2007-04-06: Expert Recommendation

Starring:

Seamus_icon.gif Eliana_icon.gif

Summary: Eliana and Seamus each go to the same store for "groceries," and the latter gives some advice to the former.

Date It Happened: April 6, 2007

Expert Recommendation


At Your Convenience, somewhere in New York City

When someone goes to a convenience store after noon on a Sunday, there could be several reasons behind it. Eliana's picking up a large bottle of Tylenol PM. It may be a fashion statement, or it may be because she only ran her hands through her pink-hair, but Eliana looks rather mussed. At least she smells freshly showered, and her t-shirt and jacket aren't wrinkled. With the medicine in hand, the young woman slowly walks through the small, hole-in-the-wall store, and lingers at the entrance to the liquor aisle. Hrm.

The store's other obvious occupant, at the least, doesn't leave much to guess in why he's there: basket containing hot dogs and Easy Cheese among other things in one hand, the other running across the price stickers tacked on one of the shelves, Seamus O'Malley currently occupies the very aisle Eliana happens to be staring down. His hair is sticking up in all manner of unusual directions, and, unlike Eliana, he looks as though he could very well have slept in his faded blue jeans and maroon t-shirt. Hopefully he didn't wear his grease-stained boots to bed.

It's not Seamus that prompts Eliana's decision to venture down the Aisle of Ambrosia, but the treasures it holds. But she does end up standing not far from Seamus, as it's the whiskey that has attracted her. As she surveys the bottles, determining that she got much better stuff from Jack and/or Lachlan, Eliana frowns. Damned Celts. She peers a bottle of bourbon. Wild Turkey, specifically. "What's the difference, anyway?" she mutters, half to herself. Whiskey. Bourbon. This is something she /should/ know.

"Bourbon's a type o' whiskey." Whether she was expecting an answer or not, it seems Eliana is going to get one. Blue-green eyes tick her way, and Seamus offers a bright grin from his place a few feet down the aisle. Looks like he at least brushed his teeth this morning. "Bourbon's made inna U.S., annit's named fer someplace'n… K'ntucky, I think." Long, thick fingers dance down one of the shelves for a moment, as though tapping out a (poor) tune on a piano, and then that hand darts forward to snag a particular bottle off the shelf. "Whiskey, onna other 'and, s'made all over th'place. Y'kin get some good'ns from J'pan, even." At this point, the Irishman turns, walking a few casual steps toward the pink haired woman, grin still lighting his face. "S'more, Scotch whisky's spelled wi'ou' th' E - mos've it is. 'F it's go' an E innit, s'either from America — " Here, Seamus pauses to give the woman just a hint of scrutiny, and then turns the bottle in his hand to hold it out low for her inspection. " — Or from Irelan', where th' bes'v th' whiskey come from." Who says you need to finish school to be educated?

Shit. He's Irish. What the hell?! Eliana balks a bit when she's talked to, and the accent has much more to do with it than the words Seamus says. Much more. Still, Eliana listens and peers at the presented bottle. She then lifts her eyes to the man noting his mussed hair. A smirk finds her lips. "Well, if we have the same taste in hair jelly," oh, stupid jokes…but Eliana nods to the bottle again. "This is your recommendation?"

Ehee. Seamus /likes/ stupid jokes — as is probably obvious when his grin spreads even wider. His eyes take a quick dart up, as though he can really inspect his hair from that angle, and his expression takes on a slightly sheepish quality. Complete with light pink flush. "Well, t'be fair — y'wear i' a lo' better'n I do." Plus, Eliana's hair is pink. That's just /neat/. The natural redhead lifts the bottle a bit more. "An' it is. Leas' s'far as wha' y'kin get in 'ere."

It's a nice grin, but Eliana has to stop herself from musing on that fact for too long. He's Irish. He's trouble. Take the whiskey, pay, and go. Still, Eliana smiles back, but since the bottle is not really in her reach, she doesn't move to take it from Seamus, but looks away, a slight blush in her cheeks, to the shelf where he grabbed it. "Well, I'm here," she says, that horrible gas clinging to her skin. "So I think, based on your excellent taste, it'll be what goes home with me."

Seamus probably is what a lot of people would consider "trouble," but that has nothing to do with the fact that he's Irish. No, seriously. "Y'are 'ere," he agrees, grin never faltering, and takes a couple more steps toward the girl. I won't bite~ "An' I think this /partic'lar/ bottle's go' a good color to i', so." The Irishman, all charm and bullshit, takes one final step, putting him within arm's reach of Eliana, and holds out the whiskey again. "I've go' ta insis' tha' you take this'n."

Eliana 's eyebrows lift as she turns to look at Seamus again, and then the bottle. "Well, if you /insist,/" she says with a nervous sort of shrug before she takes the bottle, her blush darkening as the gas extends outward. A lack of immediate control means it extends a good six inches from Eliana's exposed skin, and she bites her lip. She can feel her heart speeding up, and it's the last thing she wants it to do.

Seamus is only lucky he's a gentleman. When Eliana takes the bottle, Seamus does no more than grin a bit wider, his now-empty hand dropping back to tuck itself into his back pocket. He actually looks the tiniest bit sheepish still, and averts his eyes for a moment from Eli's blush. Nah, it's alright; he doesn't see a thing. Not a thing. Heh. Though when his eyes drop, they /do/ see the bottle of Tylenol in the girl's other hand, and he quirks an eyebrow before lifting them again. "Jus' make sure y'don' use /those/ two bottles fer a mixer," he teases, taking a step back and returning glance and hand to the shelves of liquor. "Hate ta think a pretty thing like you'd go'n poke 'oles in 'er liver."

Eliana had almost forgotten about the Tylenol, but when Seamus makes his remark, she looks to the other bottle in her hand. Oh. "No, I won't be," she says with a soft chuckle. "But with enough good whiskey comes a good headache, yeah?" His compliment doesn't go unheard, but part of Eliana's smile is the calm that comes with the success of calming her heart rate. Whew.

"Eh, wi' /really/ good whiskey, y'kin usually trus' it ta conk you out through th'angover." Again, the mechanic casts a grin toward Eliana, and, after careful consideration, he plucks a bottle of the same brand from the shelf and tucks it into his basket. "Tha' is, if you drink it righ'." Grin grin. The free hand lifts again, ruffling through the hair at the back of his head — which only makes his out-of-bed hairdo more pronounced — before opening in a half-wave. "I' was nice meetin' you," he adds, backing languidly toward the far end of the aisle. At least Seamus is polite.

"Heh," Eliana chuckles weakly before she looks up again, nodding at Seamus' wave since her hands are full. "You too," she says. If it can be called meeting. But yes, it was still nice. Eliana lingers in the aisle a bit before she starts to walk toward the other end, but she looks back to peer at the Irishman as she does so. A quick mental slap in the face sets her aright. No, Eliana. Bad. Ugh!

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