(Untitled)

[mr_gaeta]

"I can't. I'm sorry," says Gaeta when the napkin appears at his elbow, right next to the pages he's been filling with neatly-penned notes. "Not tonight."

Don't give me that, buster. You and I both need a break, reads the next napkin -- and before Gaeta can protest further, Bar snatches up his notebook. It vanishes into thin air as she adds, You'll

Comments

[killitwith_fire]

"Something spicy," Axel says, to the bartender's question.

[mr_gaeta]

"...Nothing more specific than that?"

Gaeta isn't the most experienced bartender Milliways has ever seen, and the vast majority of the alcohol on the shelves doesn't come from the Colonies. Recommendations, let alone making drinks up off the top of his head, aren't exactly his strong suit.

Still, preemptively, he reaches for another book of cocktail recipes.

[killitwith_fire]

Axel shrugs a little, and then points.

"I get good results from the stuff on that shelf. But I'm good with surprises," he adds.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta looks to where he's pointing. Red Savina Liqueur, says one medium-sized bottle.

He isn't sure what red savina is, but the multitude of flames and warning labels all over the bottle look promising. (And slightly worrisome. Just how spicy does this man want?)

"How about this?" he asks as he retrieves it.

[killitwith_fire]

Axel gives a cheerful grin.

"Looks about right," he says.

'Molten lava' would be about right, but most alcohol can only manage an approximation.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta's eyebrows rise. It's a healthy mix of curiosity, uncertainty, and perhaps just a little bit of It's your funeral.

But he fetches a glass, pours out a healthy dollop -- it smokes a little -- and passes it over to Axel. "Here you go, sir."

[killitwith_fire]

Axel takes a sip, and his grin widens.

"Hey, that's good," he says, giving the drink a little swirl before taking another sip.

[mr_gaeta]

Despite his reservations, that garners a small, pleased smile from Gaeta.

(It also might be pleased simply due to the I didn't accidentally kill a patron with burning-hot alcohol factor.)

"I'm glad I could be of service," he says. The bottle's still open; pinching it by the neck, he wafts a little of the smoke toward himself, like a chemist testing the fumes of some newly-mixed concoction.

Fortunately, he's able to cork it and slam it down on the bar before he sneezes hard enough to almost drop it.

[killitwith_fire]

Axel laughs.

"That's how most people react to my tea," he says.

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta lets loose with another sneeze into the crook of his elbow, blinks, holds his breath in an effort to stifle a third one...

...and sighs it out once the itching pressure in his sinuses vanishes.

"I'm surprised anyone's able to drink that," he says wryly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. A pause. "Is the tea as spicy as the alcohol?"

[killitwith_fire]

"Humans can't," Axel replies. "Usually. And yeah, the tea's about this spicy - not quite, but just about."

[mr_gaeta]

Gaeta's first, instinctive thought, when someone refers to "humans" as a separate race or entity, is still to think Cylon. Here, he knows that isn't always true -- there are gods, for instance, and mutants -- but the thought remains, and always takes a quick moment's worth of conscious effort to push it away.

(Besides, over the last month, he's become quite familiar with the faces of at least seven Cylon models.)

Cautious, "May I ask what you are, if you're not human?"

[killitwith_fire]

Axel's grin turns into a somewhat melancholy smile.

"Wish I knew," he says. "Something. Somebody."

To more than a cursory examination, it's pretty clear that he's not human - or at least not normal. Arms and legs a little too long, waist too narrow, spine to flexible, contorting oddly as he slouches on the stool.

[mr_gaeta]

Which is something of a relief, in a way: Cylons can mimic humans far better than that.

Most of the caution continues to linger around Gaeta's tone. "I'm...not sure I follow."

[killitwith_fire]

"It's complicated," he admits. "I'm Somebody-" the capital letter is audible "-but I don't know what I am. Got it memorised?"

[mr_gaeta]

How can you not know? he thinks, but...that's not the most tactful way to phrase it. He nods, slow and uncertain, as he ponders how to ask the question.

"Is there, ah, some way to find out?" is what he settles on at last.