Happy Hour

[wizard_howell]

It's a tired and subdued wizard who straggles into the bar tonight, rests his head on Bar's surface, and is presented with the option to tend. Never one to resist a challenge, regardless of how weary he might be, he nods resolutely. A wave of his hand later, the specials are up on the board.

Baby Aspirin
Morgan's Mountain
Witch's Brew #2 (#1 is

Comments

[morethanprops]

"Is that language from Lancre?"

It looks vaguely familiar, that's not one of the one's Moist knows yet. Today he's looking relaxed in a comfortable old sweater and corduroy pants since he's still waiting on Urquhart.

[wizard_howell]

A slow smile breaks over Howl's face.

"We say it's from God's country, although that's certainly up for dispute. It's Welsh, my friend. The most beautiful and lyrical language in the known worlds."

Despite his obvious lack of sleep, he's cheerful enough. "What can I get you?" His fervent hope for tonight is that no one asks for anything in a bottle. Granting wishes got old very quickly.

[morethanprops]

"Which god? I could do with a MacAbres', thank you,"

It still looks like it should be from Lancre but Moist isn't going to argue the point.

[wizard_howell]

Eyebrow raised, he holds out his hand for one of the rats ("Fetch the MacAbres', diolch yn fawr") before leaning forward on both elbows. "That's a grand question, and one people have been debating for centuries. I have no idea."

He's not a religious man himself, despite his upbringing. The only god he worships is... well, he doesn't. The glass is at the ready when the rat returns, pushing a bottle -- bottles! heaven forbid! across the bar with its nose. With a flourish, he pours the precise amount and slides it to his customer.

"Neat, I take it." One rarely wants to sully a good whiskey with ice.

[chronodisplaced]

Rubbing her eyes, she blinks at the specials board.

(She doesn't even know the language written on the bottom of the board.)

"Those Poetic Eddas have me seeing double," she mutters as she sidles up to the bar, setting her empty coffee cup down on the counter. "May I have one-eighth of Morgan's Mountain and the rest filled with black coffee. . .?"

[wizard_howell]

"Poetic Eddas? Somebody's studying epic Norse works, I see." (He does hold a doctorate. It might be in Spells and Charms, but he's fairly well-educated as a rule.)

He starts up her special request drink the usual way but then, as if he's suddenly gripped by an idea far more useful (he is), conjures it with a wave of his hand. That will certainly make things go more quickly. "One-eighth Morgan's Mountain -- he'll like that -- and seven-eighths black coffee. Let me know how it is."

It's certainly nothing he would drink, but to each her own, he's always said, unless it infringes on his territory in which case it's to each his own.

"Here you go."

[chronodisplaced]

"Yes. Brushing up after meeting epic Norse goddesses," she adds with a somewhat bleary (and still genuine) smile in return.

Although, one will have to overlook the way that she drops suddenly into a stool to watch the conjuring up of her drink (magic - real magic - is still a novelty for her) with a slightly slack jaw and widened eyes.

The time to ask the obvious is now:

"Wizard?" A pause, taking a sip. The idea of the alcohol is present, but not overtly strong in her coffee. It's perfection. "Thank you very much."

[wizard_howell]

"Ah, I was wondering if you'd run across one here. It's entirely plausible."

His own eyes sparkle at her obvious interest in his drink-making technique.

"You're entirely welcome. And yes, you're right in one. Howl Pendragon at your service. Whatever you do, don't tell my wife I'm here. She'll likely have my head for it." His smile is utterly brilliant at that one.

Of course, he wouldn't have left unless everyone at home was sleeping. The single most important luxury of this place is that when he gets back home, it will still be the precise moment at which he left. Whatever he does in the meantime simply can't be argued as actually leaving.

[gorgonfondness]

Mia sees that look.

Mia knows that look.

And she sits at the bar and smiles at Howl, her own baby at home with his father until she gets there after this unexpected after-work visit.

[wizard_howell]

"Mia." The grin on his face is weary but heartfelt. "And how are we tonight?"

There might be dark circles under his eyes, but he wears them with the utmost pride. "And what can I get for the loveliest of lovely ladies?"

[gorgonfondness]

"What you can get is a coffee or a nap for yourself. You'll appreciate either one more than you'll ever know."

She's pretty sure she's got the same circles or close enough.

"I just got back from work and found myself in here on my way to my quarters. Once here, I figured a break wouldn't hurt, particularly now that Cepheus is cutting teeth."

She's thrilled. Really.

"I'll have a tea while you tell me everything."

[wizard_howell]

"I'll have a tea with you, since a nap is out of the question at the moment." As if it's necessary, he gestures to Bar. It's no secret that for the moment, he's in charge. Setting out two teacups, he taps a nearby teapot impatiently and waits for it to whistle.

"I hope you're in the mood for Earl Grey. To make a long story short, we've got a son. His name is Morgan. He's got Sophie's lungs and good looks and my eyes and I'm certain he's got both our magic."

Proud as proud can be, he pours out two cups of tea and slides one across Bar's surface to Mia. "Cream? Sugar? Lemon? Something else?"