milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

When Steve sits at the bar, the first thing he gets is a cupcake with red, white and blue frosting and Happy 95th Birthday!.

"Yeah, yeah," he says in a good-natured tone, because even he has given up trying to keep track of how old he is. Twenty-eight, ninety-five, two? Ninety-five is probably the most accurate.

The second thing he gets is a napkin: Want to bartend today?

Yes. Yes, he does. The Big Book of Drinks even has a patriotic section.

TODAY'S SPECIALS
Stars and Stripes Forever
Patriotic Margarita
All-American Beauty
Apple, cherry or blueberry pie by the slice

[ooc: As of 6:30 PM MST, bartending is closed to new threads. Thanks for tagging in, everybody!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

The wild west teacher-cum-outlaw approaches the Bar today, all shined up for the Fourth. She's wearing fine blue skirts and a burgundy blouse, a sprig of lavender fastened to her lapel with a birthstone pin, and a daisy tucked into her finely braided hair.

(She still has on her guns and boots, of course. Some things never change.)

She sets a jar of spiced peaches on the counter, and smiles.

"For the tender."

Steve grins. "Those look delicious, thank you. Did you can them yourself?"

"I did. They're a blue ribbon-winnin' recipe."

It's tradition for the Fourth, though she's only reinstated it as of last year. She's had a rocky time of it lately.

"Happy Fourth. Had I known y'were celebratin' somethin' else, I would've brought ice cream along, too."

She nods to the cupcake and winks.

"Oh, that," Steve says with a slightly bashful look. "Yeah.

"Happy Fourth to you, too. Can I get you a drink?"

"Y'don't happen t'have somethin' simple, do you? Jus' a good ol'-fashioned bourbon would do me splendidly."

She adjusts her gun belt as she takes a seat. Her hands are the color of cinnamon, stained from spicing her peaches.

"We always have something simple," he assure her,and pours her a straight bourbon.

"Wonderful."

She grins. She'll need a few more bourbons to carry her through the day.

"Would y'remind me of your name? I believe we met once before. Ah, I'm Kate Barlow."

"Steve Rogers," Steve says. "I'm not sure that we have, but it's nice to meet you now."

"Could be I've jus' seen you around."

He does have a commanding presence, and quite the number of friends here.

"S'a pleasure, Mr. Rogers. How did Miss Bar manage t'rope you into tendin' today?"

"I've been around a while, I guess," he admits.

"She asked. I like tending--I've done it quite a few times now."

"Y'didn't have any other plans today? Miss Bar likes t'remind me of anniversaries by nudgin' me into a partyin' mood."

Beat.

"If by 'nudge', I mean 'thrust'."

"I have plans," Steve says. "I'm just waiting for my--my particular friend to come in."

"Oh, I see."

She sips demurely at her bourbon.

"Say no more, then. I didn't mean t'pry."

"No problem," he says easily.

"What's your where and when, Miss Barlow?"

"Texas, eighteen-eighty-eight. I hang my hat in Galveston, for the time bein'."

No, really. She has the hat and everything.

"How 'bout yourself, Mr. Rogers?"

"New York City, 2013."

"Mm — "

She sets her drink down.

"I've visited New York from jus' about that time. Y'must enjoy it."

"It's my home," Steve says simply.

She smiles warmly.

"Texas has always been my home, but I've always had a fondness for New York. Hard not to. They jus' finished the Statue of Liberty in my day. I was surprised t'see her turned green when I went t'visit with my friend."

"It's the copper," Steve says. "I understand that's why the artist chose that metal--the patina she got as she aged."

He's very fond of the Lady, obviously.

She nods with enthusiasm.

"It must've been somethin' t'see her change from year t'year. Maybe I'll get the chance."

It's a dream she doesn't think will be realized, not with her circumstances. However, it's nice to think about.

"I bet it was," Steve says softly. "I wasn't around for that."

"Oh, of course. Y'were probably born long after she'd started t'color."

Steve pauses, then says, "Not that long after. I was actually born in 1918."

"Oh."

Beat.

"Oh, but then — ?"

She does some quick math, which doesn't seem to add up at all.