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]

[ 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'?