Whisky Sour [Closed] - Printable Version

Whisky Sour [Closed] - Printable Version

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Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-05-2017

megs & saronym
i really don't know what to say here anymore i am out of excuses

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-05-2017

Hopscotch was a bar downtown. Though specializing in whisky and scotch and burbon it claimed to have something for every palette. It had a classy warm interior, made up of mostly brightly polished wood, and a silhouette of a jackalope served as its mascot and identifier as a staple of upscale liquor culture. It was owned by a woman named Julianna, but that wasn’t always the case. She spent as much time behind the counter serving drinks as she did in the backroom poring over the books and she was more than happy to tell the tale of how the place had become hers. Owning a bar hadn’t always been in her plans, but sometimes plans don’t work out and you end up with something better.

Weekdays were slow in the evening, but that didn’t mean Hopscotch closed early. A few satisfied patrons were scattered around the room, and Jules was taking her time preparing garnish at the back counter. Colorful piles of cherries, and limes, and lemons took up the space and stained her fingers with juice. She tucked the fresh ingredients into the icebox and closed the lid. She glanced at the clock. She hadn’t meant too. She blinked as she watched a minute pass, looking almost as if she was waiting for something.

“You overindulge him,” came a complaint from behind her. She turned to find her friend and fellow bartender, Sai, standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Julianna blinked her green eyes at him, widening at the edges in mock confusion.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Julianna brushed nonexistent dust from her t-shirt. It was white, with the name of the bar printed across the back and an Est. 1989 in smaller font. Paring it with black jeans and ballet flats made it a uniform as far as she was concerned.

“It’s almost eleven,” he pointed out, dropping his arms and moving to refill an empty pint. The tap hissed as umber liquid poured into the glass, etched with the bar’s signature jackalope.

She hummed, and shrugged her shoulders. Still feigning her ignorance. Sai shook his head, and set the glass back on the counter after replacing a soiled napkin. He moved back to the other end of the bar.

She had been made. She pushed a hand through her hair and tried to keep her hands busy. Tried to look as if she weren’t waiting for something. Someone, more accurately. She wouldn’t admit it, but Julianna had a favorite patron. He came in at the same time, but never on the same days.

He was tall, and handsome, but he looked sad. It was a soft sort of sad, like a summer rain, like a fresh hurt that he was trying to forget. Which she attributed to all the time he spent in her bar. She felt like they had a good rapport. At some point she had discovered his penchant for random trivia and she’d made it was like a game they played for her to try and stump him with some random fact. Sometimes, he smiled. She liked it when he did.

The jingle of the bells hanging above the door caught her attention, and she tried not to be obvious about looking. A quick glance through her periphery had her smiling as she caught a glimpse of him crossing the threshold. Julianna retrieved a rocks glass from above the bar, and reached behind her for a bottle of bright amber whisky. She used to ask what she could get for him, but his answers had been the same: ‘whatever’s new” or ‘surprise me’ so, she had stopped asking, and he’d yet to complain about her choices. Today’s menu was ‘whatever’s new.’

“Hello, Mr. Hart,” she greeted pleasantly, with a smile as he sat down. Three fingers of single malt whisky fell neatly into the glass that she placed upon a black napkin. She left the drink closer to her side of the counter, as if she were keeping for herself, but they both knew that he could claim it at any time. She leaned her palms heavily on polished wood.

She couldn’t contain her grin, clearly eager to lay another question on him. “So, which desert is the largest in the world?” She looked almost giddy, she really felt as if this would be the one to leave her the winner. A trick question almost. She pressed her lips together, attempting to smooth her expression into something less mischievous.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-05-2017

There was something about the pleasant tinkle of bells and the smile that always greeted him at Hopscotch that kept him a regular at the bar. It was that something also in the drink he found there that answered the questions in him and stilled the agitation of recent heartache and betrayal.

After a few drinks he could settle his preoccupation with time. Take life a few moments at a time. When he felt worse chunks of time kept feeling longer and longer and he found himself barely able to survive the next few hours at work much less the next week, month, years.

Be in the present, they said. Be in the now.

He felt, at times, very much 'in the now.' Frozen there. Unable to move. Unable to see himself doing anything, unable to imagine a future self.

It wasn't like that when he drank. Liquor smoothed it all over and coated him inside and out in warmth and confidence. These were borrowed feelings, though, which always caught up with him in the end. Until he drowned in them again.

The only people in his life who cared where he was at certain times were his business associates and his personal assistant. Or so he thought, even as a familiar, amiable voice greeted him as he walked through the door.

"Hey Julianna." He returned her reception of him with much less formality. Hadn't he asked her to call him Owen before? He couldn't remember. He didn't have a chance to correct her before she eagerly jumped into a trivia question she'd thought up.

Owen took his time settling on to the bar stool as he always did. He made an orderly pile of his his iPad, iPhone, and keys next to him. He'd left his suit jacket slung across the seat of his car and was down to a fitted slate grey vest over a button up with a subtle blue stripes and a sharp navy colored tie.

He delayed in answering instead keeping her gaze as he reached for the drink. Emerald eyes twinkled at him and there was the real threat of the grin pulling at the corners of her mouth was evocative of premature triumph. He didn't want to ruin her fun too soon and even considered pretending he didn't know. His pride would ultimately get the better of him. Without breaking eye contact, Owen put the glass to his lips and tipped it slightly to taste the whiskey she'd given him. It was softer than he'd prepared for with a sweetness to it. Pleasantly surprised, he nodded his approval.

"It's the Antarctic Polar Desert." He replied finally before another longer sip of the drink. He pulled the napkin into place and carefully set the drink down. "Nice try though." He conceded.

"This new?" He tilted the whiskey glass some to get a better look at the color of the liquid inside.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-07-2017

Julianna always noticed how nice he looked. She’d never seen him in anything that wasn’t a perfectly tailored suit. Three pieces, mostly, sometimes with a jacket sometimes without. She wasn’t unused to seeing her patrons dressed up for one thing or another, but she very much liked the way he presented himself. She always wondered where he was coming from looking as good at his did, but she’d yet to have the courage to ask.

She held his gaze, still suppressing her entertainment as he settled and removed the glass from her side of the bar. He took a moment to reply and she was almost certain she had him this time, but the longer he looked at her the more she lost confidence. There was something calculating in his eyes, bluer that evening from the accents on his outfit. It was the same look she saw every night when he once again aced her trivia.

The smile she had been smothering dissolved as he gave her an answer. The right answer. Again, as always. She pushed away from the counter to cross her arms over her chest; there was nothing hostile in the posture. Only playful disappointment. “I was trying to trick you,” she admitted, bottom lip jutting forward. It was short-lived and with a cute laugh, she dropped her arms and shrugged, her smile returning. “I will just have to get you next time,” she warned.

Julianna nodded when he inquired about the liquor. “Correct again.” She turned the bottle so the label was facing him, pushing it across the bar so he could inspect it if he wished. “It’s a twelve-year old single malt from Scotland,” she explained. “It boasts notes of cherry and vanilla and I thought it would be nice to have some more sherry options. I actually haven’t officially started serving it yet. I suppose you’re my taster.”

She risked a glance to the opposite end of the bar to catch Sai frowning at her as he restocked the overhead cabinet with glasses. Wrinkling her nose she looked away from him again.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-10-2017

The spirited bartender was definitely the feature of the establishment he enjoyed the most. His eyes never left her face and he marked the changes in her visage as he revealed that he knew the correct answer. Defeat made a rather attractive play across her face. The mischievous glint in green eyes faded back to neutral when he dashed her hopes of fooling him. She retreated to lean against the bar farthest from him giving him the hint of a playful pout which curled easily into a bright smile.

Why should he feign ignorance when she rewarded him this way even when she wanted him to be wrong?

The changes in her countenance brought none from his, except a hint of a smile around the eyes. He raised his eyebrows and sipped the liquid again while she promised to get him next time. He was such a regular at the establishment that she'd come to expect, he assumed, infinite next times from him.

"I will have to give you more opportunities then." He agreed, giving her a curt nod of promise to return.

Owen accepted the bottle from Julianna when it was pushed towards him. He ran his thumb over the label and listened to her describe the flavor. He looked up in time to catch the shared look with her ever unamused co-worker. Slowly, Owen set the bottle back on the bar while he considered the frown that marred the other bartender's face. Perhaps he felt that Julianna spent too much time on him.

Owen pushed the bottle back towards her. "I like it. Consider this my seal of approval." He raised his glass to her and finished off the liquid inside. It slid easily down the back of his throat and he set the glass back on the bar with a gentle clink.

His attention was momentarily captured by his phone that lit up with a text message. Picking up the device, Owen swiped to open the message. Owen pushed his empty glass towards the bar tender indicating he wanted a refill. While he waited to be served, his eyes scanned the contents of his message and he quickly tapped out a response before locking the phone again and setting it back down with a little heat to the gesture.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-10-2017

“It's going to be really difficult ” she warned. Though the faux threat of it was lost with her chipper tone and accompanying wink. Julianna had limited herself to one question a night since she'd discovered that he apparently knew everything. She'd bombarded him with questions while she served him a fifteen-year-old scotch. She was briefly returned to wondering if what he did for a living is what led to him looking so nice. He never had any concern for the cost or strength of what she poured for him. Always left too much cash without looking at the bill.

Julianna took the bottle back from him and held it in both hands, a half turn so that the label was facing her. She was still smiling as she scanned the label again, pleased with either her choice or his approval. “And what a coveted seal indeed,” she joked, as she held the bottle upwards, above her head in a fashion all too similar to the opening scene in the Lion King. Laughing to herself, she lowered her arms and placed the bottle back on the shelf behind the counter.

His phone buzzed, drawing his attention and a whistle at the other end of the bar drew hers. She looked towards the noise to see Sai nodding his head towards a man situated at the end of it, leaving her puzzled. Calling her over meant that this patron had asked for her specifically. “Excuse me a moment,” she said to Owen, as she refilled his glass.

With her best professional smile on display she walked over to the man. He leaned one elbow on the bar with a braggadocious air about him that she was used too. He was a self-assured grin in a cheap suit and too much hair product. She greeted him the same regardless. He tried to seem charming. He failed. She said something mild, and he laughed too loudly. Her smile never faded, her posture read impatient. He asked for her number and this time she laughed. She also turned him down. He left the counter looking defeated and she remained at that end of the bar to talk to Sai and a few other regulars.

When she returned to her side of the bar she greeted a new customers, before returning to Owen. She expertly put together an Old Fashioned for the gentleman and a Manhattan for the lady with the ease of practice. When they complimented her skill, she laughed politely with a red tinge to her face.

“Long day, Mr. Hart?” she inquired as she moved in front of him again, filling his glass for a third time.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-10-2017

Julianna's promise to stump him finally drew a brief smile from the sad business man. It was something for him to look forward to. "And may the best man win." He responded with a sly look in his eyes. He'd chosen his words pointedly to signal to her that he didn't expect her to be able to defeat him in their ongoing trivia game.

Owen chuckled and shook his head in amusement when she raised the bottle of whisky above her head as if it were some religious relic. He made the sign of the cross over the bottle. Sarcastically, he bowed his head. "Heal me, bless me, and sanctify me, by this here drink." He muttered a mock prayer clapped his hands together and downed the drink. "Amen." He finished Julianna's ceremony with a bit of his own flourish. The playfulness in her usually drew it out of him. The liquor also helped.

He looked rather pleased with himself at the joke as Julianna refilled his glass. She shortly excused herself to serve other customers which left him to satisfy whoever demanded his attention. Once he was finished answering his message, Owen was left to nurse his drink and observe Julianna as she worked. A sort of second hand embarrassment came over him as he watched her uncomfortable interaction with a man trying to win her favor.

Owen wondered why Sai didn't give equal frowns out at the over friendly patron. What made Owen so special as to receive those?

"Please-" he held up his hand to stop her from calling him the dreaded 'Mr. Hart' again. He was Mr. Harted to death by the people that revolved around his life serving him in various capacities. "It's Owen by now, yes?" There was a sort of impatience to his voice as he insisted she call him by his first name.

Owen skipped over answering any questions about his day and nodded towards where the gentleman who'd harassed her earlier had been sitting. "Men's Warehouse didn't get your number, I see." He observed. "You get that a lot here?" He asked the question knowing full well that it implied that he found her to be attractive enough to receive plenty of offers from her patrons.

He brought the refilled glass up to his lips and paused. "Maybe you should make them answer a tough trivia question first. To earn your number. That way you don't have to let them down so hard. I'm sure he would have said Saharan tonight." The glass closed the distance to his lips which were curled into a slight smirk. Owen wasn't aware that he was practically flirting. He couldn't remember the last time he flirted.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-11-2017

Today, she had gotten a smile, and a laugh, and he had played along with one of her silly jokes. All within the first hour. She considered that a victory. Some days, she didn’t get any of them. Others, they didn’t even talk. Despite this evening’s jovial demeanor, there was still a sadness to him. Something about drinking expensive whisky alone on a weeknight.

“Alright,” she agreed with an easy smile of her own. “Owen, it is then.” It had not been the first time he had expressed that she was fine using his name. The other times had just seemed like an offhand suggestion offered by a slightly buzzed patron, but now he had come often enough for it to seem comfortable. To that end there had also been more assertion to his request.

It was also not the first time that he had skirted one of her questions with his own. Which was perfectly acceptable, he did not owe her any insights into his life outside of her bar. She just always thought to ask. Customers often vented to her, she thought it might lift some of that weight he seemed to be carrying on his shoulders.

She laughed again, at some point it had become easy for him to make her laugh. “That’s not nice.” Julianna pretended to scold him for his comments on the other man’s wardrobe, but she was hardly authoritative with the permanent smile affixed to her features. “It happens occasionally,” she answered with a shrug, turning her head to check on her other patrons. Finding them satisfied, she leveled her gaze on his again. “You have a point, I couldn’t possibly date a man who didn’t know his deserts.” She chuckled, reaching behind the bar to collect a cocktail shaker. She added ice to it and some of the whisky she was already serving him. A house made sour mix and a dash of grenadine followed shortly after.

“If that were the case, I imagine I would owe you my number several times over.”

The contents of the shaker clashed as she gave it a few quick tosses. She pulled another glass down from overhead, a polished Collins glass, once again engraved with the jackalope. She popped open the shaker and poured the contents into the glass. She garnished the concoction with a plump maraschino cherry. She nudged it towards Owen. “Still interested in being my taster?”

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-11-2017

His left shoulder lifted in a delicate and dismissive shrug at the mild accusation she made that he wasn't being nice. "The truth hurts sometimes." The cliche rolled easily off him with the roll of that shoulder.

He nodded when she confirmed his assumption that she got hit on fairly frequently. "I can only imagine." He said with a small amount of mockery as if he was never the victim of such attention. "Indeed, you shouldn't," he agreed, "I can vouch for men who know their geography. Solid romantic choice, right there."

Of course this was nonsense. Of course he knew it. But he was playing along. And sometimes flirting meant saying nonsense things to provoke a smile or a laugh. Owen didn't know what he was doing. It wasn't that he'd never considered her or noticed her. Surely he had. She was 'cute bar girl Julianna' to his personal assistant. But Owen was acutely aware of his status as a two-time divorcee and suspected they had an age gap between them that made him uncomfortable enough to never have pursued anything further. Yet here he was, indulging in playful banter with her.

Such thoughts swirled as Owen observed her preparing another drink. He had the luxury of never having to order, as they had previously established he was fine drinking almost anything. So, she served him whatever she felt like making. And he enjoyed a sense of exclusivity in the whole ordeal. Perhaps that was her angle.

Owen stared down at his hands at the commentary that he'd more than earned her number. "Well, I suppose." Again a glimmer of something mischievous while he waited a moment for the perfect delivery of another jest. "But you haven't earned mine." He flipped the script on her so as to suggest that he was the prize to be won and not the other way around. Her easy smiles and friendly nature made shamelessly flirting this way with her feel effortless.

Owen accepted the drink saying "of course" before he tasted it. He rolled his eyes to the ceiling as he considered the flavors. A second taste which was more of a gulp suggested that he liked the drink. He put it down and traced his index finger over the jackalope engraving.

"I'd order this for a female companion. One who couldn't hold her liquor. Don't get me wrong, it's good. But you know I prefer something more...robust."

Even after delivering this constructive criticism, he took a third taste which nearly drained the glass. Owen was quickly moving from a light buzz to a solid inebriation. Being a chronic drinker though, it was easy for him to play of the state of his drunkenness. In public he never let himself get to the point of slurring words or stumbling. Of course, he couldn't keep his eyes from becoming a little bit red or the relaxation that eased out tension he held in his shoulders as his blood alcohol level increased.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-15-2017

“The setting lends well to it,” she countered, continuing to remark on how men (and sometimes women) often flirted with her. She didn’t assume it had anything to do with her, really. She knew she smiled a lot, people were often encouraged by that. And liquor made them bold. “They’re drunk and I’m getting them drunker, what’s not to appeal?” She concluded this with a shrug of her own. She had seen plenty of people flirt with Sai, and her other bartenders. Even now, Owen seemed to be flirting with her. It was almost like a game, just another service that her job required.

Her flirting with Owen, however, was a bit more in earnest than with other patrons. But nothing ever came of her efforts, so she just thought he was another player in the game.

She collected a few empty glasses that were within her reach, quickly wiping up neglectful rings of condensation with the rag stuffed into her apron. Ice clashed noisily against the sink as she emptied them, and glasses clinked together as she set them in the designated bin. She paused from her task to look up at him, one hand lifting to clutch at her shirt, just above her heart as if she had been wounded by his remark. “I’m sure there are plenty of nice gentleman in suits from Men’s Warehouse that know their geography and would love to have my phone number.” As quickly as she had looked pained, she was grinning again.

Julianna waited patiently for his opinion on her newest concoction, she almost seemed to shift eagerly on her feet, palms pressed to the bar. She knew that it was good. A simple variation on a Whiskey Sour that left little room for error, but she valued his opinion, or more accurately, his compliments. “Perfect,” she chimed, when he gave his assessment. She pushed away from the bar to collect the glass. A free hand pushed a fallen lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s attractive when a man knows how to order for a date,” she commented, which sounded like something only a bartender would say. “I’ve seen plenty of outings go very downhill by a wrong decision.”

She delayed in refilling his glass without his prompting. She knew his preferences and she also knew that he’d had more in the short time he’d been at the bar than he usually would have had in the same amount of time. Somehow, her enthusiasm in seeing him had formed in the manner of pushing drinks at him.

“I’m going to assume you take you female companions somewhere else,” she teased, trying her best to look offended, but it was difficult with that pesky smile always creeping up on her. She gasped suddenly. “I bet you take them to the Gilded Rose across town.” She huffed. “My main competition, how could you?”

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-18-2017

Owen rolled his eyes. The action was more of a blink which directed his eyes upwards and a blink which directed them back to hers. He nursed his drink before philosophizing to her. "Men's Warehouse is a store designed to clothe men who are reaching for things -a life style, an aesthetic, a job, a woman, even - they aren't prepared to have. It's a facade." His eyes glazed over for a moment as if he was swept away in the current of his thoughts. He worried at his cheek with his teeth and turned his suddenly melancholy gaze back down to the drink in front of him.

A brief moment of seriousness and authenticity amidst their light banter.

The subject turned to the matter of her new drink and she complimented his taste and predilection for ordering for his dates. "Some women resent when I order for them. I think they believe it's about control. I've taken it to be about astute observation of someone's preferences and service. Not unlike what you do here." He waved his hand indicating the room and the bar.

Owen shouldn't have asked for another. But that's the thing. He didn't need to. So if he didn't need to ask for another even if he shouldn't have asked for another that meant it was acceptable to accept another. Or so was the twisted logic that he used to comfort himself as he pulled yet another drink towards himself.

He snorted louder than was necessary at the suggestion of him on an actual date, with an actual woman, at her competitors. "Please," he held up his hand to top her, it wavered just slightly - a sign of how much he'd had to drink at that point. "Spare me the humiliation of thoughts of me dating." He cringed at the word and sipped his drink. He'd reached a point in the evening where he was feeling mighty keen on sharing with the attractive and encouraging bartender who fed him drinks. "Nope! It's the bachelor life for me. Alone and laced on a Tuesday night. What could be better? And I wouldn't take anyone to the Gilded Rose. How dare you question my loyalty. Am I not your favorite customer?"

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-19-2017

Julianna’s expression read amused as she listened to him. Just that serene sort of pleasantness that one got when another person was building a strong argument to something very suddenly. He had strong opinions about Men’s Warehouse, and somehow that didn’t surprise her. She had already pegged him as one of her more wealthy clients. She caught the way he quickly returned to a more despondent mood, and she was back to wondering what kept him so low.

The bartender smirked, pulling the bottle she’d been pouring from out behind the bar. She leaned into the conversation as she poured. She didn’t need to watch as she did so, attuned to the muscle memory of pouring two fingers of whisky for ten hours a day. “It sounds like you order for women who aren’t any fun.” Her tone was lowered as if they were having a private conversation. She stood straight once more as a full smile spread across her lips.

Owen’s derisive response to her jest caught her off guard. She’d never heard that noise come from him before. It immediately prompted a laugh from her that she cut off by quickly pressing her lips together. Chuckles could still be heard resonating in her closed mouth. “You are my favorite customer,” she agreed, planting her hands on her hips. Her gaze narrowed as she honed in on the hand he’d lifted to ward off dating talk. “But we can’t deny that the Gilded Rose has a wonderful crème brûlée, and perhaps you would have more women to take on dates if you weren’t so stingy with your number.”

Julianna left him with that teasing piece of advice. The not so subtle suggestion that he should think about giving her his phone number. She moved across the bar to where the other couple was ready to be cashed out. She took care of them with the usual smiles and pleasantries, and cleaned up the spot they had left. The already thin crowd was getting much thinner as it neared to closing time. She heard Sai informing his group that it was last call.

Returning to where she had left her proclaimed favorite customer, she crossed her arms on the polished wood of the bar and leaned heavily on them. Lips parted to speak, there was an intake of breath and a short pause, “Owen,” she had almost called him Mr. Hart again which she gathered would do her no favors. “Do you have someone who could pick you up?” Her voice was lowered again, but this time it was a polite gesture as she spoke to him with care and seriousness. Julianna had been a bartender for enough years to know when someone was over the limit. “Do I need to call you a cab?”

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-19-2017

His index and thumb curled around the latest glass of whiskey, the other fingers resting naturally along the side. He exhaled in the manner of a man being worn down through repeated hounding. Hers was the good kind. Playful, teasing, flirtatious. He could have sworn she had essentially asked for his number twice in the same night without explicitly asking for it.

He at her once slowly and deliberately as he nursed the drink in his hand. The fingers of his free hand drew the napkin towards him and tilted it this way and that before he captiously set the drink on it. He seemed to be calculating something. Specifically he was calculating the risk of being a complete cliche if he gave his phone number out to some hot young bartender. Careful considerations were made as to whether Julianna was being polite to one of her best paying regular customers or bordering on the sincere.

He only hummed thoughtfully and remained contemplative long enough that Julianna moved away to serve other customers. While she was completing their transactions he reached into the breast pocket of his suit vest and drew out a small leather case with two fingers. He snapped it open to peer at his own stately business card inside. He considered leaving it on the bar with cash and ditching. He didn't know if he would be able to bear returning to the establishment if he did such a thing. As soon as he saw her turn back towards him he snapped the case shut and returned it to his pocket.

The sound of his name which he had requested that she use drew a half smile. He finished off the last of the whisky she'd poured and set the drink back on the bar. Knowing it was closing time, he reached for his billfold and started peeling off bills in denominations of twenty. He paused and glanced up at her. She was doing her best to discretely tell him she felt he wasn't safe to drive.

"I'm fine. Thank you for your concern." He said believing this would be enough to conclude the issue. "Work on your -" he was saying as he stood up. The room spun but he took care to attempt to conceal his state, pressing his index and middle to his temple as if words had escaped him. "-trivia. For next time."

He laid his hand on the bar depositing several bills for her and patted them lightly indicating he needed no change. He turned to scoop up his electronics which had been forgotten next to him for the majority of his time there.

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - megs - 01-20-2017

Julianna leaned away from the bar as he stood. Her head cocked to the side as she watched him, dubious to just how fine he was. She hummed, when he suggested he work on her trivia, eyes following the motion of his hand to his head. She didn’t believe him and she was frowning. She didn’t usually frown at him. Her eyes shifted to the money he laid on the counter. Another displeased noise sounded in her throat as she pulled it towards her.

“Just-” she paused, sighed, fiddling with the bills in her hands. “Just hold on a second. Please?” Her expression turned hopeful, lifting one finger to indicate the second she was requesting from him.

She quickly moved behind the counter to sidle up next to Sairus and the second register. He didn’t look at her, continued poking around on the POS system so he could cash out for the night. She did the same, watching him from her periphery to try and gauge his mood.

“What do you want?” he asked her, apropos to nothing. He stopped what he was doing finally to level his gaze on her.

“I think I might drive Mr. Hart home,” she explained quietly.

Sai frowned at her. “Why? Is this a sex thing?”

Julianna gasped, her eyes widening around the edges. “No,” she hissed. “I have given regulars rides before.”

“But none of those have been wealthy alcoholics that you have inexplicable crushes on.”

She sputtered, waving her hands as if trying to make some excuse for herself but nothing came to mind. She faltered dropping her hands. “If you close for me you can have my tips,” she offered.

He didn’t seem keen on budging. Julianna paid her employees well enough that they didn’t rely on tips. The extra cash they made usually ended up being extra fun money that they treated each other with. Sai reached across her to the cash station she’d been using and pulled up her earnings sheet for the night. Owen’s near careless generosity had pushed her tips into triple digits. The large man grunted and shook his head. “Fine, but if he ends up being some psycho I will say I told you so.”

She laughed and punched him in the arm before thanking him profusely as she pulled off her apron. She shoved the fabric in the cabinet beneath the register and pushed her way out from behind the bar, walking back to where she had left Owen. Who seemed to have miraculously stayed at her request. She smiled, and tilted her head towards the front door indicating her should walk with her. She explained herself as they did so. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” she explained, unnecessarily. They both knew it. “More than usual, and I would feel better if you found transportation. If you don’t want to leave you car here, I would drive you. It wouldn’t be a problem at all.”

RE: Whisky Sour [Closed] - saronym - 01-21-2017

Owen was left hovering near the bar stool he’d gotten up from while Julianna cashed out. He observed her and her employee...or co-worker...he wasn’t entirely sure where the line fell as they spoke. With nothing to do he fidgeted combing his fingers through his hair certain that they were discussing him.

Specifically what to do with him.

The clearly over-the-limit alcoholic regular patron.

How to deal diplomatically with the situation.

He considered walking out. He did not want to be dealt with. Handled by this young bartender. He hated to be her problem but there he was problematically more drunk than he intended to get. What else was new.

Owen didn’t return her smile but moved in the direction of the door using words he’d heard more than once. You had a lot to drink. He could hear words thrown at him more harshly from another. Accusations and disappointment.

“I drink a lot, a lot.” He tried this reassurance which didn’t help his argument.

He sighed, the least he could do was let her be comforted he got home safely. “I can’t leave my car. You can’t sit on a metered spot here overnight.” This was true. It was more true that he wouldn’t dare leave his car in any lot overnight.

Holding the door open for her, Owen placed a hand on the back of her shoulder to usher her through. Once outside, he removed a set of keys from his pocket. The headlights flashed and a chirp sounded from a sporty Maserati in black matte parked on the curb across the street.

THe keys dangled between his thumb and index free for the taking. “Hope you can drive a manual.”