milliways_bar | (no subject)

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What Shephard wanted: a different kind of beer from his usual.

What Shephard said: "Hey, Bar? Think you could git me somethin' new on the beer front today?"

What he got: some kind of weird-ass wine or something.

The fuck.

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All Jane had wanted was a small glass of claret as she read the latest Gazette from London and tried not to think too hard upon Tom.

When instead she received an odd shaped metal container that said 'Brew Free' on it, "Lady Bar, what is this?"

"You got screwed up too, huh, ma'am?" says Shephard, looking up from his... whatever the hell she gave him. (He knows it's wine, but that's as far as it goes.)

"Yes, I did. I'm not even certain that this is a drink, sir," She turns the can so that he can examine it.

"Oh, sh- oh, that's just beer," says Shephard after a quick look. "Ain't one I know, but it's beer, all right- you ain't got canned drinks where you come from, huh? I c'n show you if you want."

Belatedly, he pushes the wineglass in her direction.

"Ain't like I'm gonna be drinkin' this, myself."

"I have never seen beer stored in such a way, sir. Normally its in casks or kegs. That is my claret,"

She takes the glass and gently sniffs the wine to be certain it is what she asked for.

"Well, see, here-"

He takes the can of beer and pries the pop-top open.

"They just put the beer in the open can'n then they crimp a top on like that. Easier to ship than glass, and cheap, too."

"How useful especially as it contains a measured amount. I know that having the right amount of drink is important to the army and navy."

"Sure is, ma'am," says Shephard. "Fact, far as I remember, it was Napoleon's armies they developed canning for. For food, mostly, but it sure don't hurt to be able to parcel out drink that way too."

Jane takes a sip of her wine as she considers that, Napoleon is nothing if not intelligent,

"That would make sense as Boney does like to send his army as far as it can go."

So that settles what time she's from, then. Around the same era as that Blakeney kid, with the one arm. Shephard nods. "For me, that was around two hunnert years back," he says, "so this-"

He raps the can with one black-gloved knuckle.

"-represents a whole lot of development since his day. Don't think they even had the means to make this metal 'stead of tin or steel when he was throwin' his weight around."

"It does, yes but then from what I've seen here the future is full of a great many marvels. I am from 1797. Miss Jane Austen, sir,"

She offers him her and nods, its nice to learn something while she's here.

Shephard shakes the offered hand, glove still on. He's careful not to grip too hard, as there's absolutely no give beneath the leather. "Sergeant-Major Adrian Shephard," he says. "Year's 2024 or so where I come from. Pleasure to meet you, miss."

"You as well, Sergeant-Major Shephard. Is this beer one that you have tasted before? I found the label rather intriguing as it seems to be alluding to the American War,"

The people represented on it aren't familiar enough for her to see the entire joke.

"Ain't tried this kind yet," says Shephard, examining the can, "but, uh... lessee. These two here're George Washington'n Thomas Jefferson, so that's presidents one and three, and this fella back here's Teddy Roosevelt. He was president in the twentieth century. This one's Abraham Lincoln. He was president in the eighteen-sixties. I dunno whether they were tryin' to make a joke 'bout the Revolution or whether they got somebody on staff from New Hampshire at the brewery, seein' how 'live free or die' was their state motto. Could go either way, honestly."

"I see, it is rather eye catching."

"Yeah, some of the companies out there make some interesting cans'n labels'n shit," says Shephard. "Ain't seen too many myself, I'm more of a bottle or draft beer man, but you hear about 'em."

Or you did, anyway, before the Combine. The beer makers these days are a little hard up for ingredients, never mind the cans.

"Ain't too sure how it'd compare to the bottles in your day, tell you the truth."

"Most of the bottles here are of a higher quality glass than the ones in use during my day. Lady Bar, could I have an empty beer bottle such as I might find at home?"

There's a pause before a dark glass bottle appears in front of her.

Shephard considers the bottle. "You find things like that in the dirt near where I grew up, if you dig enough," he says. "Usually they ain't whole, but there's big enough pieces to git the idea. Reckon they've been there a while. Folks've been goin' into our mountains almost since the second wave of colonists hit the Virginia shores and made the first wave decide they didn't much care for the company."

"Where in America are you from?"

Her knowledge of American geography is not terribly good.

"Preston County, West Virginia," Shephard says. "Only there ain't a West Virginia just yet for you, not if Napoleon's still alive. We don't break off from Virginia 'til eighteen hunnert'n sixty-one. And if you don't know Virginia, I reckon I could point us out on a map. Yourself?"

"I might be able to find Virginia but I might not. I'm from Longminster in Hampshire."

"Reckon we're even, then," says Shephard. "I got no clue where that is. 'Bout all I can say is we got a state named New Hampshire, so that's probably got some folks livin' there whose ancestors mighta been your neighbors."

"That would be logical and if I remember from my history, Virginia was named for Queen Elizabeth."

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