milliways_bar | Happy Hour

Entry tags:

Happy Hour

Raph expected today to go pretty smoothly.
He was to go to the orchard, pick up a few barrels of cider for the Inn, and then deliver them.
Easy peasy, right?

Wrong.
So wrong.
Wicked freakin' wrong.

Because just as he's got the last barrel up in his arms, so that way he can back into the open and waiting doorway to the Disgruntled Tortoise, the door...changes. The barroom he backs into isn't the one he's expecting, and he doesn't really notice until he very nearly backs down the singular step from the Front Door to the Main Seating area, and by then it's just too late.*
The door closes itself shut, and Raph?
Well he's trapped in Milliways with a ridiculous amount of Adam Young's finest aged cider.

"Oh...oh you gotta be kiddin' me. Seriously?!"
He turns his heavily laden and put upon ire in Bar's direction.

The Special's Board slowly clears itself, and one by one several Zs appear.

"Oh no! Oh no you don't! I got places to be today!" he calls after her futility, but by the time he and the barrel make it over to her she's long gone asleep.

"Goddess, you suck." he mutters as he slowly lowers the barrel to the ground.
After shaking his arms out a few times he'll wipe clean the Specials Board.
In his barely legible scrawl, Raph will write:

CIDER

Eventually he'll even be ready to serve said cider, but at the moment...he's still shaking his arms out.
That barrel was heavy, and it wasn't the only one he was lifting today.

*you're mileage may vary.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Ellen had been planning on beer, but hey-

"I've been coming here for years, but I don't think I've ever actually had cider," she says on seeing the board. "I mean, I've smelled it, but... I didn't actually have any, I don't think."

Raph looks up from where he's trying to figure out the best way to actually open said barrel. It's not like Milliways is all the time exactly kitted out for this sort of thing, and all the proper equipment is back in Olau.

Though...where there's a sai, there's a way...

"No kiddin'?" he asks looking up at Ellen.
"Not even the non-alcohol kind?"

"We've only recently gotten apples to start growing again where I come from," Ellen says. "There's people fermenting them, but I got orders to go to Philadelphia before any of their batches were finished. I haven't seen anyone with apple trees in the Commonwealth yet, but I haven't been there long."

Raph begins rifling through the various drawers and cabinets behind Bar, looking for some sort of a tapered spigot.

"That some poor timin', hard cider's one of the better drinks. Which you'll soon get to see for yourself, once I figure...ah HAH! Here we go."

What Raph finds isn't perfect, but it'll work in a pinch. And this officially counts as a pinch.

"You know it's weird, I drank a lot of the soft stuff growing up. The high class shops uptown always got rid of it the second it passed the sell-by date. That's dumpster dive gold."

Ellen just shakes her head. "It's amazing how quickly places get rid of perfectly good food and drink," she says. "How do they even decide that that's when to get rid of something, anyway? I mean, fresh vegetables or meat, sure, but if it's something packaged and sealed it should have a pretty long shelf life, right?"

Not that she's willing to eat two hundred year old Dandy Boy Deviled Eggs under anything but the direst of circumstances, but seriously, don't people in other worlds use preservatives like the pre-War Americans did in hers?

"Come to think of it, that doesn't apply to beer. I don't know when it starts getting nasty, but it's not a chance I'd like to take."

"I think once it's bottled it's probably fine? I mean, I've had a skunky beer or three in my time, but not so much since I've moved to Olau. Being pre-industrial has that advantage, I guess?"

For everything he loves about Tortall...there's a lot that could do with an upgrade.

He gives the barrel a thump.
"You might want to take a step back. I'm flyin' by my pants here."

In a quick succession, Raph taps and vents the barrel with only a minimal amount of liquid escaping.

He's getting better at this.

"Most of the beer back home is scavenged. If somebody's growing the thing that isn't wheat or yeast that goes in the vat to make beer, I haven't found them," Ellen admits. "But they might be out there, I don't know."

She scrambles backwards from the Bar several steps just to be on the safe side.

Good call, Ellen. Good call.
You would have only gotten a little spritzed, but better save than sticky and smelling like a Yankee Candle.

Raph continues to beam with pride.
"Figures, right? First time I do this without losin' half the product inside, and there ain't a damn Trebond or Young to see it. You in?" he asks gesturing to the barrel.

"Sure," says Ellen. "We managed to take a seriously old fortress full of giant mutant crabs today and nobody died but the crabs and one robot. This smells like it'll be a good way to celebrate."

Raph grabs a couple of sturdy looking steins.

"How giant are we talkin' here?"

Because crabs are horrific enough, without being ... you know, gigantic.

"Most of them are about your height or a head taller," Ellen says. "There were two odd varieties we'd never seen before, one about as long as a Brahmin cow but with segments and a tail instead of walking on two legs, and one that was... I don't know, fifteen feet high."

He pours her drink first, because she's more than earned it.

"Mithros, seriously? Uh uh, that ain't okay," he says as he hands the stein over.
"I ain't okay with that at all."

Then he pours himself one.

"Sorry 'bout the robot. Friend of yours?"

"Thanks," Ellen says as she picks up the stein. "And no, thankfully, he wasn't. We brought a couple of robots with us, but they're all right. This was a patrol sentrybot that'd been sealed up under the castle for forty years, and it opened fire on us more or less as soon as it detected motion. From what it was shouting I think it would've done that to pretty much anyone- something about its roster database being corrupted. There was no time to attempt a hack or a shutdown."

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure my data would be corrupted too if I was stuck in the same room for forty years," he says with a cringe. "Guess it's a good thing it's put out of its misery?"

Ellen nods. "Sentrybots aren't a very bright model compared to Mr. Handys, but even they need tune-ups and maintenance regularly," she says. "We're going to see if we can pull any of its data at all, just in case. Some of it might be useful, even if the Minutemen roster isn't completely readable, and the Scribes tend to have to extract data from even older computer systems, so... who knows."

"Huh," he says noncommittally. His empathy for the robot, and Ellen's mention of stripping him for parts to see what it knows has unsettled Raph just enough for it to show on his usually pretty stoic poker face. So he sips his cider.

"I think it might need to settle a bit more. Still good though."

Ellen nods. "I may have to order it again," she says. "I mean, the next time I'm here. I'm still working on this glass, obviously."

Where she grew up, everyone was so pressed together that the only privacy you got was what other people gave you. It was considered the height of bad manners to pry into someone's emotional responses unless they indicated that they wanted you to, or unless it was your job to do so- the doctor, the chaplain, that kind of thing. Ellen's not going to push about the conversation bothering Raph unless something big makes it impossible to avoid doing so.

OH no, that's not necessary. Raph is more than happy to just let this particular memory sleep. Topic change? YES! Let's go with that.

"Well that's good for me then, on account of I only have this barrel. Bar should be able to get you what you need though. She can be good like that, if she likes you."

She doesn't like Raph, which is why he makes a face in her direction.

"I'll remember," Ellen says. "I wonder if the rest of my delegation will treat it as something else I get from the mole people- I'm not actually allowed to tell the soldiers and scientists under my command that Milliways exists and has all kinds of things we don't, so most of them have decided that when I show up with help nobody's ever seen before, I'm in contact with a lost civilization of super advanced mole people or something. I'm trying to decide if anyone would accept the imaginary super advanced mole people having access to a whole different kind of alcohol now that we're in the Commonwealth."

He blinks.
This isn't even remotely the weirdest thing someone has said to him, and yet...it still gives him pause.

"That's smart. I mean, most people back in Tortall just think anything I do that's out of the ordinary, up to and includin' having weird weapons, is just...a Shang thing. But I never thought 'bout sneakin' stuff in and tellin' people that like...Immortals gave it to me."

This...this is not a good idea, which is easy to tell because Raph is considering it.

"I don't really tell people the mole people part," Ellen admits. "They came up with that on their own after seeing me duck into old Metro stations and come out with Milliways patrons behind me. Soldiers are pretty good at coming up with explanations and spreading weird rumors like that."

Raph appears to consider this.

"You ain't wrong there. The stuff those jamokes make me worry sometimes. Some o' the ones goin' around the Queen's Own about me are pretty hilarious."

"Want a hand with that?" Carlotta offers, gesturing at the barrel.

In spite of the exertion, Raph wrinkles his nose.

"Nah, I got it."
His steps are slow and deliberate, because this barrel is freakin' heavy!

"You wanna help? Maybe make sure there ain't no tables or chairs in my way. I'm uh...goin' this way."
Raph jerks his head in the somewhat forward direction.

"No problem." Carlotta moves the various furniture out of the way, and resists the urge to help with the freakin heavy barrel.

"Having an extra special on the drinks menu tonight?"

"If we weren't before, we sure as hell are now," he huffs as he finally makes his way over towards the bar. With one left show of ridiculously stupid display of strength, Raph heaves it on her top.

Somewhere Mike's teeth rattle.

"mithros, that sucked..." he says as he shakes his arms out.

"Well if you're ever looking for a new job, you'd make a good Strongman." Carlotta says. "We used to have one, but he got a hernia."

Raph barks a laugh before making his way around the Bar and beginning the set up of the barrel for tapping.

"I'll keep that in mind should I find myself short o' work. Thanks for the offer though."

He pauses.

"You uh...want a drink?"

"Thanks, got any non-alcoholic cider please? Or ginger beer if not."

Carlotta sits on a nearby barstool. "When you've finished with that, anyway, I'm not in any hurry."

"Oh I'm sure we do, but I sure as hell don't know how Mike keeps stuff organized back here."

No one does. That's just one of the many features that comes standard with your Michaelangelo.

"Lemme uh, lemme start lookin'. This'll keep. It's probably better we let it settle anyway."

It's not this one.
Nope, not this cabinet either.
He ducks down behind the bar.

"Can I maybe get you a water while I'm looking?"

"Water would be lovely, thank you." Carlotta grins at him. "I suppose that's the trouble with having so many different bartenders, things get rearranged."

He stands back up, but this time with a glass.

"No, that's the trouble with having a Mikey in charge. He says he's got a system, but what that is, is anyone's guess."

"You could ask Bar to produce a diagram?" Carlotta suggests.

"I could, but that don't really help me right now. She's sleepin'."

"Yes, but it'd help you every other time you bartend." Carlotta suggests.

He raises an eyebrow.
"We don't got that kinda relationship, Bar an' me."

"How do you mean?" Carlotta asks, sipping her water.

Raph goes back to trying to find the previously ordered ginger beer.

"You got siblings?"

"No." Carlotta shakes her head. "My mother died when I was a baby."

"Shit...'m sorry."

Nice Raph. Real nice.
Well played, even.

"Thanks. It's all right, I mean, I've had a long time to come to terms with it." Carlotta says.

"I was raised in the circus until I was thirteen, so I grew up with children who were like siblings."

That...was clearly not the response that Raph was expecting.

"No kiddin'? So you do like...circus stuff?"

"I'm a ringmaster now." Carlotta says. "But I was an acrobat as a child. Now my daughter does most of the acrobatics and I train her - well, outside of school terms - and my son is training as a clown."

"Most? You still practice?"

It probably doesn't look it, because Raph is built like a World's Strongest Man competitor, but he's pretty good with the acrobatics his ownself.

"I do." Carlotta nods. "I had a knee injury in the second world war, which set me back for a few years, but I could still perform now if I wasn't too busy running the show. People would rather see Molly though. It's a lot more impressive when you're eleven."

"I... didn't know she did that." Cecil has been watching the whole interchange like a high-stakes tennis match. "Is that common?"

"Didn't know she did what?" he says while not really acknowledging who's speaking to him.

"Be a gigantic pain in my ass? Oh yeah, that she does."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Happy Hour

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject