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Caritas, Sunday Evening

After spending half an hour talking the zombies down from protesting the season finale of their favorite show--not that Guy could blame them. Closet nerds for life, yo--he was finally behind the bar.

He'd already pre-ordered the season on DVD, so he could survive way better than the zombie band, after all.

Drink Special
Ginger Sour

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We can only hope they're not playing ~~meta for~~ The Rains of Castamere.

Where Guy was contemplating ear plugs.

And Sarah was totally eyeing the zombie band as she wandered over. (Yes, yes, she'd been here last night as well. It was that kind of a week.) "Natives seem restless tonight."

It generally was here.

"As long as they stay on the stage, I'm ignoring 'em."

"Usually an excellent strategy when working around corpses." Though she preferred not to think too hard about what they were, because ick. "Anyway. I'll just have a beer tonight."

"Gotta be more specific or I'll give you a Coors." Don't think he wouldn't.

Sarah made a face like he was making her life so hard right now. Because she was a child like that. "Ugh, whatever, Heineken? Or is that one of the ones that's shit over here?"

"I'll try to get you some fruity microbrews next time," Guy said, rolling his eyes as he popped the top of the beer and placed it in front of her. "If you're gonna be difficult."

"I'm not being difficult." Ahaha, oh, Sarah. At least she took the bottle, though. "I just miss knowing what I'm ordering."

There was a serious lack of superhero pun beers here.

"Bitch, whine, bitch, bitch," Guy shot back, opening himself a beer.

"Clever," Sarah drawled, like that wasn't deserved. "But since we're on the subject of things wrong with America, the fact that your United Capes can't scrounge up an actual American class visitor for me is fairly high up there."

"My United Capes?" Guy snorted. "Called the Justice League where I'm from."

Oh god, a visitor from them could only end in tears. Maybe they'd make Hal do it...

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Natasha needed a drink. So she picked one of the island's two bars at random and headed to it with a purpose...that was, until she caught sight of the bartender. Then she stopped stock still about ten feet from the bar proper.

"The band doesn't bite," Guy informed her, glancing over at the stage.

Natasha had been trying to avoid thinking about the band unless they became a present threat. It was better for her sanity. "Not really concerned about the band. Who are you?" And why did he have Clint's face?

"Guy Gardner. You that clone of me's friend?"

"Clint's not a clone," Natasha said, her tone almost wintry.

"I was here first, so I'm gonna go with clone still," Guy said, putting glasses away. Bartending, yo.

"That's not your call." The 'asshole' went unspoken. It wasn't her style.

"I think it is," Guy shot back. "You gonna order a drink, or complain about the island liking to fuck with us all?"

"I disagree. Vodka," Natasha said, inching cautiously closer to the bar. "The good stuff, none of that American crap."

"Ooo, I'm cowering at that argument." He held up the nicest bottle of vodka they had in house for her inspection. Eastern European of... some type.

Look, he went for beer.

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Where a man can lounge.

Where the television was not on. Really.

I will spend the next few months stalking the casting rumors, ngl. I NEED TO KNOW ABOUT THESE THINGS.

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