milliways_bar | Happy Hour

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Happy Hour

Alex had only intended to come down for a pot of tea and a plate of Garibaldis. Maybe a book or three. Instead, she's greeted with a napkin. 'I'm sorry, you want me to what?'

Another napkin appears, this time, with a strange glyph that implies maternal concern. 'I'm not turning into a hermit. I just -- it's been a difficult few weeks.' To say the least.

Another napkin appears, this time, invoking the tried and true: Guilt.

'Oh all right. If it's only for a few hours, I suppose I can manage without mucking it up too terribly. You go on and have a nice nap. I'll mind the shop.' Another napkin implies gratitude and indicates where the specials board is.

'Right, then.' Alex looks a little lost as she slips behind the bar. First things first, an apron. And then a white cotton towel to drape over her shoulder like a proper barman. Taking up the chalk and board, she thinks for a long moment and then writes out in a careful, flowing hand:

Specials

Red or White Wine
by the glass or carafe

Boddington's Ale

Scotch whiskey

Pot of Tea or Coffee

She makes herself a pot of tea, and sends one of the rats off for her biscuits. 'Happy hour is up, you wretched hive of scum and villainy.'

It's said with all due affection.

[ooc: Happy hour is up! ~~I'm in and out because I'm doing laundry, and I may decamp to a coffee shop later, but have at!~~ I have to call slow for a bit. Back later. Enjoy! Thread hop! Do what you do best, M'ways. <3]

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'I'm going to pretend you didn't bloody say that.'

How dare she? How dare any girlfriend of his say that frozen milk and lumps of chocolate in any way outstrips the Mighty Scotch.

He is offended.

'No, of course not. I've ended many a shift on me arse.'

He does tend to help himself to the drinks. And refuse to serve people until they buy him one too, that sort of thing.

She chuckles under her breath at his righteous indignation.

'It's a girl thing, Gene. I don't expect you to understand.'

'I wasn't talking about the bartending,' she says, peering at his badge. 'Anyone who voluntarily puts you in arm's length of the booze gets what they deserve. I was talking about your Security duties.'

'Oh. Well. Dunno. No one's said.'

Which he is taking to mean, of course Gene, drink as much as you like. Not a problem.

'Anyway, it's not like I don't drink through shifts at home. I punch bastards better when I've had a few. Can't see it being an issue.'

She hums, not really all that concerned.

'Who's in charge up there, anyway? You've told me nothing about it. I mean, I know there's the three rules and all, but -- I mean -- how do you handle the Incredible Hulk?'

'Mel's in charge. She's alright, despite the stupid hair colour, an' the fact that she's a criminal.'

He can deal with it. She can kick his arse.

'The Hulk thing was - there's a kid on part-time staff, called Molly. She's a mutant, an' she's as strong as he is. And there was some ponce with long blond hair. He helped as well. The rest of us stood an' watched, mainly.'

Which is OK, because Hulk. If anyone wants to complain about him not getting involved, he'll invite them to go up against the bloke.

'Wait, hold on, back up. Did you just say there's a criminal in charge of security here? And you're okay with that?'

'Who are you and what have you done with Gene Hunt!?'

He gives her a flat look.

'Sod off.'

He is charm personified.

'Mel's-' he waves a hand, as if that explains it. 'She's from some time in the future, an' syeah OK, she's a thief. But her jobs to fight vampires or some bollocks, I can't remember exactly. Zombies, maybe. Dunno. Anyway, she's one of those that nicks stuff, but really does more good than harm, y'know? If she were back where we come from, I'd make her a snout.

He has the feeling he has been rather too nice, there. And so, adds;

'Gobby slag, though.'

Edited 2013-08-07 22:36 (UTC)

Okay, that's better. She was beginning to think he'd hit his head or something.

'So she's all right, for a "gobby slag" who nicks stuff and fights vampires. Got it.' She may roll her eyes at him a little.

'Anyone else here I should know about?'

His explanations make the most sense.

'What d'you want, a list?'

He finishes his pint, and follows it rapidly with the Scotch.

'I'll let you have it if you wiggle your arse when you're refilling those, luv.'

She cocks an eyebrow at him, and tries to suppress a grin.

'Depends on what you mean by 'let me have it', love.' That remark is punctuated with a saucy wink. And yes, a bit of a hip sway as she moves back to the taps.

'Go on. Give it up.'

'I give it up to you on a daily basis, sweet'eart.'

More, even.

He purses his lips at the hip-sway, and drags on his cigarette.

'S'all been pretty quiet, recently. There's a little twat with a Kraut name goin' around writing portfolios on people. Dunno why, but he's probably up to something. Other than that, not much.'

He is still watching her arse.

'Good thing I've got you around to keep things interesting, really.'

She hums, a contented sound, passing first his pint across the bar, and then refilling his Scotch.

'Wouldn't want you to get bored, now, would we? Might start to relax and then who knows what would happen?'

'You don't want to see me relaxed.'

She sees him post-coital, and that's close to the same thing.

'I've been called 'awkward' before.'

And worse.

Much worse.

A bored Gene Hunt is a nerve-shredding thing.

Edited 2013-08-07 23:31 (UTC)

'Well, there is that beach out there. And long walks around the lake. And you laughing at me remembering how to ride a horse.'

She leans down on her elbows again, chatting with him eye to eye, willing him not to go there.

'You want to see awkward? I bet that would fit the bill. Cowboy boots and all.'

'All sounds a bit Mills and Boon.'

Which is to say: poncey, girly, and not at all his thing.

'Though if you want to end up shagging in a haystack, I don't mind.'

She smirks, shaking her head. 'Oh no. Hay! Hay in interesting places!'

She tugs on his sleeve on little, toying with the button on his shirt.

'We could always put up a dart board. That's the one thing that this place is missing, you know.'

'We had one. I used to replace it out of my own pocket when some twats kept breaking it.'

He says 'his own pocket'; it went on his tab, which he still hasn't got 'round to paying off.

His cigarette is finished. He grinds it out, leans over and kisses her. Seeing as she's there.

'I reckon we could cope with hay in interesting places.'

Now to, y'know. Find a haystack.

She lights up at the kiss, her eyes closing for a brief moment, savoring his closeness. His tone makes her smile, and she actually looks a bit bashful, looking at his shirt buttons. Her hand slips into his and she gives a little squeeze. It's still a rare and wonderful thing just to be able to touch him like this.

'Insufferable,' she murmurs, pushing back with a great deal of effort and throwing him a heated look.

'You're a bad influence, Sheriff. If you don't mind my saying.'

'Yeah, you love it.'

He sits back, and his lips purse speculatively at the look on her face.

'You need a good bit of corrupting, I'd say.'

She takes up a few glasses and starts polishing, clearly to keep her hands busy.

'Do I?' She eyes him right back, waiting to meet his gaze. 'Well, I'm open to any suggestions you might have. As long as they don't involve hay in interesting places.'

'That's the problem with you, Bols. No sense of adventure.'

Really, it's very difficult on him.

'Must be because you're posh.'

'I do, too, have a sense of adventure,' she pouts, though not convincingly.

'I just don't fancy getting hay in -- sensitive areas. So we take a blanket with us. Simple enough.' She shrugs, setting the glass down and leaning against the bar with one hip.

'You never know, I might surprise you. I'm not so posh I don't know how to have a good time.' Party cassettes, Gene.

'Taking stuff with us ruins all the spontaneity,' he points out.

As if having this conversation about it doesn't.

And he's fully aware that, so far, he hasn't really...well, things are what they are, and it's not like he's behaved in the way he normally would either.

'But I'm all for you surprisin' me, sweet'eart.'

'Oh, so now it's me surprising you?'

She hums under her breath, smiling at the thought. Her head tilts slowly to one side, and she taps one finger against her lips.

'You sure you're ready to cast that gauntlet, love?'

He eyes that expression on her face, and reaches for his smokes.

'...maybe when I get back.'

No. He thinks he is probably not.

Which isn't to say he won't enjoy it when the time comes.

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lady_bols - 2013-08-23 00:47 (UTC) - Expand

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