milliways_bar | (no subject)

(no subject)

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.

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

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

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.

"Oh I'm always lucky. Senior Squeakins? He...."

Mike looks away. His breathing shallows, and his right hand comes to rest at the center of his chest.

"Senior Squeakins was taken from us far too soon."

"Not lucky, then," Steph comments. "Oh, that's awful. Are you coping okay? How are you handling it? Do you need counselling? I've heard grief counselling is supposed to be good for you."

Holding up a hand.

"No no no. I'll be fine. Just fine....eventually. He would have wanted me to move on. And keep moving on. Moving with a good solid rhythm, in fact."

Steph giggles. "Yes. Yes, I see. I feel I should have a drink in his honour, then. A Rubber Duckie sounds good."

She is not exactly legal age. In that she's very obviously only about sixteen. But what's that got to do with anything? Such a butter-wouldn't-melt expression you never saw.

"Right-o. On the way."

Mike picks up the limeade and gingerale, pouring them into into a mixer. When he goes for the Whiskey, however...strange things happen. It seems to stick to the shelf behind the bar. Puzzled, Mike goes for a smaller bottle, but the same thing happens. As it does for the next and the next. When he's gone through all the Whiskeys....it hits him.

"You're not of legal drinking age for your world, are you?"

Steph looks guilty. "Maybe not. Batman totally lets me have a drink sometimes though!"

"I'm sure he does, but this? This is not the Hall of Justice....and she won't let me serve you on the sly. Not while I'm on duty anyway. So...think of a drink that won't get us both in trouble with quasi-animate objects."

"Man, that's not fair." Steph pouts. "I'm totally never gonna get a drink here, am I? It's not like I'm gonna get any older. Unless I do! Maybe I will. Jason totally came back from the dead and he was a Robin too!"

Excited Steph.

"Okay. Just an orange juice, then. And thank you for trying."

"You might? Maybe? I'd say take it up to the Head Barman and maybe you two can work something out. I, on the other hand, am nothing but a meaningless cog in the machinery that is Milliways.

But a meaningless cog that knows a thing or two about orange juice. With or without pulp? What is your preferred pulpitude?"

"Cogs," Steph says gravely, "are often given less credit than they deserve. I would prefer maximum pulpitude, and minimum ice, thank you. And, I'm Steph. Nice to meet you."

"Yes...but cogs make the whole thing go around. Thanks are for flashy things like buttons. Now don't get me wrong, I love buttons, but prefer to be a cog myself."

He reaches into one of the coolers behind the bar and retrieves a carton of Tropicana Grove Style. Maximum Pulpitude.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Steph. I'm Mike, and I'll be your cog this evening."

"Mike? Are you Mel's Mike? The one who used to be a turtle?" Steph examines him with interest. "You don't look like a turtle, much."

"I would, in fact, be Mel's Mike. And yes indeedy doo I used to be a turtle. You can still kind of see it around the eyes, I'm told. Or like, in profile."

It doesn't matter how much she looks, she won't see it.

[ooc: sorry about the random unexpected slowtime. RL. *stabbities it* Want to wrap and kill thread? I can always make Steph tag Mike later.]

[ooc: that's totally up to you. heh, keep me posted]

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