[open] I took a light, and I made a fire

[burningbothends]

WHO: Roy Mustang and anyone!
WHERE: Il Fiammeggiante Ragazzo Bar in Heropa
WHEN: Basically any time throughout April, starting the 4th
WHAT: Free drinks! Friendly chatter!
WARNINGS: Alcohol mostly. Some mentioned nudity.

[Il Fiammeggiante Ragazzo has a modest downtown pseudo-brick storefront. Not in the best part of town, but not quite in the bad part, the looping cursive of its well-maintained orange and blue lighted sign manages to not look out of place. The interior, like the interior of most clubs, is dark enough to conceal most of the stains on the floor, but the brown brick interior makes it intimate rather than dingy. The lighting is all bright, cobalt blue, gold, orange, magenta and violet, strikingly bright and pretty for how little it cuts through the overall dimness. There’s a pool table on the right, a couple of small tables, and a modest dance floor towards the back which, depending on what time you come, may or may not be populated by a disproportionate amount of young, attractive men, thugh there are plenty of ladies, too. Beyond the dance floor lies a staircase and an entrance onto the outdoor patio. Every one in a while a young man wearing nothing but a very nice pair of underwear and sneakers with good sole support may wander down the staircase and head over to the bar, leaning over it to chat with the bartenders.

The bar itself is off to the left of the entrance and Roy is immediately identifiable as the only bartender wearing a shirt--tight and black with the club’s logo emblazoned across the front. The sleeves are short enough to show the bottom edges of the wide bruises ringing his upper arm, finally starting to yellow. In the poor lighting, you might not even notice they’re there. Also notable may be the fact that Roy’s wearing a pair of white cloth gloves.

The first couple of nights, you may find Roy in the middle of getting sauced as his fellow bartender (a very attractive, very shirtless young man) and the various patrons cajole him into trying various liquors and cocktails in the name of educating him.

Or you may walk into an odd scene: Roy facing the shelves of liquor behind him, carefully moving a gloved hand along the bottles. After a moment, his co-bartender glances over his shoulder and says “Almost, honey. Two to the left.” Roy offers a sheepish thanks and grabs the bottle, uncapping it and surreptitiously sniffing it before turning around to pour out a drink for a waiting patron.

Or something else may be going on with Il Fiamme’s new blind bartender, idk hit me up at praecipitanter if you have an idea!!]

Comments

4/6, evening

[dendarii]

[ Sure enough, Miles finds his way down to the bar after his network conversation with Roy. He hadn't been kidding about really wanting that drink, given the past week and a half. Not only is he tired - his past self ran him ragged, dear god - but suddenly all tangled up in all kinds of complications that his child self had been happy to set loose and then skip away from. Gregor ... Gregor he hopes to avoid for a little while, at least on that topic. At least for Lucifer he already has a plan in motion. He's just bumping up the timeline considerably.

He's so full of his own thoughts that he doesn't quite realize what sort of bar he's in until he's up at the counter, idly scoping it out as he looks for Roy. Lots of very attractive young men, not unusual. Young men wearing nothing but underwear, though ... Miles blinks at the first one that goes by, then finds himself taking a good hard look at the bar in general after the second. Oh. Oh. Such a place wouldn't be the slightest bit uncommon on Beta Colony, but he hadn't exactly visited any. Still too Barrayaran at that point. He's feeling a bit Barrayaran right now, in fact, as he goggles a bit at his surroundings. Boy, he must look terribly out of place. If he'd come in here while he was taller ...

No sense in mourning that now. He does, however, really need that drink. Grateful to finally spot Roy behind the bar, he awkwardly hitches himself up onto a stool and taps his side of the bar to get the man's attention. ]

Colonel? I think I'd like that drink now.

[burningbothends]

Naismith? [Roy turns toward, as fruitless a gesture as that is, and smiles easily.] No need to be so formal. I'll have it for you in a moment.

[At that, he turns around to start carefully pulling bottles off the shelf. He'd been planning for this, both for Miles's sake--who did seem like he desperately needed a strong drink--and for a test of his own skills. It's slower going then he'd like; the gloves make it a little harder to feel out the bottles but his hands still look too much of a mess to go without bandages.

Roy looks, perhaps surprisingly, perfectly at ease. To anyone who knew him, even as just a first impression, the environment would certainly seem at odds with his character, but few people knew that he'd essentially grown up in a place not unlike this. A place that served different clientele, certainly, but at it's core, much was the same. He'd done his fair share of bar-tending for Madame Christmas when he was old enough; it was his foster mother in the first place who trained him to have an ear for intel.

So after the chaos of the last few weeks, it was almost... peaceful to be doing something so normal. Peaceful to be busy with the mundane task of learning drinks and navigating the narrow confines of the bar. And comforting to be positioned so conveniently to re-build his information infrastructure.

Roy's surprisingly skillful at pouring for a blind man. There had been plenty of incidents his first couple of nights, but eventually he'd discovered that holding the cup in one hand and pouring with the other gave him a good enough feeling for the volume of liquid he was dispensing. After at least six bottles have been pulled and re-shelved and pour into a cup, Roy carefully places the drink in front of Miles.]

I'm told this is called a Long Island Iced Tea. We really don't have anything like it back home; I'd advise drinking it slowly.

[dendarii]

[ The man seems at ease in this place, Miles notes. Surprisingly so? Surprising to him, anyway. He wonders what the story behind that might be. Perhaps he'll even find out, if he asks the right questions. If nothing else ... well, he can appreciate the need to do something normal with one's life compared to everything else going on. He's seen much the same reaction in his father and Gregor.

Miles watches, slightly awed, as Roy seemingly arranges a bewildering array of bottles. That seems rather a lot to go into just one drink. He lets out a low whistle, taking a moment just to appreciate the skill involved here. ]

Slowly, eh. I suspect if I drank it quickly I'd end up flat on my ass. You seem to have settled in quite well already.

[burningbothends]

You suspect correctly.

[Roy forgoes the more grimmer observation that there wasn't much choice for an easy shrug and a smile.]

I did a little bartending when I was younger. It didn't involve near this level of mixing, though, it's dizzying.

[It was strange being able to slip that little bit of personal information in so casually. Back home it simply would have been too risky, if someone had started asking around, what bars and when...

Here, it was of little consequence except as a factoid to explain something about Roy that might otherwise invite speculation. ]

[vorbarra]

[ Speaking of people feeling too Barrayaran for the establishment they find themselves in, Gregor stops in the day after Miles does, and abruptly halts once he steps in. It's the startled stillness of a man currently wrestling with feelings for another man, and in fierce denial about them.

He's suddenly wondering if he'd have been able to handle that increasingly customary year on Beta to sexually discover himself as a teenager. He's not actually sure he can handle it now.

But he's just here to get a drink, and he's not the only unglittered man in the establishment by far. His plain blue jeans and dove grey t-shirt are remarkably unexciting, and he likes it that way. Gregor employs a little of his well-practiced air of personal space to deter anyone from trying to talking to him as he heads directly for the bar. He's morbidly curious how Mustang is making out as a blind bartender.

Gregor seats himself at said bar and opens with, ] I heard you were offering a free drink to first time visits, and I have to say that was a very well-timed offer, Colonel.

[burningbothends]

[Gregor might catch Roy's fellow bartending glancing at Roy with an archly raised eyebrow at the word "Colonel"; Roy makes his way over to Greg with the corner of his mouth quirked. It would be useful if it caught on as a nickname here; officers we're always more willing to talk shop with other officers. Most of Il Fiamme's downstair clientele was on the younger side but the proprietor had noted that the upstairs bar tended to see an older age group.]

I've been hearing that quite a bit. Greg. [His tone is just mild enough to imply that he may have possibly seen a certain 8 year old blow Gregor's cover wide upon.] What can I do for you?

[vorbarra]

[ The best way to ensure someone can't use something against you is to give it to them first. ]

Gregor now, I think, [ he says smoothly. If he hasn't seen it, he'll inevitably find out soon enough, and Gregor won't pretend he's going to perpetuate the lie. He does hope that by candidly moving past it, it won't arise as a major topic of discussion. He likes not having to be Emperor. ]

Anything sweet. We don't often mix sugar and alcohol at home; I'm enjoying taking advantage of it here.

[burningbothends]

[Gregor and Miles really did have his sympathy. The slip-up had been a highly informative insight into some potential allies, but Roy's own slip-up was still too fresh in his mind for him to gloat. He drops the topic smoothly.]

Ah, we're the same back home. But it seems to be the popular choice, here. [So Roy had been getting plenty of practice. He turns, confidently grabbing a couple bottles off the shelf and cream from the small fridge below the bar. He is not quick, needing to feel things out by memory, but he manages to pour without overflowing the glass by holding the cup to get a feel for its fullness. He sets it down in front of Gregor before he starts putting things back.]

A White Russian. Though it seems there's been some lobbying to rename it.

[use_everything]

[One of the stools scrape back, signalling a new patron by the end - further from the overhead speakers and less populated by those drifting in and out for social calls and refills. There's no comment from the newcomer while Roy fumbles through the mixer, but nor is there any sound of the patron leaving.

When he finally makes his way down (a whiskey sour and a long island ice tea on the way), a deep baritone voice with a rasp around the edges lays a question in a highly bemused tone.]

Do you have a decent brandy in house?

[burningbothends]

[That was a noise Roy had gotten attuned to very quickly. Hardly anyone had been rude about getting his attention but Roy very much did not like being surprised. He pauses in what he's doing to turn in the (very) general direction of the noise, giving a curt nod to let the patron know that he's aware of him there before turning back to the task at hand.

Off to the side, Aral probably has a better angle to see the way Roy unscrews the caps while his back is still to the bar in order to quickly pass them under his nose. It's a very subtle, economical motion, taking barely any time before Roy's turning around to feel for a cup to hold while he pours the liquor out. He doesn't have the brisk quickness of a seasoned bartender but he nonetheless gives the impression of efficiency.

When he makes his way over to Aral he doesn't come to a stop precisely in front of him, but he quickly shifts over and adjusts the height of his glance when Aral speaks again. Interesting—the voice was older than what Roy had become accustomed to and the order also indicated at least a more mature taste for alcohol.]

Ah... I'm going to be generous with my assumptions regarding your standards and say 'no.'

[use_everything]

Hm. [The noise the man makes is an amused shade of speculative.] Strong and simple will do, then.

[burningbothends]

That I can do. I'll be just a moment.

[And he turns around. It takes an extra moment to locate the scotch, a less popular drink by far, but Roy manages to pick it out and pour, carefully balancing the cup in his hand. He places it down in front of Aral--a little off center, but close.]

Would you like to open a tab?

[overemotionally]

[Jim walks in and immediately knows the type of place it is. Not so much from his time growing up in Iowa but absolutely once he joined the 'Fleet in San Francisco. Kind of hard to miss if you go out to bars at all in the city. He's already getting eyed up by a few of the people in his vicinity as he walks up to the bar, settling into a stool and leaning forward on his elbows, spotting Roy behind the bar.

The past week itself hadn't been terrible--it was returning to how he was now that was the rough part. Suddenly stuck with all of these secondhand memories and emotions that he wishes would just disappear from his memory banks. And the best way to temporarily do that? Alcohol. At a gay bar. With a hot new bartender to distract him (hopefully in multiple ways).]

Scotch on the rocks. Roy, right?

[Even better looking in person.]

[burningbothends]

[At the voice, Roy actually startles a little—he hadn't heard the stool move and honestly, being called by his first name was going to take some adjusting to. He was glad that 'Colonel' seemed to be catching on as a nickname among the staff and regulars.

But he fixes the drink and puts it in front of Jim with an easy smile, drawing his hand back but leaving both of them folded casually on the bar, so Jim can get a good look at the very charming floral pattern on his gloves. In person, it's far more evident that he's blind—He is quite good at orienting towards the sound of a voice but it's not easy in such a chaotic, noisy space, and his gaze never quite focuses on Jim's face.]

That's right. And you're Jim?

[overemotionally]

[Ah, Jim can tell that he's blind within a couple of seconds of seeing his eye movements. Shame, then. Means he's gotta work a little harder than usual without his looks as a factor.

He takes his drink, not immediately taking a sip.]

Yeah. Interesting place you got here.

[There's some amusement in his voice.]

[burningbothends]

So I've been told.

[Roy says, very, very dryly.]

The music is certainly something.

[komarran]

[ It's rather early in the day for most people to be at the bar, but Duv's finished at the Heropa library and eaten while walking at a fast pace through the city. His latest batch of history books are safely tucked away in the bag slung over his shoulder and he's adjusting the strap when he notices the bar.

A drink and a break from lugging his materials around is tempting enough that he's heading inside. The idea of paper materials had been novel at first, but they were quickly becoming a larger burden than anticipated. It's early enough in the day that he doesn't feel bad for taking a seat at the bar and is already pulling out a book and his notepad to work with before he has a drink ordered.

It's certainly a colorful atmosphere inside, but he's hardly paying attention to it as he tries to catch a bartender's attention. ]

A cider, please. Anything you have on tap is fine.

[burningbothends]

[Il Fiamme's only been open a bare ten minutes. Roy was so utterly not expecting anyone to come in, he actually jumps a bit when he's addressed. But it only takes him a moment to place the voice.]

Captain?

[komarran]

[ That voice is familiar and he immediately snaps to attention to find the source. ]

Colonel. I didn't realize you worked here.

4/25, Evening

[darwinatrix]

[Is that a hurricane blowing through the bar doors? No, it's just a tall blonde woman in a blue military uniform. Still, it does seem like the temperature drops a few degrees when she enters.

She takes a seat at the bar. The burly man sitting next to her glances over and then scoots a few inches away from her.

Olivier Armstrong fixes the man behind the bar with ice-blue eyes.] Mustang. Whiskey.

[burningbothends]

[The Major General is truly a woman who needs know introduction. By the time she's settled, he hardly needs to hear her voice to confirm it's her.]

Major General, of course. But we should move upstairs first.

[darwinatrix]

After the first round, Mustang. Unless you've got a bar upstairs.

[She folds her hands on the countertop.] Whiskey, like I told you. Neat.

4/27

[burningbothends]

[Wednesday is a slow night for Il Fiamme, which means down time for Roy's fellow bartender to drill him in complicated cocktails. When Aral walks in, Julian is calling out a list of liquors, leaning back against the bar as he watches Roy pluck them off the shelves and pour them out. Roy's technique is obviously much improved; he's quicker and he doesn't need to hold the glass to gauge how much he's pouring. Still wearing the incongruously floral gloves.

When Julian spots Aral he pushes off the bar to speak to Roy. Too low for Aral to hear but the way Roy straightens up and tilts his ear probably means Julian was just letting him know Aral was here.]

Admiral, good evening.

[use_everything]

[The chair scrapes back, creaking as the man settles himself. The raspy baritone has an edge of familiarity to it today.]

Colonel. I trust I'm not interrupting.

[burningbothends]

No, you have good timing.

[He taps the rim of the glass.]

Care to try? You technically still have a couple of drinks to your name.