fandomtownies | Caritas; Wednesday [11/20].

When Summer came into the bar that evening, Tino asked her if she wanted to know his family's special recipe for stuffing, and she said no, but he told her anyway, and then she told him that now she was going to take that recipe and put it in jello, and so if anyone wondered why Tino was sulking at one end o the bar, it was because he had learned a very important lesson (which, let's be real, he should know by now with how long they'd been working together) in never telling Summer anything she doesn't want to know, because she will absolutely take that information and try to use it against you in any way she can.

And Summer was sulking because she really did mean it, she really didn't want to know, because you knew whatever was a traditional recipe in Tino's family had to be knowledge that no normal human should ever have to carry, which was why, on occasion, she just would occasionally find herself shouting out, "Really, Tino? Fucking raisins??" and looking at him like he was the ultimate scum of the Earth, because she was now convinced he very well may be.

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Pumpkin Cheesecake Martini

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Deamsicle
Apple Crisp
Cherry Fire Pepper

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"Send complaints my way, and watch me handle them with cool aplomb," Yelena said with a smirk. "Especially if people value their kneecaps. But I will draw the line at tuna rum. Vodka? Fine, it can be savory. Rum? Too sweet. Not negotiable."

"One more," Summer informed her. "Tuna and Malört."

"What is this Malört?" Yelena asked, warily. Was that a chill in the air or some kind of feeling of imminent doom that just came from uttering the word.

Oh.

Oh, she didn't know yet?

Summer stared at Yelena for a moment, the sort of stare that belonged to a person who was standing on the edge of a precipice that would absolutely determine what sort of person she truly was deep inside.

"Ask me again," she replied cautiously, "when you're not clearly suppressing confused emotions about a post-animalization hook-up."

Because that was an bad combination, and Summer was a good bartender, dammit.

Yelena let out a very dramatic gasp. "I beg your pardon. I am not suppressing any kind of emotions."

Okay, that was a lie.

"I am merely asking questions as you are clearly an interesting person and there is lots to learn about you."

Kind of a lie. I mean, c'mon, Summer was very interesting, let's be honest.

"So what is this Malört you speak of?"

And that was clear deflection. Unadulterated deflection.

"The lady doth protest way too fucking much," Summer countered, shaking her head, but, if that was how Yelena wanted to play it...

She grabbed a highball glass, grabbed a bottle, and poured a very small amount, but more than enough for that lovely aroma to waft up toward Yelena as Summer pushed it forward with a nod.

"That," she said, "is Malört. Compliments of the Windy City."

"I protest exactly the right amount, thank you very-"

Yelena lifted the glass to her lips, but the moment the smell hit her nose, she recoiled sharply. Without hesitation, she set the shot glass back on the bar and shoved it away as if it had personally offended her.

"Фу, какая гадость!"

She shook her head, her expression a mix of disgust and incredulity. "I've had vodka brewed in gasoline cans that smelled better."

"So you're saying," said Summer, looking way too smug and pleased with herself for that reaction, "is that the tuna would probably be an improvement."

"I'm saying the only thing this should be used for is to stick a rag in it and use it as a Molotov cocktail," Yelena said rubbing her nose as if that would get rid of the sweatsock odor that lingered there. "And even then it should be used on those who I specifically hate."

"Molotov with meaning," Summer said, nodding in agreement and approval, "not just ones for funniest.

"Also," she added, because there was no easy way to say this next part, so might as well band-aid it, "you do still have to try it."

Hey, she was a good bartender, dammit, but not as good person!

“Summer Smith I respect you as a teacher and a bartender and a business woman,” Yelena said sincerely. “But there is nothing on earth that would make me drink that foul thing. I know poisons that taste better than that wretched liquor.”

Caritas; Wednesday [11/20].

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