fandomtownies | The Devil's Nest, Wednesday Evening

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The Devil's Nest, Wednesday Evening

With everything as normal as things got, Derek was more than happy to be at work. Ish. Look, it was better than being a wolf there, okay?

Way better.

He frowned down at a piece of paper that would be shoved away should anyone approach, but he was very intent on it. Damn this survey. Damn it. He was having to think a lot.

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Where you could get a drink! Maybe. If you're lucky.

Eliot's week had been nicely kilt free, so far. This called for a celebration.

"Beer," he said.

Full sentences were for . . . honestly, mostly hot women.

Which Derek was not. But he was attractive in his own, surly way.

And the one word question got the nearest beer shoved at him. It was Bud. And it was terrible.

Eliot took a sip and spat it back into the glass. "Are you kidding me?"

"You said beer." You need to specify.

"Yeah," Eliot said. "Not German-American piss."

Derek tilted his head to look at the label. "Says beer."

"Fermented piss, then," Eliot said. "I know you have better quality stuff here."

"Then pick one," Derek shot back. Because he could not tell you what was good beer for the life of him.

He'd just pick something with a pretty logo, let's be real.

"You're a terrible bartender," Eliot told him. "Someone doesn't specify, you get the priciest thing you've got. Not the cheapest."

Derek shrugged at that because he was indeed the worst bartender ever. He grabbed the beer with the prettiest logo before shoving that one over next.

It was a cider, but whatever.

Eliot would drink that cider. Mostly to avoid finding out what depths Derek would sink to, next.

"How do you still have a job?"

"You must be new here." IT WAS ADORABLE.

"Let me guess," Eliot said. "The talking pony has some kind of 'get out of getting fired for terrible service free' spell on the island or something."

"...no, but that would explain some things."

"This is real," Eliot said. "You an actual grown man thinking seriously about a magic talking pony."

Derek gave him a look for that. "Yeah. I teach a class with her."

Eliot wasn't sure which was more unbelievable: the talking pony, or this guy as a teacher of youth.

On the other hand, apparently this was a school that had an entire class on video games.

"What do you teach? 4-H?"

That class was a gift!

"Baking." Go ahead, make a comment.

"You can't even handle the complexities of beer," Eliot said. "And you're a baker."

"I don't drink." Which clearly explained that.

"You work in a bar."

"The one bar on the island that cards." How much business do you think they got?

Eliot wasn't used to living in a place dominated by teenagers, yet.

"Here's a hint, Baker-Baker: if the name of the beer has ever been advertised by croaking frogs, it's crap."

Yet.

"Here's a hint," Derek replied. "Actually order something next time."

Beeestiiiiieeeees.

Where you could dance. Probably. Look, we don't know how well you shake your groove thing, so it's up to you.

Where bosses might be.

My phone is orange.

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The Devil's Nest, Wednesday Evening

The Bar

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The Lounge/Dancefloor

The VIP Area

OOC