(Untitled)

[precocioustilda]

There's a seven-year-old behind the Bar tonight.

The Specials board reads:

DRY HAPPY HOUR
No alcohol will be served.
Half off any drink ordered in iambic pentameter.

C'mon, don't you want that half-price milkshake?

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew studies the board for a long moment.

(Don't distract him. He's counting syllables.)

[precocioustilda]

Tilda spots him, beams, and waits.

[stilljustandrew]

Wait for it.

Waaaait for it.

A sudden grin, and: "I'd like a large vanilla root-beer float."

[precocioustilda]

Applause!

"Coming right up."

As per usual, she ducks down behind Bar; there follow assorted rustling, clunking and pouring noises, such as one might associate with a small child industriously locating and combining the ingredients for a large vanilla root-bear float.

About a minute and a half later, she pops back up and hands him his drink with a grin.

[heyfootballhead]

Football head alert.

"What's iambic pentameter?"

[precocioustilda]

"A type of poetic meter. Shakespeare used it a lot. Every line has five iambs-- an iamb is two syllables with the stress on the second, like in the word report. So the sentence You can't erase the notes you make in pen is in iambic pentameter. See?"

[heyfootballhead]

"Okay," he says, considering, "what's your specialty?"

[precocioustilda]

"I don't really have one, but I like making sparkly milkshakes."

[weirdwilbur]

"I'm nawt sure I know thet much about rhymes, but I suppose et couldn't hurt tew try." A very tall man in a trenchcoat is peering at her. "Sew could I have a strawberry milkshake?"