Get drunk while the space birdman judges you

[keephimtalking]

Who: Lantar Sidonis and anyone looking to get drunk or get hired!
Where: Weaver's
When: 12.02!
What: Lantar opens the new bar!
Warnings: Alcohol consumption!

[Open to everyone!]


Weaver’s doesn’t open with a lot of fanfare. Lantar just props up the sign outside and hurries back in before the chill starts getting to him under the five layers of scarves he’d put on.

The sign reads:

<- WE HAVE BEER
AS COLD AS THIS
FREAKING WEATHER
Experimental subjects
Taste tasters wanted. Free alcohol.

Potentially disgusting, but free.


Stuck to the front of the door is another sign.


HELP WANTED
Looking for: Bartender (1) and servers (2)
Willing to train


Come inside and have a gander! The selection isn’t that great yet, but Lantar’s open for input!

Comments

[keephimtalking]

Hey, a barkeeper can dream.

[ Actually, he doesn't dream about it at all. Drunkards were generally pretty terrible conversationalists, the occasional cheerful, chatty drunk aside.

As he lines up the shot glasses, Lantar eyes Howard and turns his options over in his head. Sure he's not supposed to sell anything over 40 proof. But he's not selling anything, is he? He's giving out free samples of experimental drinks and if those drinks happen to contain more vodka than syrup or tonic water- well. No one's around to measure it out.

Plus, it'll get the guy out of his fringe sooner. ]

Just so you know, I don't have the vaguest idea how any of these tastes like to a human. Fair warning.

[inventor]

( his gaze lingers on the bartender as he pours out his drinks, almost as if he's silently criticizing the guy for the warning. if howard cared for such warning (which he doesn't), he wouldn't be here, getting served alcohol by a seven foot lizard man.

his attentions turn to the shot glasses and, as soon as lantar finishes pouring, he takes the first shot. it passes the test — he doesn't go blind. the second one, however, has such a disgusting taste that his immediate reaction is to spit it out. he wipes his mouth with the sleeve of his jacket and yells, ) You're supposed to take off your socks before you step on the grapes!

[keephimtalking]

Alright. Socks off before stepping on the grapes. I'll put that on the memo.

[ The complete deadpan betrays no sarcasm or humor, but there's just a sliiiiight slant to Lantar's eyes that might have been amusement. Oh, sure, he'll have to clean that spray up, but it's worth it for the look on the human's face. ]

Any other very important requests while you're here?

[ The next drink smells like the distilled essence of those pine fresheners you hung on rearview mirrors. ]

[inventor]

( after that last shot, howard is understandably a bit hesitant in trying the next one. in the dim light of the bar, the drink looks like it has a faint green glow. he picks it up and takes a whiff of it. he almost gags from the smell alone. a frown creases his features and he holds the drink away from him, eyes carefully studying it. he turns his gaze from the drink to the bartender and notices what appears to be amusement in his eyes.

well, fuck that. he's not gonna let no damn bartender show him up. no guts, no glory.

he takes a swig of it and his body shudders from the concoction. it burns a fiery trail down his throat and he can feel it settling in his stomach like a lead weight. oh boy, he's gonna be feeling that in the morning. the taste itself isn't half-bad, but the feeling is....... not. wincing and smacking his lips around, he says, ) Yeah, protip, costumers might take offense if you try to kill them with shit like this.

( speaking as a fellow business owner... )

[keephimtalking]

[ Works like magic every damn time. Goading cocky drinkers into trying some weirdass mixes on a dare never got old. At least Lantar has the grace not to grin too obviously. ]

If I wanted to kill you, I'd plop a good old mug of Ryncol down and bet you ten bucks that you wouldn't finish it.

[ Fortunately for Howard, he decides to give the man a bit of mercy and goes for a more conventional mix of tequila, fizz and lime. Just to cleanse his palette a little. ]

Pine syrup's never hurt a soul. Except for that one time this fucker tried murdering one of his mates with a bottle of it.

[inventor]

( his eyes narrow and his mouth tightens. be careful what you say, lantar. howard stark doesn't even back down from a good bet — or, at least, he thinks he doesn't. jury's still out.

however, the way this damn bartender is grinning way too obviously lights a fire under howard's ass to prove him wrong. )

Ten bucks then. ( he pulls out his wallet from his jacket pocket and slaps down a tenner on to the counter space between them. fuck this tequila, fizz, and lime bullshit. give him the heavy stuff. )

[keephimtalking]

[ The grin slips right off of Lantar's face, mostly because he's now busy facepalming. ]

Spirits- just-

[ He keeps forgetting just how brazenly idiotic drunk people were.

Actually, now that he thinks about it, he's got a perfectly legitimate excuse for forgetting about how brazenly idiotic drunk people were.

It still doesn't make any of this less idiotic though. ]

First of all, I don't even have Ryncol here because the Mayor would have my ass-plates on a plate. Second of all, Ryncol is literally poisonous to humans. You're better off drinking a tub of bleach and if anyone tries to actually make you drink it, fucking don't.

[ There! That's your Ryncol PSA, Howard. Is he assuming too much that this you'd might have a bare smidgen of self preservation in there somewhere? ]

[inventor]

( please, howard isn't even buzzed yet. this is just how idiotic he normally is (— or, at least, how idiotic he thinks he normally is. the jury's still out). either way, the bartender's excuses aren't gonna cut if for him. )

Pfft. You're gonna let the Mayor boss you around? You? A big space alien... guy?

( not that howard himself has ever seen the mayor. for that matter, he's not even sure anyone's ever seen the mayor period. for all he knows, the mayor could also be a big space alien guy with a face that could turn milk sour like this guy. what he does know, though, is that a fight between this bartender and the hypothetical mayor (who is now king kong in howard's mind) could be pretty amazing. )

[keephimtalking]

Last I checked, alien, being big and from space doesn't determine whether you govern a place. I don't particularly fancy starting messes with lawmakers or keepers, especially not over serving Ryncol to the next random asshole that asks.

[ He's got a license, he's got a business and he just wants to make a living, not start the galaxy's most idiotic alcohol revolution, thank you. ]

Now you want that free drink or not, huh? [ Lantar jerks a mandible at the glass between them. ] Mr. 'I'm here for the conversation'?