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It's been busy at home. Very, very, very busy. Things are better in the Greenbrier and Rowlesburg area than they were last year, but Lord almighty, it's been impossible to get two seconds to yourself to draw a break. Which is why Shephard came here-

OH WAIT HE GOT THE NAPKIN.

After a certain amount of muttering things under his breath that would get him disintegrated on sight if Pastor Rumford ever heard them, Shephard hops over the bar and pulls down the book of drink recipes. Sometimes you find good things in there, and sometimes you find that there are human beings in this world demented enough to think root beer schnapps is a thing that ought to exist.

Specials

Blue Motorcycle
Fireball
Martian Sunrise
Any Beer Bottled in West Virginia

That, he figures, will do for now. He'll just settle back and wait for the orders, and let his right hand do its usual scribbling all over the tablet Nepeta alchemized for him while he waits.

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Lesgle has an excellent instinct for the appearance of bar specials. He's there bright and early, eyeing the sign with all enthusiasm. "Hello, hello. Tell me what they are? Or should I be surprised?"

"How's about a compromise?" says Shephard, and grins. "I got to actually light the Fireball. The other two ain't flammable far as I know. Reckon that kind of thing ain't what you want to find out as a surprise."

"But now I have to see it, even if it's tempting fate. One Fireball, then? With a beer ready to put me out if I ignite as well?"

"Can do," promises Shephard, and takes down first a shotglass, then three bottles, one of which does not look like it contains alcohol at all. "Now, I understand some folks put a couple coffee beans in this one instead of the Tabasco, but shit, man, what's the point of callin' it a fireball if you ain't gonna make sure it has more than one kinda burn?"

Tequila in the glass, Sambuca to match, couple drops Tabasco, then some more Sambuca, and fwoosh go the blue flames.

"Like I said, fireball. I got a Cold Trail ready with your name on it just in case."

"Should I ask what Tabasco is? --No, no, I welcome the surprise."

Fwoosh. He leans back out of range, from personal experience with friends and fire. And facial hair. "God, it's lucky the Romantic crowd never took to this. Paris would have been ashes." Pause. "What do I do with it?"

"Comes from Louisiana," Shephard says. "You decide if that's a good sign or not."

He grins. "Either you count twenty'n put it out, I'll give you somethin' to use if you do that, or you git a fireproof straw'n drink through that. Only I ain't never seen nobody drink liquor through a straw without lookin' like a pisvlek, fair warnin'."

"And who would want to look like a pisvlek." No, he doesn't know what that is, but he can guess at the root word. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen. "Any time you want to pass me something to extinguish this..."

Shephard hands over one of the metal turners they use in the kitchen for flipping burgers. Seems reasonable enough to smother the flames, and it's got a wooden handle, so even Bad Luck Chuck here's not gonna burn his hand, right?

He lets it warm in the flame for just a second before pressing it down, on the principle that hot glass won't react well to cold metal. And...no one catches fire. Victory.

Lesgle doesn't burn himself particularly badly on the drink or the glass, but good God that's a bizarre drink. Ah--ahem. "That's--that's Tabasco sauce, you said?"

"Tabasco's the pepper part," says Shephard. "Folks in Louisiana put it on a shitload of different kinds of food, and about half a shitload of their drinks. It ain't that common in drinks outside of their neck of the woods, 'cept for stuff that gits drunk to show off. Want that beer now? Nothin' weird about it, promise."

It's not unbearably pepper, but between that and the anise flavor and the tequila, Bossuet would have to say it's one of the more regrettable drinks he's had. He finishes it hastily and nods. "Beer. Yes. A much more wholesome drink. And I think I can say now that America is welcome to keep its Louisiana purchase."

Shephard shoves a pint glass of completely reasonable looking beer across the counter. "One Cold Trail comin' right up," he says. "Used to be bottled in my own home state, so it ain't the strongest ale on the market, but it ain't like that watered-down shit they got in Utah. You should be fine."

It's beer, then liquor that's the problem, not liquor, then beer. Or so people keep telling themselves. At any rate, Lesgle starts in on the Cold Trail with evident gratitude. "--Ah. There. Thank you. So, ah, what goes into the other drinks?"

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William's yawning when he enters, its been a long day as its strange to not have Mark around, there's more to do and he and his mother aren't sure how to divide it all.

He smiles when he sees Shephard and sits at the counter, "Could I get a big mug of coffee, please?"

"Sure thing. You want sugar in that?" says Shephard as he reaches for the mug. If the kid'd wanted milk, he'd've said, but some folks go for sugar.

'Yes, please. How are you doin'?"

Shephard runs his meat hand over his face before pouring out the coffee. "Been a while since I slept proper, but other'n that I'm all right," he says. "We got harvests comin' in, late season crops to plant, a shitload of hunting to do, the ship to run- fuck, I forget. I tell you about the ship?"

"Oh, that ain't good. No, I don't think you did."

"Yeah, figured." Shephard passes the coffee over. "Long story. Short version is, seein' as how we got no Navy men left alive and not a whole lot of folks with any other qualifications for the position, Ms. Vance made me commanding officer of our one and only oceangoing vessel, a nuclear-powered icebreaker name of Borealis."

"You'll be good at the command part."

"Youngest member of the United States Navy to ever reach the rank of Captain was Stephen Decatur," says Shephard gloomily. "Twenty-five years old and he'd had a shitload of experience on board all kinds of sailing ships. Captured a couple corsair ships in Tripoli before he got his promotion, even. I ain't too sure how old I am no more, but it ain't more than that. I been studyin' my ass off just tryin' to catch up."

"Yeah, cause you care so you'll figure it out. I mean you do what needs doing," Adrian's a good man and a solider, he'll figure it out.

Edited 2014-09-30 23:05 (UTC)

"Well see," says Shephard. "Anyways, that's one more thing on top of all the other shit I got goin' on back home. It's a mite busy. Reckon you know the feelin', though."