis edible," Poins finally declares. "Quite well and tasty, even though it was not made by Sunshine."

Autor cracks up. "Passable," was what the kid had called Sunshine's rolls, so it seems fitting that Poins would apply a similar term.

"I'm glad it meets your approval," he says, smirking. "Do you cook?"

Poins snorts.

"The world is grateful to its good creator," he says, "that I do not, and never would attempt to poison strangers or to harm my friends."

Autor shakes his head and nibbles on his croissant. "One day you'll find yourself bereft of everything but a skillet and eggs and will most certainly starve."

He shakes his head again. "A tragedy, really, that a man with so hilarious a mouth is unable to feed it with his own hands."

"I could eat apples," Poins says.

"You could!" Autor says. "I hear the worms are good for you, too."

"I'll pull them out afore I eat the apple," Poins says, "and use them then to catch myself some fish."

"Do you know how to cook fish?" Autor says. "Where would you get your line?"

He sips his tea. "Also, there are no wenches in this scenario, just in case you've forgotten."

"I can fry fish upon a fire," Poins shrugs. "Tis easy, and will need no cooking skills at all."

Autor laughs. "Lies," he says. "That is cooking, of a sort. And I can't do that."

"How wilt thou feed thyself?" Poins laughs. "Thou canst not live on pastry all alone."