maskormenacelogs | The Grand Opening of Merlotte's Bar & Grill

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The Grand Opening of Merlotte's Bar & Grill

WHO: Sam Merlotte and hopefully a whole mess of imPorts!
WHERE: Merlotte's Bar & Grill, De Chima
WHEN: Mid-December
WHAT: After much anticipation, some contracting woes, a failed election bid and one super sweet cash infusion, Merlotte's is ready to have its opening night. Let's mingle, y'all.
WARNINGS: n/a

[the only upside to losing an election was more time to focus on getting his bar ready and opened. Time it turned out he needed, as contractor setbacks and a wrong food order pushed the opening day back a few precious weeks. But tonight's the night - the bar is stocked, wood polished, lights lit, and Sam himself is cleaned-up in a nice shirt and jeans, ready to greet what he hopes is a good and hungry crowd. He's impressed himself with how good the place looks, a testament to what one can do with the backing of a generous investor.

The menu is Southern comfort pub food, with a smattering of Louisiana-particular dishes intended to excite: boudin and rice for one, shrimp gumbo for another, and beignets just for this month. Who doesn't love pastries around the holidays? The bar, the restaurant's obvious main feature, is wide and well-stocked, with De Chima Vineyards the house wine of choice, five local drafts on tap, and a wall of shining liquor bottles. A large chalk board proudly proclaims the shot special of the evening:

A Chill Ton
– 1/2 oz. Goldschlager
– 1/2 oz. Baileys
– 1 splash of Bacardi 151
– a cinnamon rim, ignited with a match

"Sure to fire up its drinkers and leave them with a headache, this blow-hard shot goes down like a bitch."
Everyone walking through the doors will get to enjoy special discounted prices this evening, and imPorts in particular get one free drink. The pool table and dart board in the corner are sure to see some use, a DJ rented for the evening has set up karaoke for the more adventurous, and those looking to enjoy a quieter night can enjoy the fire pits crackling away on the patio. Sam himself will be found chatting up everyone he can, at times helping to serve drinks and run food, but otherwise eager to mingle and get feedback from his guests. This has been a long-time coming, and he finally both looks and feels like he's in his element.]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[Will looked over, the somewhat furrier version of Sam in this bar, flecks of charred cinnamon stuck to the hairs above his lip. Those lips that had lied, now coated in Chill Ton residue. Horrible when one considered the full cannibalistic ramifications. More sinnamon than cinnamon.

Will looks from Chilton to what's left of his last Chill Ton and then back, inwardly thankful that there isn't another coming. As far as he knows anyway. He hasn't asked for another. Has he? Frick.]

Uh. [How eloquent.] I could handle another. You had one yet?

[As clear an invitation as anything more direct. Sharkbait, ever the pup of Jeff, wastes no time in parking himself close enough to overhear their conversation and possibly drool on Chilton's shoe if called for.]

How could I not? Sam was practically shoving them down my throat.

[By way of drawing Chilton's attention to them, of course. Chilton wore infamy like a crown.]

They are... Typical of what I would expect from the man.

[A crown that men shall tremble to behold.]

Typical. [Flatly parroted, void of any tone.] You two spend a lot of time together?

[A new Chill Ton appears. Apparently he had asked for another. Frick. The bar is busy, however, and since Will looks like Sam and has been doing so well so far, rather than lighting it for him, a book of matches is left with the drink. He hears the initial sound of glass on wood, then the quieter noise of paper goods on wood. He ignores it until he's sure it's just the three of them (Sharkbait counts!) and then he looks at it from the corner of his eye like that will be enough cue and the intruder will toddle off, but no such thing happens.

He chews on his bottom lip instead of sighing.]

That best not have been a lewdly intended joke, Will.

[Needles too say, Chilton had gotten enough of the ship upon those troubled waters from Sam's other patrons -- and the fandom itself, naturally. The curve of his frown spoke of many hours spent flummoxed by that heated pressure.]

Surprising that you came without your wife.

[A soft inhale, barely perceptibly evident, filled Chilton's lungs. He did not call April by her name.]

But I thought I saw Dorian.

[Or what? he thinks, only thinks, words too petulant even in his head. His face perhaps gives away that he's thinking something bratty, though, even if only enough that someone who knows him can tell. He reaches for the glass of water instead of Chilton's special flaming drink. Maybe he can drink without it being lit. Yes. Perhaps Chilton would not object.

Your wife. Ugh. He stares at Chilton, flat and unimpressed, takes a swig and sets the water back down without changing expression at all.]

You did. He shows up to big events. Lotta attention. [Finally, life floods through him again, and he leans forward so he can lower his voice:] Dorian and I didn't come together, if that's what you're implying.

[Chilton certainly picked up on the subtle indications of petulance, and graciously granted Will a weird look in return; wrinkled up nose, pinched lips, and a furrowed brow. Something had soured Will's day, perhaps more than usual, but Chilton surely did not know what it was.]

Is this a big event? [Inquired the doctor, his tone intentionally acidic knowing that Sam was out of earshot. Easy to adopt the vulpine role between two hounds.] Seems a little out of Gray's step. Not enough glitter.

[Weird look absorbed and returned at the question, though Will's raised eyebrows and pinched lips were reserved for the building, not Chilton. He gave it a thorough once over as if he really needed another glimpse of the layout to draw the proper conclusion.]

It is an imPort business. There's draw in that. [But the only glitter seems to be on some of the waitstaff, in some of the makeup worn by customers. Alas. Dorian shall have to make due elsewhere.] Tried any of the gumbo yet?

[But then it's his turn for a furrowed brow, question on display yet not asked. Had Chilton ever had the dish before? Had he partaken in some overly expensive restaurant and considered that enough? Could his sensitive tumtum even handle seafood? He'd been thinking about Chilton before; now this was just getting extremely specific and all the more miserable for it.]

I do not plan to do so, no.

[Cold and callous in his delivery; Chilton was explicit in his rejection of Sam's brand of Southern. The genteel Virginian drawl he mimicked to absorption was purely for the aesthetic, and that veneer had been bred from a different class altogether.]

No beet salad on the menu, apparently.

[Ha, ha.]

I was curious to witness this sink-or-swim moment.

[Chilton offered his own reasoning for his presence there, even if he hadn't been explicitly asked it. That was all too often how he worked.]

Shame. It's delicious. Reminds me of childhood.

[For all its ups and downs, goods and bads. Curiously enough, he doesn't say home. Childhood is a bit of a buzzword, for sure, but home? For Will Graham? For any of them so displaced? Screams louder than it would otherwise, he figures.

Ever so rudely, Will placed an elbow on the counter. Hannibal Lecter would be eying such poor behavior and weighing his love of Will against the level of rudeness displayed. But this casual move, followed by more or less putting his chin in his hand, was not a grand challenge of rudeness. Quite the opposite. This was the way friends spoke to each other, caring not for pretenses and nonsense rules and class. If Chilton was going to give out morsels of details, then by God, the least Will could do was radiate he was a man starving for more than scraps.

Will hadn't even visited Chilton in the hospital after the initial questioning. He could stand to show more interest.]

You want this moment to sink, not swim. Why's that?

[gossip at him plz & thnx]

Maybe you will have to serve me some, one day.

[Something of a saucy remark, especially Chilton's emphasis on serve rather than cook. They both knew Will had the talents of any self-sufficient individual, he could damn well cook. But more to the point: Chilton took that bait of tasting Will's childhood. Nothing could be more psychologically cannibalistic, even in its quasi-literal state of mind.

(Will had said reminds, but Chilton heard tastes. That perhaps speaks more about the good doctor than anyone else.)]

Mr. Merlotte and I are not close. You know how I am. [He glanced over at Will.] Concerning those with whom I am not close.

[Serve him. Serve. A taste of childhood on a silver platter served by the trainwreck adult.

Will blinks. That sure is some loaded phrasing there. But then he smiles, a well-balanced mix of pleasant and cutting most familiar in circles of fanged creatures. Like everyone who still manages to stay alive in Baltimore.]

Rude?

[A one word death sentence hanging in the air, without any of the gravity reserved for it as being just that. Gallows humor delivered as just what it is, meaning he follows up with a mumbled correction:]

Rude-r.

[No judgment here; Will's much the same way. (Don't tell April or Raina.)]

It was a rhetorical implication, you did not really need to answer.

[Said Chilton, his usual haughty disposition arcing low for an exasperated slump of his shoulders. Despite Will's neutral and honest intent, Chilton interpreted it as moralizing -- a distasteful thing, at least in his professional opinion.]

Anyway, I have an interest in Sam's mental health. If his darling pet project fails terribly, I must be here to pick up the pieces.

[And if clean up crew was committed in a gleeful way, well, then so be it. Chilton was still willing to help -- but he insisted on doing it his way.]

[Will took in a deep breath—was that a scold? Something like it, anyway, perhaps—but otherwise didn't react, growing too full on home cooking and crispy Chilton drinks the longer he sat there. That smile was wiped away with a quick swipe of his tongue.]

I like Sam. [Slowly said, as if he had to taste the words he was using. No threat to them, just statement. A little airy, dream-like, but not inappropriately so.] What has you so interested in his mental health?

[Should he have some concern here or be supportive? Chilton had plenty of patients he had genuinely helped along with his little collection of...the opposite. Abel Gideon. Walter White. He wouldn't have kept his job as long as he had if he wasn't capable of helping people and even after having had a horrible holiday season last time around Will Graham could admit and acknowledge that. Good to know, too, in case questions about Chilton came out after one of his runs with Sam.]

Of course you like Sam. He's practically your perfect mirror, if you ignore the codependency issues-- actually, no, he is practically your perfect mirror. You even have the same taste in plaid.

[With a brush of his fingers, Chilton waved off the question that followed.]

I cannot tell you. Doctor-patient confidentiality.

[Which was telling in its own way.]

[Is that an insult? The same taste in plaid, that sounds like an insult. Everyone's always so snooty about plaid. Like its existence somehow negates "good" fashion, like every time a piece of plaid anything is made, something by an overly praised and overly expensive designer just vanishes.

Anything potentially insulting is not registered as such. Sharkbait comes around to sit, bold as day, at Chilton's feet, looking up at the man expectantly. Treats? A scratch at the ears? Or just the chance to sniff his shoes? Whichever he gets, he'll take.]

It's not because he's practically my perfect mirror without all the baggage from Baltimore lingering in any room we're in like an invisible, oppressive fog?

[His voice carries a nearly amused lilt; there is more pinch than real barb in Will's stated conclusion, more good nature than bad. Perhaps all those liquored up Chiltons are finally giving him the warm fuzzies.]

[Chilton glanced down at Sharkbait, and held the stare as he continued to speak to Will.]

All the baggage from Baltimore -- why, Will, I really hope you are not referring to me.

[He was only halfway kidding. Convinced now that the dog wouldn't slobber over his Italian leather oxfords, Chilton resumed his critical stare at his longest friend and sometimes ally.]

Or are we discussing the implication of He Who Must Not Be Named?

[Chilton did not in fact mean Voldemort.]

Implication.

[Will laughs, brief and a little bitter, but otherwise genuine. Normal. Here they sit, both bearing wounds carved on them by He Who Must Not Be Named—Will's at a closer range, but nonetheless scars they would not have otherwise, and yet it's implication Chilton says, avoiding the name of their mutual...friend.

Will grabs the nearby, new A Chill Ton, laugh dying as he strikes up the match without any hesitation. As he sets that cinnamon rim on fire. As he participates quite actively this time around. He watches the whole time, too; it might be more unsettling that if he didn't. Then he points to the drink.]

What implication will you take from me drinking this in front of you?

[Other men could easily jump to sexual, but with Baltimore, it would always be much more personal, wouldn't it? Brutal and terrifying when it really had no right to be.

Sharkbait's stare has not wavered. Everything is intense.]

It is a bit cannibalistic. Symbolically.

[Delivered dryly, drier than the martini he was bound to order. It was always a bit cannibalistic with Will, wasn't it? An inescapable fact; they had both been unwilling participants in cannibalism (Chilton remembered his private dinner parties with Hannibal to have been numerous enough). But that reality was all in the past now.

Wasn't it?

Chilton eyed Will again. He could only confirm for one of them that it was certainly in the past; Chilton could only speak for himself.]

Which makes me wonder why you keep drinking them down.

[A bit cannibalistic. Just a bit. Hmm. Will considers the potential replies—that it's polite, that it's the shot of the evening, implications that Chilton should be enjoying his night as center of attention. Even if it's in a bit of a cannibalistic manner. Symbolically. He considers drinking it down anyway. In one big gulp like he's dying of thirst or just incapable of anything else.

And then, after a few seconds of silence, he pushes the drink forward with lazy fingers, right at Chilton himself, stopping just where his own drink should rest. The implication screams. This is his. Go ahead and drink of your own flesh and blood; this do in remembrance of yourself.

Chilton had said that Sam was shoving them at him, and if Will is truly his perfect mirror...go drink yourself, Frederick.]

[He wasn't sure what Will was doing, not at first. And to be fair, that ran true to their nature -- but Chilton caught on quickly enough, and pulled tightly together his lips, wrinkled his nose, as he looked over them at his company.

With great trepidation, he took the drink from Will.]

Maybe I will just protect it from you.

[He meant it as a joke. At least -- partially.]

[His smile is slow but eventually full, and natural, like he's a regular guy. Like he smiles in private with his wife. With his dogs. Certainly not something he wears often; an intimate, and therefore vulnerable side, but one that smiles and looks as Frederick Chilton as a friend nonetheless.]

You want my keys, too?

[Partial joke for partial joke. D'aw.]

Car keys? Or are we getting a bit raunchy?

[Easier to land an innuendo than slip into the comfort zone of their grayscale camaraderie. It seemed to Chilton that he and Will best commiserated with the other when something traumatic was afoot.]

Whatever would April say?

[If Chilton looks down, he will see that the dog now laying between he and Will is undoubtedly smiling. Tongue out, lips parted. The dog is pleased and, apparently, familiar with this sort of chat. His favorite in the house is Jeff Winger; of course Sharkbait approves of innuendo.]

That we need to get it on film. [Landed with ease and returned just the same, Will's raised eyebrows and the way his cheeks sucked as a sign he was biting back a smile the only signs he understood the joke at play.] Share it with Raina so she doesn't feel neglected.

[Then, changing his voice so it sounds far more April than it has any right to:]

Use Jeff's room. This is payback for all the salads.

So the concept already has your wife's approval.

[He delivered it in with deadpan eloquence, knowing that he shouldn't have been surprised by the imitation. Of course April would approval; she had an uncanny knack for turning situations to her benefit. Opportunistic implied a little more intent that Chilton was willing to give her -- perhaps circumstantial manipulation. The salary of eternally playing devil's advocate.

And here was her dashing little devil, seated right next to Chilton.]

Well. The woman has always been in your corner, hasn't she?

[He seems to think this over for a moment, lazy smile giving away he doesn't really need to. As if the ring on his finger didn't give it away.]

Think you're right. Even before we... [Dated? Became a thing? Got married? Whichever works.] We're in each other's corners. Like you and Raina.

[He leans forward, pausing long enough Chilton can wonder or worry what's about to come next. If there's some low key pressure about putting rings on things Frederick Chilton likes before they put him in a box to the left about to hit the air. Just because it seems to be the thing to do now...]

She came by the shop. Asked about a koi pond. Some other stuff, too. [Chilton can Guess. Unless he's been told, which Will wouldn't be surprised by. Couples communicated. He's not gossiping here or trying to get Raina ~in trouble~ in case she never passed along their afternoon.] Came away with this feeling if I so much as touch you in a way that seems threatening, that's it.

[A wiggle of fingers. Poof. That's it, done. Raina would come soaring out of Frederick Chilton's corner like a mythical creature and rain hell down upon him, and he'd deserve it. So it would never happen, of course — unless the Porter intervened. A clash of dashing little devils over the safety of Chilton, had he ever imagined such a thing?]

The Grand Opening of Merlotte's Bar & Grill

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