happy hour

[likesthecoat]

Ianto has been preparing ahead in the kitchen. The bar (or at least the area nearest the bar itself) smells like cinnamon and cloves.

TONIGHT'S SPECIALS
Wassail
Gold Chocolate
Vermont Coffee

COFFEE
any way you like it

Comments

[a_mere_child]

A very pregnant and somewhat depressed-looking woman shuffles over to the bar.

"What've you got that's non-alcoholic and non-caffeinated?"

[likesthecoat]

"The wassail's non-alcoholic and non-caffeinated," says Ianto, concerned. "Or maybe a steamed milk would suit you better?"

[a_mere_child]

"I dunno... what's in a wassail?"

[likesthecoat]

"Orange juice, apple juice, cinnamon and cloves, and sugar. It's good for cold days."

[thursdays_angel]

It is a smell that Castiel associates with temples and kings, spices that were once as prized as gold in parts of Earth. His nose twitches as he takes a deep breath.

It is familiar. As is the bartender this evening.

"Good evening, Ianto."

[likesthecoat]

"Hello, Castiel."

Happy to see him, too.

"Can I get you anything? Do you even drink?"

[thursdays_angel]

"Coffee. Please."

Because it is the thing to do to order a drink when stopping at the bar. Even if he does not strictly need it.

"Things are well this evening?"

He has felt a bit disconnected from Milliways recently. Now that so much has begun happening outside of it.

[likesthecoat]

"Certainly. How do you like it?" he asks as he moves to the row of pots he has prepared.

He shrugs at the question. "Well as far as I know. Peaceful here, relatively quiet at home.

"How are they for you?"