(no subject)

[mnt_mike]

Mike returns to the bar, having changed his ever present orange Hawaiian print shirt for something a little more subdued. You know, a blue one. Draped over one arm is a flowered wreath which appears to have been made with Two-Ply Facial Tissues. In the right light one can see that it has been sprayed with glitter. Placing the wreath down on the Bar, Mike sets about crafting the specials menu for the evening's Happy Hour in script is stylized, yet tasteful.

IN MEMORIAM
Lake Water
Rubber Duckie
The Vibrator

When the wreath is finally set in a place of prominence, Mike mixes himself a Rubber Duckie, and holds it aloft.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of Milliways. The Bar is now open. Let us drink to the memory of Senior Squeakins. May he delight those whom he meets, from now until the end of all things."

He downs the drink, and turns the now empty glass over, mouth down on the Bar.

Comments

[i-spoiled-it.livejournal.com]

"Do I even want to know?" Steph asks, settling into a barstool. "I mean, really?"

[mnt_mike]

"I guess you're just going to have to ask yourself....Do you feel lucky? Well...Do Ya?"

[i-spoiled-it.livejournal.com]

Steph eyes him thoughtfully. "Not particularly, right now. Why? Do you? Or does Senior Squeakins? Although being in the lake can't be very lucky, can it?"

Steph has never seen Dirty Harry. Or The Mask. Deprived child.

[collects_ears]

"Could I trouble you for a beer?"

[mnt_mike]

"I'd rather you didn't."

[collects_ears]

A raised eyebrow.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

"I'm just going to say: I do not want to know." Ace informs him cheerily as she hops up on her favorite barstool. Hurrah for the wonders of asprin.

[mnt_mike]

"Your not knowing is noted and will be added to your permenant record."

There's already a chocolate drink waiting for her.

[nitro-is-ace.livejournal.com]

"Brilliant. That thing must be novel-sized by now."

Hopefully it's a non-alcholic drink. No chocolate alcohol for the medicated pyro.

[saint-aequitas.livejournal.com]

An Irishman walks up to the bar, the expression on his face clearly saying 'I don't want to know, do I'.

"I'll have a Guinness."

[mnt_mike]

Mike's expression says, OH yes you do. You know you do. You really wanna. This type of expression can only be punctuated by severe eyebrow wiggles.

Mike starts the pour on the Guinness, even making sure to draw a Shamrock on the top of the head with a small stream of the dark brown beverage.

"Yes...yes you will."

See the smile? Still there.

[saint-aequitas.livejournal.com]

Bit of a smirk at that, but he's still not going to ask.

Terribly sorry.

[creator_raven]

"A rubber duckie, Mike? It is a useful thing?"

[mnt_mike]

"You have no idea."

[creator_raven]

Raven sighs, and tilts his head. His voice is very patient.

"This would be why I asked, yes."

[no-comb-shep.livejournal.com]

Sheppard sits down at a barstool, raising an eyebrow. "I'm guessing it might be better if I just don't ask."

[mnt_mike]

"Everyone keeps saying that, I just don't understand what people have against the public display of grief."

[no-comb-shep.livejournal.com]

"I'm not against grief. It's just...Senior Squeakins?"

[gonna_live]

Time for an after-dinner drink, wouldn't you say?

"Hey, Mike." Kaylee is beaming. "Can I get a Rubber Duckie?"

[mnt_mike]

"Kayless, for you I'd be willing to part with Senior Squeakins II: The Quickening."

He begins serving up the drink, tossing bottles in a very Tom Cruise-like way as he does so.

"What brings you out of your room sans hunky boy-toy this evening? Did you break him with pretty sex?"

[gonna_live]

Kaylee, by all rights, ought to be blushing and reaching over to slap Mike on the shoulder.

She's not.

"He's...got patients to see to. Yesterday was kinda...weird."

She's not not smiling. Just...subdued.

[missginnytonic.livejournal.com]

"What are those drinks?"

[mnt_mike]

"Alcoholic."

Mike says with a smile.

"You want your milkshake shaken or stirred?"

[henry-jones-jr.livejournal.com]

At some point near the end of Mike's shift, a package materializes mid-counter. Simply wrapped in greaseproof cooking paper and sealed with duct tape, one might be curious as to the nature of said package. If, that is, one didn't have good knowledge of the wrapping materials available in the junk drawer of Suite 134.

There's a yellow sticky note affixed to the top:

Michael,

Congratulations on what I hope was a successful first solo tending shift. Of course, I may have already taken charge by this point if things messed up. If not, I'm sitting in the booth third from the left, and admiring your work. Or at least trying to keep the glowering to a minimum as you undoubtably neglect half the customers in favor of chatting up the chicks. Anyway, enjoy, and don't forget Coughlin's Laws!

Your humble mentor,

Indy.

[mnt_mike]

Mike doesn't look at the card at first. I mean, what person does? He picks up the box and gives it a good shake. He's not fully satisfied with the dull to nonexistant sound from within. He checks the weight. It's heavy, but not OMG New Playstation heavy.

Only after a thorough investigation of all that the outer package has to offer, does he turn towards the card and give it a quick read. His lips move as he reads, and he even offers those near by running commentary on the note itself.

"Awww, Indy! You shouldn't have. No...who am I kidding? You so should have!"