[ happy hour ]

[almosthonorable]

Ben Wade is greeted with a handful of surprises when he enters the bar.

One is delicious.

Another is unexpected, to say the least

Comments

[ostro_goth]

Teja is leaning on the bar, looking at the board.

"Milk punch?" he says.

[almosthonorable]

"I was skeptical, too," Ben says, pointing to his half-empty glass. "But the bourbon makes it sing."

Probably because Ben added a boatload of said bourbon, but that's beside the point.

[ostro_goth]

"It is milk and bourbon?" Teja asks.

That sounds strange.

[almosthonorable]

Ben leans his elbows on the bar.

Conspiratorial: "If I'm bein' honest, it's not just milk, it's cream. So it's even better."

A beat.

"There's vanilla in there, too, and some confectionary sugar. It's half-froze, too. You feelin' adventurous enough to try it?"

[remindmeof_me]

"You know," says the fellow in Marine Corps fatigues as he makes his way up to the Bar, "I ain't normally the sort to mix liquor'n wake-up juice, but shit if that bourbon coffee don't sound like a good idea just now."

Something down by his feet makes an oddly electronic-sounding mrrryip? noise.

"You be quiet, Mrs. Wilson. You ain't gettin' nothin' but water, not in your condition."

[almosthonorable]

"I can tell you it's better than a good idea, friend," Ben says, and snags a clean mug for the coffee.

Over his shoulder, as he pours from the percolator: "And just water for the missus?"

[remindmeof_me]

"Yes please," says Shephard. "Down, girl. Ain't no way in hell I'mma let you hop up on a stool just now."

There's another vaguely electronic noise, this one faintly disappointed. If Ben looks over the Bar he'll see something that looks like a ... okay, at this point it no longer looks like anything, but there was a time when that creature was described as 'Satan's own stripey Christmas ham'. Kind of hard to call something that obviously pregnant even remotely ham-like, though.

[almosthonorable]

Ben offers up an impressive mug of bourbon coffee; he slides over an assortment of sugars, along with a small pitcher of cream.

"And one water, comin' right up for -- "

He spots the Mrs. Wilson in question, and goes very still.

"She's a ... beauty."

Read: What in the hell.

[sunbaked_baker]

Have a baker, Ben.

A baker carrying a sleeping baby, in fact, looking tired but otherwise all right. Babysitting is nothing new.

"Hi there, barkeep," she says with a smile for Ben.

[almosthonorable]

He swallows his last mouthful of cherry tart, and grins.

"Well, hel-lo, Little Miss -- "

A pause; Ben eyes the baby, and quirks an eyebrow.

"Now, have I been gone that long?"

[sunbaked_baker]

She laughs, shaking her head. "No way, Ben Wade."

"This is Terry, my apprentice's son. I'm just taking care of him while his mother is visiting family down in Redtree, and the bar decided to show up."

It's... good that July has grown close to Paulie's mother since Paulie's death. They both needed the support.

[almosthonorable]

He chuckles.

"Terry," he repeats. "I'm proud to meet him -- looks like a fine little man. You put him to work yet?"

[aintnocoonhunt]

Once again, he has his head down over his tobacco pouch as he crosses the threshold into this peculiar place. A glance around reveals that it is not the saloon he was expecting, but as his agenda consisted solely of alleviating his hangover with the hair of the dog, it matters not. (And not that he puts much stock in appearances, he finds himself relieved to not be in his long johns this time.)

He selects the nearest stool and occupies it with a groan like a rusted cemetery gate. One eye peers at the board, and then across at the man behind the bar.

"What kinda saloon serves milk punch?"

[almosthonorable]

Ben swipes up the last of a minor spill near the percolator, and turns to address the newcomer.

"The kind that makes sure it packs a wallop," he says, bemused. "I'll surely vouch for the potency."

[aintnocoonhunt]

His fingers are struggling through the ritual of rolling. Ben will have to wait a moment while he licks the paper, fiddling the too dry leavings into some semblance of a cigarette and setting it between his lips. Only then does he tug off his glove and delve into a pocket for his matchbox.

"I suppose we'll start with that, then."

[almosthonorable]

Ben produces an ashtray from behind the counter, and nods.

"I don't believe you'll find yourself disappointed," he says, reaching for a clean glass. "But if you do, the punch'll be on my tab, and so will a suitable replacement."

[starrydome]

Elrond looks at the specials board, speculativly.
Then he looks at the Man behind the counter and asks, "Which choice would you recommend?"

He's shedding his outer, dark grey wool robe as he speaks, having just gotten in from someplace quite a bit cooler than this. Underneath he is wearing a blue linen tunic dotted with white delicate embroidered blossoms, down the sleeves. His hair is pulled back and his ears and eyes are very visible.

[almosthonorable]

As Ben dries a just-washed coffee mug, he tips his head toward the newcomer in greeting.

The man's appearance is certainly intriguing, but Ben doesn't openly stare at those ears - it's just not the polite thing to do.

"That depends on what you're lookin' for," he says, ever the diplomat behind the counter. "The milk punch is even better than I thought it'd be, but it's icy. If you just came in from the cold, somethin' hot might suit you better."

[starrydome]

"Yes," Elrond agrees. "Something to warm me up would be a good thing right now. So - coffee?"

He sits down and looks around, mainly to see if there are any familiar faces. His hair is very dark and very long, the braids held in place with small silver needles and clasps.

[almosthonorable]

Ben nods.

"Coffee it is."

He snags a clean mug, and reaches for the percolator.

"Bourbon?"