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The Devil's Nest: Saturday, 9/3

"3.2% alcohol? Really?" Bo read aloud from the bottle as she stocked up the mini-fridge below the bar with quote hard unquote lemonade. "So it's like Sprite that somebody took the cap off and walked through a brewery holding it?"

She might have sounded disapproving, but in fact she was jotting it down on her mental list of Drinks Bo Can Have To Appear Sociable Without Actually Getting Drunk.

The Scrumpy Jack Cider she unloaded next? So not on that list.

[OCD is up! I am around-ish (see OOC thread) but feel free to mod Tiny for faster service if you need it!]

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Where your bartender was not actually sure she could taste any alcohol in the drink she was sipping from every so often.

If Hermione wasn't the least clubby person in the world, she was close to it. But she was struggling over an owl response and she wanted to go somewhere she didn't have to think about it, and so. At least she knew she knew the bartender here.

And when she found a seat, she was totally judging the decor.

"Hermione! What can I get you?" Besides better music and a new interior decorator?

Strangely, she would agree with those two things...

"I don't suppose you have butterbeer, do you?" she checked. Yes, she was going to try and order the same thing she'd been able to have at thirteen at a bar. She was cool like that.

Bo's expression might serve as foreshadowing of the answer. "Is that a brand? I've never heard of it, sorry."

"I figured as much," Hermione admitted. "I'll just have a Coke, thanks."

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Two women in the bar and one of them was a teenager. Of course.

Howard lifted his glass in greeting to the girl. Because it was the polite thing to do.

Hey now, she was almost twenty!

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement and said, "I haven't seen you before."

"Have you been looking?" Howard asked with a grin. "Newly arrived."

"Oh. Welcome to Fandom," she told him, because it never hurt to be friendly to new people here. "I'm Hermione."

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Finally! An actual woman at one of the bars in town. Howard was beginning to think he'd moved to a monastery at this rate.

"Hello, darling."

Possibly the one woman on the island who'd be more amused than offended by that greeting. (Coming from a hot guy whose sexual magnetism you didn't need to be a succubus to read, anyway.)

"Same to you, soon-to-be-less-of-a-stranger. What can I get you?"

[OOC: Gyaah, apologies; I have been unconscious from 5 pm until...nowish.]

It was the mustache. It exuded 1940's sex. And not, as some may think, creeper behavior.

"A scotch that doesn't have a cartoon on the bottle." He was learning.

[[SILLY WOMAN!]]

Or 1970's porn. Whichever.

"I suppose you don't want the one that has a toy surprise floating in it either then," Bo mock-sighed while turning to fetch the good scotch.

His hair wasn't shaggy enough for that.

"I think that would depend on the toy," Howard replied without missing a beat.

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Where the music was a tolerable if weird mix of Industrial and Celtic Rock tonight.

Where your host was probably not drinking Mike's Lite Hard Lemonade.

Edited 2011-09-03 18:58 (UTC)

Eric was not drinking a hard lemonade, no.

He was drinking a True Blood with a shot of Tabasco.

Where your bartender might end up crashing at some point during the afternoon and have to pick up pings later. It's one of those weeks.

Edited 2011-09-03 18:58 (UTC)

That is a *hella* disturbing icon. Just sayin'.

Chicken or fish? CHICKEN OR FISH?

WHICHEVER IS FINE DUN HURT ME CRAZY BO.

I won't need this icon for some months yet, but I needed to upload it for great matchy uniformed, be-scarfed justice.

Soap Opera Weekend. Just Saying.

... I am intrigued by your ideas and wish to subscribe to your newsletter.

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