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Caritas, Sunday Evening

It was Guy's first night behind the bar, so hopefully nothing would attack. He'd promised Kitty, after all. Couldn't break that.

So, after giving the zombies an unimpressed look at any attempts to con the newbie into doing anything more than duct tape, he was settled in. And maybe looking up drink specials for the day before settling on something that may or may not have just made him snicker.

Bulbasaur
Ivysaur
Venusaur

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Which was stage-like.

Where Guy was, trying a unfortunately named shot.

Which was lounge-like.

Which was back room-like.

Now I want Midori.

DAMNIT WHY AM I NOT AT HOME WHERE I CAN MAKE THIS

Okay, so Dean hadn't slept in a bed for the past couple of days. It could be argued that he hadn't really slept much at all, considering he was still trying to wrap his head around the fact that he was suddenly in 2011. And then a day and some change later he was in 2012.

It could also be argued that swivel chairs were comfortable for sitting in, not so much for sleeping in.

And then, there was the argument that with the amount of coffee he'd been drinking as his go-to coping mechanism for stress, he probably wasn't going to sleep for another month or two.

Either way, he'd managed to find his way to the bar, looking a little bit on the ruffled side, and was now taking a seat and eyeing the menu speculatively.

"A special on dinosaurs, huh?"

That was new. Just like everything else.

Edited 2012-01-01 23:43 (UTC)

I KNOW, RIGHT?

"From a kid's show," Guy replied, glancing over at the newcomer.

"Oh, yeah? Like, Bugs Bunny kind of stuff?" Dean drummed his fingers, just once, on the counter, and then tilted his head thoughtfully at the big guy manning it. "So, what's the difference between the three?"

"One's a shot, one's a cocktail, and one's a highball." He owned a bar. Don't you judge him. "If you can't handle much, might as well stick to a domestic beer."

Oh, Drunken Moogle. How often you make me wish I did any amount of drinking.

"What, you're saying I can't handle my drinks?" Dean's eyebrow, Guy. He was raising it at you. "I'll have you know that this has been a very 'highball' kind of weekend, man."

No. Really. His teaching buddy was the pony.

You got used to that at least. After you were a pony yourself.

"New in town?" Guy asked, starting to make that highball.

"New in town," Dean confirmed. "New to this century, apparently, too. Gotta say, I'm kind of disappointed that cars don't fly yet, but besides that, this has been a kind of weird weekend."

"How far back we talkin'?"

All the nerdy drinks possible!

Dean winced a little bit at that.

"Nineteen fifty-three. I probably don't have it as bad as some people do, I'm sure. I mean, at least I know what a phone is, even if I probably wouldn't know one to see one. But... you know."

It all meant that he was, like, turning 89 this year. That was kind of a big deal.

Making a sympathetic face, Guy held up a cellphone that was probably a good three years out of date, as though that would help him out. "At least you're not in space or somethin'."

"Not in space, right." There was a pause while Dean leaned over to take a look at the phone anyhow. Because... hey, it was out of date, and still kind of mind-boggling. "But Pinkie did mention something about rocks turning people into monsters, so I'm not so sure it makes all that much difference."

"Those things happen sometimes here." And home. Mostly home. "Just listen to the folks in charge and you'll be safe."

It's true! And I would drink the hell out of a Princess Peach.

"So, the guy in the red pajamas," Dean checked.

Cindy had pointed out the vice principal to him on day one. And had done so while talking at length about his swords.

Ronan... hadn't been out in a while. Given that he'd not even gone out on New Year's Eve -- he'd been a little busy, admittedly, at the Crossings, helping Sker'ret with an infestation of gatemites -- he figured he might as well head to the bar on the first.

"... Those are interesting sounding cocktails," he said, eying the specials board. "Dare I ask?"

"Apparently they're some kind of cartoon thing," Dean offered, from where he was sitting with his Venusaur.

Actually, kind of crouching over it.

Nobody better touch his highball, dammit.

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Caritas, Sunday Evening

The Stage

The Bar

The Lounge

The Back Room

OOC

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