GOD
He/Him
41
December 25th
Spikemunth
Northeast
Monster
Rocket Beast
I survived because the fire inside me burned brighter than the fire around me.
TAG WITH @shredzeppelin
Shred
A Midsummer Night's Party
POSTED ON Jun 10, 2023 2:29:44 GMT
Scotch on the rocks, pinot noir, sangria, champagne... Fucks sake, man. The party's just barely getting started, and you're already getting overloaded with orders. What, are there no other bartenders on call? The management could afford all these empty-faced goons to play cards and push roulette wheels, but not to pour drinks? What a pain in the ass...
Tch. Oh well. Nothing to do but do it, you suppose.
So, with a barely disguised sigh of contempt, you crouch down below the bar once more, grabbing a selection of bottles, cans, and glasses. You weren’t afforded much in the way of formal training, but that’s hardly much of a bother for you. How hard can it be to pour liquids into cups?
First, for Cillian Quinn. Scotch on the rocks, or as normal people call it, a whiskey with ice in it. Simple enough. You pour the requested drink into one of those stout, bottom-heavy glasses that whiskey always seems to be poured into, before reaching a hand into a bucket of ice and palming a few cubes in. Bam. Done. Except, well, not quite, because for some Arceus-forsaken reason, your job also entails making small talk, too. Fucks sake. Just say some bullshit to blunt his curiosity, and send him on his way.
”I’m a bartender, sir.” You dryly reply, wringing as much emotion as possible from your voice. What kind of nitwit goes around announcing their criminal affiliations to service staff? You’re not one of those weirdos who wears a bright red “R” on your clothing. No, stupid as you may be, you’re not that stupid. ”I serve drinks, and here’s yours. Cheers.”
With that joyless expression of mirth, you slide his drink over to him, and turn your attention to the next order.
A Desmary’s Pinot Noir… Winemakers didn’t deserve rights, and so called wine “connoisseurs” deserved even less. You think it should be legal for you to murder Selena Desmarais for making such a specific request, but alas, society hasn’t caught up to your radical ideas to rebalance the service industry. Even worse, for some reason, they actually stock this dogwater, which means you’re obligated to serve it to them. Holding back the urge to curse the heavens yet again, you pour the Pinot Noir into a wine glass, before serving it up.
The next order after that, a sangria… Nnn… The temptation to leap over the table and beat the everloving shit out of Alba Evovae is so, so palpable. Your teeth are grit so hard they’re liable to shatter. But, you’ll serve him his drink, alright. You duck in the backroom for but a minute, and when you come back, you’ve got a glass full of red wine, a few grapes, a roughly sliced apple, a few chunks of orange peel, and just a smidge of venomous spines, courtesy of Cacturne and their Poison Sting. Not enough to be lethal. Just enough to be both hard to spot and unpleasant in equal measure. The journey of a thousand steps starts today. You’re going to begin advertising your reinvention of the service industry today, and it starts with you serving this deathtrap of a drink to the dickhead who dared ask for it.
”Here, your sangria. I hope you choke on it, bastard.”
And after that, champagne. You wouldn’t quite call it festive, but you would call it easy. So, without so much as a word of complaint, you pour it into a flute and serve it Aurelie Lefevre, content with a job well… well, a job done.
”Bone apple tea, madame.”
And last, but certainly not least, a cold can of beer, which you proceed to crack open and take a long, long drink of. Hell knows you’ll need it, because this seems like it’s going to be a very long and very irritating shift.
PROMPT: Order a drink at the bar (it can be non-alcoholic). REWARD: 1X Level Tutor PROMPT: Strike up a conversation with someone your character hasn't met before. REWARD: 1X Ability Capsule
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