(Untitled)
It is with pleasure that Methos takes his place behind the bar tonight.
However, once he is confronted with the prospect of writing up the specials board, his slacker gene kicks in rather hard, and he decides, instead of working his own brain to come up with a theme and drinks to match it, to work the ones of the patrons instead. So:
Get your drink ( Read more... )
However, once he is confronted with the prospect of writing up the specials board, his slacker gene kicks in rather hard, and he decides, instead of working his own brain to come up with a theme and drinks to match it, to work the ones of the patrons instead. So:
Get your drink ( Read more... )
"Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berries
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Roses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand."
She pauses, grins at the baby in the sling around her neck and turns back to the bartender.
"That falls under category B, I think."
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"Drinks on the house, my dear!"
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"I think I'll have...hmm...a turtle milkshake, please. And if the kitchen's still open, I wouldn't mind having two soft pretzels...with butter and extra salt; of course those don't fall under the free category."
Yeah, she has just had a baby, and is still set on random eating habits.
She holds a hand out across the Bar. "Coreen Fennel, and this little guy is Evan."
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"Adam Pierson. Gimme a moment, and I shall have all of it to you."
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"Nice to meet you, Adam. Thank you."
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It's just two minutes or so later that he reappears with her request.
"All there?"
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"Yes. Thank you. If I can ask, what was the reasoning behind the specials?"
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At least he's honest.
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Baby Evan hears probably more than he'd like.
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