3rd Observation [audio // English]

[fred_cassidy]

Vanilla orchids? That is utterly ridiculous.

[He sounds happy.]

If anyone wants real vanilla beans--well, botanically, they're capsules, but who am I to argue with popular parlance--it looks like this batch will be fully ripe in a few weeks.

It's probably V. planifolia, but I wouldn't swear it's not V. pompona. Botany's not my strongest suite

Comments

[roughcriminal]

FREH-DUH.

[electronichound]

Were you that drunk that you didn't form a memory?

[roughcriminal]

Tell you what, big guy. We can talk about our feelings and the reasons why you got all in a knot at a joke or we can settle it like men.

[electronichound]

[Batou laughs.]

You can't be serious.

[roughcriminal]

I'm always serious when it comes to drinking, smokey.

[electronichound]

[It'll be funny watchign Whiskey try and hurt him at lea--

Wait, drinking? Whiskey wants to settle it with a drinking contest? Again, Batou laughs.]

You're on.

[fred_cassidy]

This I have to see.

[roughcriminal]

You show up, you drink, Fred.

[You can hear the jingle of chains.]

Deck eight, brothers. Come and get some.

[electronichound]

Try to keep up, 'brother'.

[Batou's heavy tread starts heading towards Deck 08.]

[fred_cassidy]

[Fred has to descend from a large tree, so it takes him a while to get to Whiskey and Batou's metaphorical OK Corral for the showdown.

He has been climbing things in jeans, an oxford shirt, and venetian loafers. Fred is not always the most practical of men.]

Whiskey, your grip on sanity appears to have grown even more relaxed since the last time I checked.

[roughcriminal]

[Whiskey is pulling bottles down from shelves.]

Wasn't all that strong to start with. C'mon, where's the fun in being sane?

[He thunks down a handle of vodka and lights a cigarette.]

We can always talk some more about flowers, Fred.

[electronichound]

[Batou enters and walks over to stand beside the counter. His face is grim as usual and he raises one eyebrow when Whiskey thunks down a bottle of vodka.]

Going to need more than that, biological.

[fred_cassidy]

[Fred regards the vodka dubiously.]

Hey, I'm just a spectator. Give me a beer.

[He acknowledges Batou's arrival with a nod, but frowns at what's obviously a slur. Hey, Fred is biological!

/ Mostly. /]

[roughcriminal]

[Whiskey reached into the lowboy under the bar and produces a beer, opening it with one of the rings on his fingers. He slides it across the bar to Fred, then pours him a shot of whiskey to go with it.

His motions are easy, relaxed. He doesn't serve fancy drinks in his bar, but he does serve the basics when he feels like opening the place up.]

That's your first shot, robot. I'll match you two shots to the rest of the bottle.

[He's lined up most of the bar for them, already poured out the shots.]

[electronichound]

[Batou snerks, takes up the bottle and tilts it back.

His internal nanomachines are currently in a stand-by state, but a simple command wakes them up from their electronic slumber.

Batou commends the nanomachines to keep his blood alcohol content below 0.049%, ensuring that he may become pleasantly buzzed, it won't go beyond that.

He sets down the empty bottle a moment later.]

Your turn.

[fred_cassidy]

[Fred does some volumetric estimations, then contemplates the strangeness involved in a full-body cyborg having to excuse himself to the men's room.]

Don't give yourself alcohol poisoning, Whiskey.

[Forebodings. Fred has them.]