Puck is mildly irritated to have other fairies intrude on his magical parade (he's been the only one for quite awhile, and the Lady keeps to herself or keeps not here), but this does not show in his smile upwards.
"A handful of sons, the daughter to a king, a beggar witch who is not what she seems," he rattles off breezily.
Actually, despite his lack of height, there is nothing more than a blink and a slight ruffle of a breeze before he is standing in exactly the same position he had occupied previously, but now holding the bottle.
He extends it to Zed.
"I hope, sir, that it serves."
(He has a Plan for this bourbon. Doubtless this fellow shall thank him later.
"Well well, I see the Lady made an interesting choice tonight." The god noted in passing as his hooves stepped over to the bar. He laid a hairy hand on the wooden surface, and murmured something to her about enjoying her rest.
Pan then grinned, "Ah Dance with a Dream, there should be dancing tonight."
"I am always of terrible interest," he preens, "and I welcome a dance as much as any other. You might play while you were about it."
One advantage of living in the bar at the end of the universe for so long is that one grows most well versed in types of alcohol. Puck turns in a small blur to collect up the drink's ingredients.
He smiles brightly as he pours from two bottles into one of these shaker things, half full of ice, and cuts a brief jig as he goes. His feet are bare, and they move lightly over the floorboards.
"I know so little of music," he concludes after a moment, pausing long enough to strain Pan's drink into a glass. "If your hands will be content with a glass in them, perhaps I shall think on it."
"...A salmon colada?" the young businessman (he's wearing a dove grey business suit with a single breasted jacket which he unbuttons as he sits. The shirt itself is light blue, and he's wearing a deep blue waistcoat and white cravat) repeats, warily amused, as he sits on a stool. "A question, only--does it really have salmon in it? I don't drink alcohol."
And yet he keeps going to happy hours. (It's because the people are nice! And still have non alcoholic options.)
He grabs for the ingredients-- by now, he knows where they are-- and decides in a burst of inspiration that cayenne pepper would make this drink taste AWESOME.
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"A handful of sons, the daughter to a king, a beggar witch who is not what she seems," he rattles off breezily.
"... Unless you wish for the drink."
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"That should be vodka, if you know it, and ice, and strawberry." He's so not breaking out the chocolate syrup for him. "Mixed all together."
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Zed's been away for quite a while. The Landlord was leaving him alone for once.
But.... so much for that.
And Zed is so pleased.
Puck might be able to tell by the way he roars growls, "BOURBON!"
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"Shall you be wanting the bottle?"
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Almost.
He points up, right at the toppest of the Top Shelves. Right at a rather classy looking bottle bearing the name "Old Eli's 15 Year."
"That one."
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"Very well. I shall be a moment about it."
Actually, despite his lack of height, there is nothing more than a blink and a slight ruffle of a breeze before he is standing in exactly the same position he had occupied previously, but now holding the bottle.
He extends it to Zed.
"I hope, sir, that it serves."
(He has a Plan for this bourbon. Doubtless this fellow shall thank him later.
If he remembers.)
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Pan then grinned, "Ah Dance with a Dream, there should be dancing tonight."
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"I am always of terrible interest," he preens, "and I welcome a dance as much as any other. You might play while you were about it."
One advantage of living in the bar at the end of the universe for so long is that one grows most well versed in types of alcohol. Puck turns in a small blur to collect up the drink's ingredients.
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"I know so little of music," he concludes after a moment, pausing long enough to strain Pan's drink into a glass. "If your hands will be content with a glass in them, perhaps I shall think on it."
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And yet he keeps going to happy hours. (It's because the people are nice! And still have non alcoholic options.)
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"I might make you one without it. 'Tis a marvelous sturdy drink for the constitution."
Any vagueness is intentional.
Salmon is good for you, blond well-dressed boy!
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Salmon = not really his thing.
"Do you have any teas?"
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"I can hardly discern among them," he says.
"They are all of them leaf and twig to me."
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So when he sees the specials, he raises an eyebrow and yawns, he's been traveling rather rough,
"What is in Dance with a Dream?"
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"Triple sec," he says, precise as someone speaking another language, "and brandy, and a taste of liquor from aniseed."
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His suit, the second-best one, is dusty from the road.
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He grabs for the ingredients-- by now, he knows where they are-- and decides in a burst of inspiration that cayenne pepper would make this drink taste AWESOME.
"How do you on this even?"
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