(no subject)

[never_promised]

So it really is true that time passed in Milliways stands still on the other side of the door. The trip with Cesario had shown Hal a London all just the same: the same people in the tavern, the weather the same, the street noise the same, not an hour's difference. The news in the streets all the same: the king sick, and not like to improve.

Now there's a thought for you. The longer Hal stays away, the longer his father will live. If he's in Milliways, at least. A most filial exile.

So really it's in the service of England that he's lounging at the bar, sampling bottle after bottle of what the colorful labels declare to be PUMPKIN ALE, lining up the empties like soldiers.

Comments

[freedom_is_grey]

"You really do like drinking," a clean and put-together Ysalwen observes from further down the bar. It took some effort, and really she'd just like to be sleeping, but work needs doing and Image must be maintained to give her people confidence. SO it goes.

"Though it might be wiser not to pass out and sleep on the floor here. I've heard the cleaning staff don't like it."

Plus something terrible could happen. Obviously.

[never_promised]

"'Tis just for such a need, that I keep a room here, Lady." Pause. "Well, not only for that."

[freedom_is_grey]

"Oh, of course not."

Her voice is very dry. Arid, even.

"Though I hardly think you're much more safe stumbling blindly up the stairs and into the ever-changing hallways. But to each his own."

[never_promised]

"Well, and what would you have me do in a tavern? Make lace and sing psalms? I can oblige you in the one, indifferent well, but I've not been trained for lace-making." He raises his eyebrows: is she going to complain that someone in a tavern is drinking beer?

[freedom_is_grey]

"A pity."

The corner of her mouth twitches, but her gaze remains watchful. Wary, even.

"It's only that I have yet to see you doing, or thinking about, or recovering from anything else. Most people don't find that entirely healthful, though I can't speak for your where and when."

Maybe all the alcohol is what gives him his youthful vigor and princely demeanor! Different worlds, man. They're weird.

"And I have an inherent distrust of drunken humans -- particularly drunken human noblemen, or those who may as well be."

Not that he is one, necessarily. Maybe he's a bard in disguise. But very few people are so fine-spoken who are born in more humble surroundings. Even if they are also noblemen. Or kings, now, as it happens.

Anyway.

[never_promised]

"Did you not say you were a friend of Harry Percy? That formidable Hotspur, honor itself, who never passed an open tavern door but with a look of disgust? He can make his report to you, that Hal of Eastcheap has no mind for anything but drink, drink and loose living."

He twirls one of the empty bottles, the neck between his fingers. "But was it not you, my lady, who spoke of dwarven ale, and trying the Scottish aqua vitae? You encourage a man one day, and chastise him the next."

[freedom_is_grey]

"Ah, but do you see me with a drink in my hands just now?"

No, no you do not.

"Which may indicate that I am capable of doing other things with my time. Are you?"

Her smile is quick and bright.

"Or is that you're running away from honor, as you call it, as hard and as fast as you can? Some people do, I know."

Why else mention Hotspur's honor, unless it's some bone of contention between them -- or otherwise troublesome?

[livinginmyglass]

Viola pauses by the bar to consider the row of bottles.

"Dost hope to drink thyself one entire pumpkin?" she asks thoughtfully.

[never_promised]

"If I but knew what a pumpkin was--! Dost thou? Is it a product of thine Illyria or Messaline? I take it to be this--this great ground-apple, here--"

He passes over his current bottle, tapping the picture on the label.

[livinginmyglass]

She shakes her head. "No, I have seen it since coming here. Some do grow out behind there." She gestures towards the back door. "Though they did seem too hard and large to make a juice of."

[never_promised]

"I proclaim it the greatest mystery of this place. All other queries fall silent before this one final question: what is pumpkin ale? --I would have said, only from the taste, that it is mulled with spices, but still drunk cold."

[livinginmyglass]

Viola laughs, then composes her face into an appropriately serious expression. "Perhaps the answer to all lies in this. He who might make such an ale, only he has power to make such a place."

[never_promised]

Hal doesn't bother with the serious expression. He whoops aloud. "Cesario, thou must come again to London and reason in divinity there. By his works do we know the creator of Milliways: for the invisible things of him, even his eternal power, from the creation of pumpkin ale are clearly seen."

[morethanprops]

Moist is stretching out his hand as he enters, playing the secretary is useful but he has to actually work.

When he walks by Hal, he stops and picks up one of the bottles, "Pumpkin, I didn't know anyone made a drink out of it?"

[never_promised]

"I had never seen the word before today. Is it some product of your home?"

That's an empty, but no doubt Bar will happily provide a full one!

[morethanprops]

"I don't know. I'm not a farmer but they probably grow somewhere on the Disc. Does it taste good?"

Hal looks like he's never needed to know where his drink comes from, Moist searches for a free chair.

[never_promised]

"Some better than others; it seems your pumpkin ale doth vary tolerably; but all are somewhat sweetened and spiced. Mistress Bar, a pumpkin ale for the gentleman!"

There you go, Moist!

[morethanprops]

"Thank you, I'm Alfred," He lifts his glass in a toast as he settles into a seat with a happy sigh.

[never_promised]

"Well met, Alfred!" Cheers?

[electro_kinetic]

There's a Noriko eyeing Hal and all the empty bottles while she lounges in a chair, heels up on the table. Hal might be glad to know she's fully clothed this time, legs discreetly--ha--clad in grey skinny jeans and an electric pink tee-shirt that has no back. (Well, it is Noriko. she'll never be totally covered unless it's dead winter.)

"You know the rats are going to be pissy if you pass out on the floor again," she notes, looking up from her tablet game. (Cut the Rope is oddly entertaining.)

[never_promised]

"I was never before in a tavern where so many did wonder so much to see a man drink beer!" You pass out on a floor once--maybe twice--okay, let's say four times--and you never hear the end of it, jeez.

[electro_kinetic]

Noriko just snorts at that. "I don't wonder at the fact that you're drinking--we're in a bar, it's what people do--but it's considered poor form to get so inebriated that you're incapable of seeing yourself up a set of stairs. Or remaining vertical," she adds.

"Besides, fall on it too many times and the impact's gonna mess up your otherwise pretty face."

[never_promised]

That gets a grin, of course. "My face, is it? I've never heard it praised as my best feature by any ladies of my acquaintance; but I appreciate thy concern, Mistress!"

[electro_kinetic]

"You're adorable," she chuckles. "Run you through a shower and you'll actually make it to handsome," Noriko teases.

"And mostly I say your face, because I've yet to see the rest of you."

[never_promised]

"O, my face speaks but poorly for the rest of me, I promise. But--a shower? Wouldst have me run out in the rain to impress thee?"