His eyes move to Parker, and they're crinkled just enough at the edges to suggest that, just maybe, that line was as much for her benefit as it was his. Even he doesn't normally go for pancakes right after work, and they're not his first choice in a bar or restaurant -- whichever or whatever this place actually is -- but in terms of working with the evidence in front of him, it's not a bad place to start.
Mixing a drink is one thing. Food is more complicated.
The way Miss Barlow's looking at him, though, seems like she knows the place has an ace up it's sleeve, and he shrugs under her amused glance, turns his own to the bartop. "Blueberry buckwheat, and maple syrup."
Simple. Nothing fancy. But in Haven, the blueberries are fresh and wild all summer, and the maple syrup is made in town. You can't get pancakes like that just anywhere.
But you can get ones like them, apparently, as a plate appears with his order, steaming gently. The bar even put the syrup in a separate glass dispenser, featuring the slide-top familiar from his childhood, and when he picks it up, it's got the liquid movement of syrup that's been heated to just the right temperature.
Actually, the glass is probably too hot to hold comfortably, and he puts it down before he accidentally burns himself. "Who runs this place?"
And how? Is there a kitchen, are there bartenders, wait staff, janitors? What makes a bar at the end of the universe tick?
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carisma_sensei
no subject
Date: 2013-06-07 01:00 pm (UTC)Mixing a drink is one thing. Food is more complicated.
The way Miss Barlow's looking at him, though, seems like she knows the place has an ace up it's sleeve, and he shrugs under her amused glance, turns his own to the bartop. "Blueberry buckwheat, and maple syrup."
Simple. Nothing fancy. But in Haven, the blueberries are fresh and wild all summer, and the maple syrup is made in town. You can't get pancakes like that just anywhere.
But you can get ones like them, apparently, as a plate appears with his order, steaming gently. The bar even put the syrup in a separate glass dispenser, featuring the slide-top familiar from his childhood, and when he picks it up, it's got the liquid movement of syrup that's been heated to just the right temperature.
Actually, the glass is probably too hot to hold comfortably, and he puts it down before he accidentally burns himself. "Who runs this place?"
And how? Is there a kitchen, are there bartenders, wait staff, janitors? What makes a bar at the end of the universe tick?