(Untitled)

[hands_of_blu]

The door opens on a scene of fading smoke and chaos. It's a typical day at the Medic's work place. Naturally, he's been busy today, but when he sees the Bar standing empty, he shrugs a little. He can handle being busy somewhat longer.

Specials:

Beer
Wine
Mineral Water

Talk to the Bartender about off-world debt reduction opportunities with BLU

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Comments

[olyabird]

Olga slips onto a barstool, her hands already retrieving her cigarettes. She puts one between her lips, and cups her hands around the end, without a match between her fingertips. Regardless, the end begins to smoulder.

"Coffee. Turkish," she mutters, not even removing the butt from between her lips.

[hands_of_blu]

"Chust a moment," says the Medic, who has smelled far worse things in his life than cigarette smoke in the Bar. "Vhere did zey put ze... aha."

There's an ibrik under the counter. Lucky thing he's seen Herr Heavy make the stuff a time or two or he wouldn't even know to put the sugar in first before preparing the rest.

[olyabird]

"Spasiba."

She watches him go through the steps. Interesting. Usually the rats just bring her a cup. She's never seen someone prepare it here. Okay, she's never seen anyone prepare it quite like that.

"Have you done this before?

[hands_of_blu]

"Vunce or twice," says the Medic, who doles out a tablespoon, glances inquiringly at the customer, and then only adds further if she seems inclined to ask for it. "I haf a close colleague who occasionally fancies ze stuff. It pays to know how to prepare it properly."