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The Devil's Nest, Tuesday Evening

Tiny refused to get anywhere near Max today for fear of another torturous session of reading recipes like last week, so Max was alone behind the bar tonight. That was fine by him, because it left him free to occasionally sample the pumpkin pie vodka that really didn't taste very good but he kept hoping would improve by the next sip. It was an exercise in futility, but no one had ever called Max a reasonable person.

They had, however, called him an excellent rapper, which meant that after the DJ played a certain song for the sixth or seventh time of the night, Max was absently rapping along.

Tiny found this even more of a betrayal than last week, apparently, and was mournfully looking for tasks to complete in the back room or, even better, outside.

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Yum, pumpkin pie vodka!

When a new name popped up on the bar's employee schedule, Jack generally tried to make it in to meet them before they got too many bad habits.

"You're Max," he said, settling onto a stool. "Right? I'm Jack. I manage the things Eric can't take care of. Hello. And -- was I interrupting something?"

He'd heard the rapping. He wasn't sure what to make of the rapping.

La la la, this pumpkin pie vodka was going right back on the shelf where it belonged, and hopefully Jack wouldn't notice. MAX TOTALLY HADN'T BEEN DRINKING ANY, JACK. REALLY.

"Just a musical exchange between me and Tiny," Max said solemnly. "We do it all the time, right, Tines?"

Tiny either had an itch on his nose or was flipping Max off. Guess which.

"Nice to meet you, man. Can I get you anything?"

"Tonic water with lime," Jack sighed, and counted down the three weeks until his birthday in his head again. He was sick of tonic water.

He tilted his head to read the bottle Max was ever-so-casually shelving. "Wait, they make pumpkin pie vodka? We stock pumpkin pie vodka?"

"Apparently," Max said, collecting it back from the shelf and showing it to Jack. "Kinda grody, but it's vodka flavored like pie, so no way am I letting it go unappreciated."

Ahem.

"By other customers. Not me. People with moolah."

Okay, Max. Okay.

"I'm just gonna get on that tonic water thing," he decided, and busied himself with that.

Jack laughed. "I promise I'm not the bottle police," he said. "If you need a shot or two of pie vodka to make it through your shift, go right ahead with that."

Even if Jack would judge your taste.

"So where did you come here from, anyhow?"

"Chicago," Max said, emphasizing his already-impressive Chicago accent for Jack's benefit. "2012, since apparently that's a thing that needs to be explained. How 'bout you?"

"A long story," Jack said "But Prague originally, and it was 1899 when I left home." More dryly, he added, "It's been a while."

Max whistled. "Well then." He gave that a moment of thought, then decided, "Your haircut's pretty modern for having the taste and style of a hundred-twenty-something-year-old person. Congrats."

Jack smiled, shook his head. "I've been here more or less since I was 17. It's a lot easier in this time. Even the hair -- I used to kill myself trying to get it to lie flat."

Stupid curls, but Max would understand that.

"Girl shampoo," Max said at once. "I've been stealing my friend Penny's straightening shampoo since we were, like, twenty-two. And not just because it smells like apples."

But that was a factor.

Jack held up a hand. "I just found frizz fighter," he confided. "I'd been walking by the shelf at the drugstore for years, but I finally bought it and it is amazing. Straightening shampoo might have to be next."

"I highly recommend it," Max vowed, flipping open his phone to a picture of Penny ~~which was dug up on tiny phone internet because THAT IS HOW NICE I AM~~. "The straightness looks natural, right? It totes is not. Aaaaall shampoo."

Edited 2012-11-21 02:24 (UTC)

"She's pretty," Jack decided, with a quick glance to the phone. "Nice smile, anyhow. I'll let you know how the shampoo works for me."

"I'd pass that on but then she'd stalk me here and demand to know your interests so she could pretend to share them while passive-aggressively goading you into asking her out," Max shared. "But yeah, dude, try it. Easily one of our better inventions that isn't fast food or spinny chairs."

Jack smiled. "I'm taken, so she'd have to live with disappointment," he said. "And did you just put spinny chairs above cell phones and pumpkin pie vodka?"

"Well, the vodka tastes a little like urine," Max explained. "Wanna try?"

After that ringing endorsement and complete lack of ID-check, yes.

"I think my night is complete without drinking anything that tastes like urine," Jack decided. "I'll let this one pass me by."

"Your loss," Max declared.

No, Max. Not really.

"So, any big holiday plans?"

Jack nodded. "I'm spending it with Derek and his sister," he said. "I'm honestly not sure what to expect. What about you?"

Max had only met Derek a few times, but he was fairly sure Jack could expect hotness.

"Shopping with Laurie, maybe buying a couple pies," Max said with a shrug. "Normal stuff."

Whee, dancing!

Yay, vampire!

Trufax, that was my first time listening to that song. I liked it better beforehand.

WHY DID I CLICK ON THAT SONG LINK? OH GOD I CANNOT UNHEAR IT MAKE IT STOP.

Seriously, if I think a silly pop song is bad, it has to be pretty far gone. Like, WHAT EVEN.

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The Devil's Nest, Tuesday Evening

The Bar

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The Dance Floor and Lounge

The VIP Section

OOC

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