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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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!"

In the correct booth per the note, Indy pretends not to notice. He may even start humming to himself.

Then he looks up and strokes his chin quite thoughtfully, before making a few fake notes on his yellow legal pad with a red pen. Yes, the dreaded pad has returned, if only for assessment purposes.

The package, it should be noted, is wrapped in several layers of paper. The first layer of greaseproof shouldn't be too hard to remove. The second, third, and fourth may get a little annoying though. By the time Mike reaches the fifth, sixth, seventh and eight layers, he will probably need to take a breather and admire the lingerie catalog pages that have been used at this point in the strata.

Under that he will find a few rounds of standard packing material. The sheer soft kind that feels nice to touch and press, but is ultimately disappointing due to the lack of bubbles to pop.

This is like a puzzle. A fun puzzle with lots of things to tear. Mike has always loved the sound of ripping paper. A terrible love to have when one collects funny books made of the stuff.

Mike gets to the silky styrofoam section, and pauses just long enough to run it over the length of his forearm. Not only does it feel fantastic, but it also charges the hair on his arm to stand up on end, a sensation he just can't get enough of.

"Hello Tyra. Have you missed me?"

But joy of joys, there's oodles of bubble wrap inside the box anyway. And massive overkill on the packing peanuts as well. And if he ever overcomes that distracting pitfall, in between the stuffing Mike will find three things:

- A new apron with Kiss the ~~Turtle~~ ~~Ninja~~ ~~Chef~~ Bartender emblazoned across it. A replacement for the charred excuse that Indy had pretty much totaled during the Great Waffle Fire.

- A shiny new stainless steel cocktail shaker, stylishly engraved with the phrase You call him Mr Angelo, doll!

- A framed photo. A blown-up Polaroid of the Turtle and the Bunny Rabbit before they started their costumed shift last week—Mike's arm round Indy's shoulder. Posterity, for the last official training shift together. The end of an era? What Mike does with it is up to him...

But for now, Indy winks over at him from his place across the bar. During the course of the evening, despite his assertion to Alanna, he hadn't been watching Mike at all. The notepad is a mess of red doodles. And Indy is well-satisfied.

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