Happy Hour

[cottoncandypink]

Last night was odd. Wilford needs about six more hours of morning before he thinks he'll even start to feel human. He woke up in his dressing room (which means he passed out at some point), to find it a disaster, and nope. This is not what he wants to deal with right now.

As soon as he finds Milliways, Wilford wanders behind the Bar and finds the remote for the TV, and finds a local news channel. And the headline he finds* goes a little bit of the way into jumpstarting his attention span.

So it's right about now that he notices the napkin on the bar. Because of course it's there.

Specials:

Red Death
Black Death
Death Sentence
Creeping Death

With that done, Wilford leans against the bar to watch the news.


*[ooc: both links mildly nsfw; drugs, violence, crude humour. Open until the next Happy Hour post. Threadhopping encouraged!]

Comments

[doesitbotheryou]

A tall and lanky Japanese teen comes up and reads the board. Out of uniform and hair somewhat wild, he quirks a smile before asking, "Aren't those a little morbid?"

[cottoncandypink]

Considering Wilford feels like death right now, his only direct answer is a glare that's too tired to be effective.

"Do you want anything?" he asks.

[doesitbotheryou]

Touji smile only getting bigger.

"Maybe. What sodas do you have?"

[cottoncandypink]

Ugh, why does everybody have to be so difficult? Can't this kid see that he's miserable?

He tears himself away from the bar long enough to open the fridge. "Brown, yellow, and orange." he says.

[doesitbotheryou]

Someone obvious is not having a good day. Too bad Touji isn't one to give people peace.

"What are the flavors? Color doesn't tell me much."

[cottoncandypink]

"Camel snot. I don't know."

It takes him a few seconds staring at the sodas to train his eyes to see letters and words instead of vague shapes. It's still too much effort, so he puts a few bottles on the bar to let the kid choose.

[doesitbotheryou]

"Are you new to serving?" Touji asks with a pleasant smile. He makes a show of inspecting the bottles before pickign out something he's never had before. Something called rootbeer.

[cottoncandypink]

"No, I'm hungover," Wilford says.

Which is kind of true, in a way. Not really.

He takes the remaining bottles and puts them back. And then spots the coffee machine, and decides that's exactly what he needs right now.

[aaaaaaaagh_sky]

Ellen looks at the specials board thoughtfully.

"Did you experience a change of life status, or is this something I shouldn't ask about?" she finally says. "Or is it a memorial holiday?"

Because she's familiar with tha tidea, at least.

[cottoncandypink]

"I don't know. Maybe I did," Wilford says. "Don't remember much of last night."

It takes him a few moments to recognise Ellen as the girl with the horrible disco record. If he were more himself, he might make an effort to be a little less short. But he is very much not himself today.

[just_cant_lose]

Jim, in marked contrast to Wilford, feels great. Which is not thanks to Wilford, with that coke that got steadily more terrible as the night went on. But even the alcohol he knocked himself out with hasn't left much of a mark, because the potential of a new game on the horizon beats out any semblance of hangover.

'Hello, darling.'

He sing-songs it cheerily, hops up onto a stool, and tosses a plastic baggie down on the counter.

'It's not as much as I took, because it's three times better than yours. But there you go.'

Beat.

'You look like shit.'

[cottoncandypink]

Wilford looks at Jim, and then at his returned stash, and then up at the live broadcast of Jay Norris' assassination and the scrambling aftermath.

"You have anything to do with that?" he asks.

He does not remember at all what happened to Jim after the meeting. That feels like a mistake and a half.

[just_cant_lose]

'Maybe.'

His face is deadpan. MAYBE HE DID.

(He didn't.)

[cottoncandypink]

Eurgh. It's too early for Jim's bullshit.

"Where's the case?" he asks as he slips the baggie into his pocket.

[just_cant_lose]

'Oh, I don't know. Nichola's car? Maybe I left it in the hotel, I don't remember.'

It is absolutely not in his pocket or anything, of course. He lights a cigarette, and tosses one Wilford's way.

'Have fun with Billy? I thought the two of you were going to drown in endless piles of terrible food. Or every restaurant in town would gang together, drive up and kill you.'

[cottoncandypink]

Jim gets a very tired stare, because it is too early.

What time is it, even?

Who cares.

"What the fuck are you talking about? Where did you go, anyway?"

He remembers something about a vampire, for some reason. What the hell did they do last night?

[just_cant_lose]

'...ohhhhh dear, is someone having trouble re-mem-ber-inggggg?'

His smile spreads, and he stretches his neck to one side.

'All right, I'm feeling generous. At what point did things start to get fuzzy?'

[cottoncandypink]

This is not fair. Or fun.

"I tuned you out when you two were having your little slumber party," Wilford says.

They were gossiping about him, and he didn't want to listen to it.

[idontcount]

When the door of her flat opens up onto the Bar, Molly's a little relieved. And pleased. She was starting to think the whole thing had been some sort of bizarre break-down. She walks through the Bar like she belongs there, work bag bumping at her side. She's still dressed for work, but she's left her white coat at the office.

The man at the Bar has a pink moustache, but that's not even the beginning of the weirdest thing she's seen in this place.

"Glass of red wine, please."

Like a goddamn adult.

[cottoncandypink]

It's a reasonable request. It doesn't mean Wilford will treat it reasonably. He just wants to watch the news report about the man with the exploding head. So that's what he watches for a little bit longer before finally getting up to find a bottle of wine.

"There," he says gruffly, handing her a glass that has been filled to the brim.

[idontcount]

"...Thanks." Molly's a little deflated, she hadn't expected the staff at a magic pub to be so rude.

"Er, how much do I owe you?" She begins the not insubstantial task of rooting through her bag for her purse.

[cottoncandypink]

The look on Wilford's face clearly says how much he doesn't want to deal with this. He doesn't know what anything costs. It's not even supposed to be his job, except it seems to be becoming just that.

"I don't know. What's it say by your name?"

Above the bar is a large analogue ticker board displaying all patrons and their tabs.

[idontcount]

Molly looks up.

"Oh. It just says 'Five'. Five what?"

Rubles? Knuts?

[cottoncandypink]

"Five of whatever you've got in your wallet."

His headache is getting worse. This sucks. He needs more disgusting coffee.

"I don't know where the register even is, so you're better off not bothering."

[idontcount]

Molly's lips go a bit thin.

"I see." She stops rooting about. Usually it's not in her nature but...

"You really don't have to be so rude."