(Untitled)

[no_prisoner]

The time has come once again; Eddie's favorite Happy Hour theme night.

Welcome to Milliways Bar Happy Hour

Name-Your-Own-Cocktail Night!

You give me a name. I'll invent the drink that goes with it on the spot.

Stump me and drink free for the night!

"Step right up, folks. I'm Eddie Dean, and I'll be your bartender tonight. What can I get ya?"

Comments

[viceriddengnome]

With some difficulty, a little man hoists himself on a bar stool. He then proceeds to call out:

"ABSINTHE!"

Yes, it's already a drink. But are there any drinks but absinthe, and should there be? Toulouse thinks not.

[no_prisoner]

"I'd warn you about the debilitating effects, but I think it's already too late. You into the ritual, or just hallucinating as quickly as possible?"

[viceriddengnome]

"Oh, I love it all, sir! Absinthe is the life blood of the Bohemian Revolution. Now please be so kind as to fix me a drink."

Big, big, toothy grin.

[no_prisoner]

Milliways, unsurprisingly, has all the accoutrements; Eddie tends to a 3.5 to 1 water to absinthe ratio, on the grounds that anyone drinking absinthe doesn't want that much cushioning, but he's generous with the sugar.

It's a wondrously unwholesome green Tolouse is no doubt familiar with. "There you go."

[viceriddengnome]

"Excellent!" He beams, grabs hold of the glass with speed and downs the whole thing in one gulp.

Psychologically, Toulouse is no longer here. Give him a moment.

[no_prisoner]

Eddie gives him his moment. "Eddie Dean," he says eventually, offering his hand.

[viceriddengnome]

Toulouse extends his hand, not as tiny as one might expect on a man of Toulouse's stature, and shakes Eddie. "It's an honor to meet you, sir. I am Henri Marie Raymond de Toulouse-Lautrec Monfa. But you may call me Toulouse."

Another flash of that toothy grin.

[no_prisoner]

Eddie laughs. "Well, thank God for that, Toulouse."

"I don't think I've seen you in here before."

[viceriddengnome]

"I don't come in here often, which is a shame. I do like this place, and a very dear friend of mine is here."

[no_prisoner]

"It's a hell of a place," he agrees. "Where do you come in from?"

[viceriddengnome]

"Paris. Montmatre, actually, but it's all the same in my eyes!"

[no_prisoner]

"Sounds fun. What year?"

"New York in the nineteen-eighties, for me,"

[viceriddengnome]

"1899--that's so far in the future," he says, somewhat bemused. "Tell me: what is it like in America? I have never been able to leave France, though I hardly will complain about that."

[no_prisoner]

"It's different all over," he says. "The city's--big. Full of all kinds of different people from all over the world, in dozens of completely different neighborhoods, from slums to weird revolutionary coffeehouses and bookstores to uptown penthouses for rich fashionable people."

[viceriddengnome]

"Oh my. It sounds much like Paris! Are there bohemians in New York?"

Because Toulouse is only in it for the Revolution.

[no_prisoner]

"...probably? There's everything else."