He knew his drinks intimately. Well, the cheap ones, at least. Looking at them, and every now and then smelling them were the joys of his new occupation. Oh, yes, they all had the most distinctive scents, some lovely and some coarse, but all worth spending the night with in a tight embrace. Better not to go down that train of thought, however. It was making him thirsty.
The best part of his job was, he got to mix them. A man just a little less stoic would have grinned at the goblin's unspecific request. He had had ruder clients, he supposed, but wasn't that damning him with low praise? "Gotcha. Coming right up."
Rum was quite flammable, now wasn't it? Sorta harsh going down though. For that extra smoothness, just a little pineapple juice and almond liquor went a long way. And he wasn't without aesthetic sense: an actual pineapple had a way of making your liver poison appear deceptively charming.
"There you go, Mai Tai on the house. Wouldn't down this one in one go, though. That's a lie, actually, I definitely would. But I'm not supposed to encourage clients to follow my example." He was tempted to ask the man for his driver's license, just for shits and giggles, but his common sense won out.
"Crimson has been nowhere to be found for a while now. They used to own a bar, less fancy than this joint, if you get my drift. But there's only one of them left these days. Until today, anyway," he hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he should give out information just like that. But political machinations wore on him, and he figured everyone would discover the state of the Freehold soon enough, if Cosette hadn't told them already.
He looked around, wondering whether anyone else would be approaching the bar.
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