Ciel, settling onto a bar-stool as he is, is feeling adventurous tonight. Not that he seems it, with his look of almost tired disinterest. But he is, and, he has to admit, he feels a little safer adventuring with real people behind the Bar.
He can probably tell if they're putting anything funny in the drinks, here.
Ellen's not exactly in the habit of sticking anything in a drink other than what the recipe calls for.
'Course, that all hinges on whether she thinks the person sitting in her saloon is anything less-than-human. She stocks a few beers full of holy water underneath the bar for that very purpose.
Though, maybe he should have been a little more wary of drinking laws. Really, in his mustering of courage to test out the alcohol here, he'd forgotten that whole bother about age restrictions and taverns.
He wrinkles his nose in evident distaste at the question.
Judging by her expression, Ellen's feeling a lot more than distaste at the moment.
"I don't know how Bar feels about drinkin' laws, but I'm not sure I want to be startin' a new trend - in my bar or anywhere else. So if it's all the same to you, I'd say we just cut back on that brandy altogether."
The boy manages not to grumble at the refusal, but there's obviously a good bit of effort going into that. Age is such a constant source of frustration for him.
"Fine," he scowls around his eyepatch.
"Skip the milk - hot chocolate, instead. With marshmallows and whipped cream."
If dirty looks could talk, his would be reading something like Is that order juvenile enough for you?
For that matter, his mood and demeanor don't change much at all as he settles onto his stool and folds his hands on top of the Bar, sternly watching her at work. He's not very worried that he's going to get arsenic dripped into his cocoa, but - it's something to do.
"Thank you," he remembers to add, in a tone that is polite and little else.
He lifts his cocoa to his lips in what might be a pointed way.
(Though, the few seconds he takes, after his little sip, to bring it back and try to get a few of the marshmallows into his mouth? That's a little less so.
But marshmallows taste good! It's a separate matter entirely.)
Ciel, settling onto a bar-stool as he is, is feeling adventurous tonight. Not that he seems it, with his look of almost tired disinterest. But he is, and, he has to admit, he feels a little safer adventuring with real people behind the Bar.
He can probably tell if they're putting anything funny in the drinks, here.
"Not too much of the first one, if you could."
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'Course, that all hinges on whether she thinks the person sitting in her saloon is anything less-than-human. She stocks a few beers full of holy water underneath the bar for that very purpose.
Ciel gets fixed with a look.
"How old are you, son?"
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Though, maybe he should have been a little more wary of drinking laws. Really, in his mustering of courage to test out the alcohol here, he'd forgotten that whole bother about age restrictions and taverns.
He wrinkles his nose in evident distaste at the question.
"Twelve."
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"I don't know how Bar feels about drinkin' laws, but I'm not sure I want to be startin' a new trend - in my bar or anywhere else. So if it's all the same to you, I'd say we just cut back on that brandy altogether."
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"Fine," he scowls around his eyepatch.
"Skip the milk - hot chocolate, instead. With marshmallows and whipped cream."
If dirty looks could talk, his would be reading something like Is that order juvenile enough for you?
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Ellen moves off to fix up a mug, but not before giving him a look of her own.
It says, loud and clear: you don't want to get yourself into the trouble of messin' around with me.
Rowdy hunters, she can tolerate - barely, and even then, she's got her limits.
A bad attitude's another matter entirely.
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For that matter, his mood and demeanor don't change much at all as he settles onto his stool and folds his hands on top of the Bar, sternly watching her at work. He's not very worried that he's going to get arsenic dripped into his cocoa, but - it's something to do.
"Thank you," he remembers to add, in a tone that is polite and little else.
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Except, of course, barring demons.
"Just holler if you need anything else."
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"I'll be sure to ask."
It's a disinterested, insincere statement at first, but, then, out of the blue, there's just the slightest flicker of curiosity in his good eye.
"Actually - one more thing."
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"What's that?"
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The finger pointing down towards the wooden top says that he means the thing, instead of the place.
"Do you work here, often? Are there regular barkeeps for it? I've never seen anyone behind the thing, before."
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"Sallie's the one you want to talk to about Bar. I'm just helpin' out tonight."
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"You don't know if they usually have live people serving drinks? That's all I wanted to know."
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The clean tumbler's set down, only for her to pick up another.
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He lifts his cocoa to his lips in what might be a pointed way.
(Though, the few seconds he takes, after his little sip, to bring it back and try to get a few of the marshmallows into his mouth? That's a little less so.
But marshmallows taste good! It's a separate matter entirely.)
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If not, now is the time to tell him.
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