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Caritas, Sunday

It had taken some fast-talking, but Jake had managed to make a convincing argument to whatsisface (Guy, Jake. His name was Guy.) regarding trading days, so here he was.

In all his obnoxiously cheerful glory, given certain hockey-related news from earlier today.

Hmmm. Maybe he could come up with a drink to represent each team in the league? It'd keep him from getting bored, anyway. And keep him from attempting to ask the zombie band why they kept playing the wedding march.

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la~!

ti!

For what it was worth, Max would totally drink hockey-themed drinks. Totally.

"Hey, dude," he said as he claimed a barstool, giving Jake a nod. "Beer me?"

...

"Is that wedding music?"

And that'd be a bottle of Eric's Red, headed Max's way. "Yeah," he rolled his eyes. I don't know and I'm not askin'."

"Now, leaving aside that I am vehemently against marriage in all its forms," Max began before pausing to sip his beer, "are we to take from this that one of the zombies is not only in a relationship, but has pledged to end it only when death does them part?"

"... Oh Lord God that was not a mental image I needed, ever," Jake groaned. Zombie sex, Max. ZOMBIE SEX. WHY DID YOU MAKE HIM THINK THESE THINGS?

"What've you got against marriage?" he had to ask. And, okay, his own foray into the world of wedded bliss had ended ~~with several concussions~~ less than desirably, but things with Nikki had been great while they'd lasted.

"Primarily the dating-someone-for-life angle," Max replied. "Also, not a huge fan of the way everyone else has to give gifts. Pointless ones, I mean. When my friends Brad and Jane got married, I got them tickets to a Cubs game and Jane didn't talk to me for two whole weeks."

That... had been the length of the honeymoon, Max.

"What, are you married or something?"

"Was," Jake said. "For a year. And then we realized we was better as friends than a couple."

A beat. "...I don't see what's wrong with tickets to a game. I mean, I would've gone with hockey, personally, but..."

"Apparently they registered for a blender." Which was clearly inferior to game tickets. You could blend food yourself by stirring really fast! "I explained that I didn't know what registering even meant, and that... did not help."

So.

"You Canadian or something?" he wondered, in reference to the 'hockey' mention. "The accent's kinda throwing me."

"Or something," Jake agreed. "Newfoundland, b'y."

Yes, he threw that "b'y" in there on purpose.

"...B'y?"

Also-- "Where's that?"

Geography, or anything else ending in -aphy or -ography or -ology, was not Max's strong suit.

Edited 2013-01-07 02:56 (UTC)

"Big ol' island off the Atlantic coast?" Jake tried, raising an eyebrow at Max.

"Not ringing a bell," Max said after a moment's thought. "That's the one on the right, right?"

Oh, Max.

Yeah, Jake was beginning to wonder if this fellow wasn't maybe a little bit stunned.

"Yes, yes it is," was all he said. "Ye got a name, or should I just keep calling you b'y?"

Just very, very dim.

"Yeah, I'm Max," he answered. "From Chicago. I don't really find oceans relevant to me."

Alrighty.

"You?"

"Jake... and... you do realize we're living on an island, right?" Jake pointed out. "I'd say oceans are pretty relevant at this point."

"Is it definitely an ocean around this place?" Max wanted to know. "I thought it was a... pond... river thing."

Edited 2013-01-07 03:13 (UTC)

"It's definitely an ocean," Jake said, pouring himself a shot of black cherry vodka and topping it off with goldschlager. "That's... not half bad," he remarked, after downing it.

"I saw flavored vodka go into that," Max said, effectively distracted from the geography talk by the tasty-looking alcohol. He leaned forward. "Gimme."

Max had the best bar manners ever.

"So Newfoundland is like straight north of here," he guessed. "So it's Canad-ish."

That was a word now.

Edited 2013-01-07 03:30 (UTC)

Hey, as long as Max remembered to pay, Jake didn't really care about manners.

"That's about right," Jake conceded.

"Nailed it," he declared. Proudly, even.

Seriously, Max was not a very smart guy.

Emily had nothing better thing to do than check the bar where she could get drinks. It wasn't like she was going to ever find something better than that though. Not before she got to know people better, at least.

Anyway, she sat quietly and decided it was better to start slow.

"So, if I ask for a beer..."

"A beer's what you'll get," Jake informed her. He looked at her expectantly. "So, is this ye askin', now?"

"Yes it is." Emily felt a lot better than she had since arriving.

She was even going to tip him and stuff.

And that'd be an Eric's Red handed over. "One beer, as promised."

[ooc: headed to bed! SP?]

Emily cared not about brands, only the sourness of beer she had missed since basically the beginning of her training. "I'm going to love this place, I just know it."

[ ooc: SP is always welcomed. Good night! ]

...do?

Featuring minor-league games. And hopefully soon some NHL ones in future weeks.

HAPPY DOYLE NIGHT.

Going AFK for Christmas Eve shenanigans (advantage of Ukranian uncles-by-marriage? TWICE THE CHRISTMAS.) but should be back by eveningish.

And yes, I totally did just edit to add that wedding march bit in as I remembered that not only is it Doyle night, but the houses Doyle and Murdoch were joined in marriage today (or, okay, Mark O'Brien and Georgina Reilly were, BUT DETAILS).

Edited 2013-01-06 23:46 (UTC)

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Caritas, Sunday

Stage!

Bar!

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Lounge!

Back Room!

OOC!