2007-05-19: Drinking's Good for You


Trina_icon.gif Darwin_icon.gif

Summary: A slow day at the Della Rosa offers Darwin the opportunity to try something new.

Date It Happened: May 19, 2007

Drinking's Good For You (or: How I Came to Love the Boilermaker)

Della Rosa — Lower East Side

The later part of the afternoon in the Della Rosa on the Lower East Side is slow, not yet having hit that glorious Happy Hour rush. That leaves Trina leaning against the doorless passage to the kitchen in the back with her hands shoved deeply into the pockets of her tight black capris, chatting idly with the unseen cook about cars, boxing, and other such masculine interests in her fairly girly black knit camisole top with its red lace trim. Her dark hair hangs loosely against her back as she leans her head against the door jam, arms crossed under her breasts.

Well-used tables with worn black finishes dot the middle of the large room, matched with similarly finished chairs of the same condition. To the left of the front door, the bar stands to greet incoming customers with its scratched and aged dark wood finish. At least it's clean. The oak floor — with its finish long since walked and scraped away — cannot boast so much, having not been mopped since the lunchtime drinkers came in for their daily dose of sanity. It's alright, 'though. People's feet at least won't be sticking to it.

Darwin isn't exactly sure why he's here. Well, he is: a promise to meet a friend at a bar isn't something that he can just stand up, even though it's looking like he himself is being stood up at this point. The writer is seated in his wheelchair at an empty table, mindlessly crushing and munching on peanuts while he inspects the bar he's found himself in. It's sort of… dingy. Not the kind of place he generally attends. He looks horribly out of place in his loose, slate blue silk shirt and gleaming chair, but he doesn't really seem to mind it. The glass that formerly held his beer is now empty, something he suddenly decides to rectify.

Darwin leans forward to pluck it up and then wheels himself backwards after brushing a few bits of peanut shell off of his sleeve, then starts looking about for someone who actually works here. It takes him very little time to spot Trina, and he's made sure that he's far back enough to be seen. "Could I get another drink, please?" He's a good tipper. Hopefully that will encourage speediness.

The sound of a voice calling her is enough to quickly prompt Trina off of the door and toward the customer. "Sure thing," she replies amiably enough as her hand sweeps out to reclaim the smooth, thick-walled glass from him. "Sorry about that. I get to talking about a good car race, and it's like time just seems to go 'poof'." As she goes about rinsing the glass in order to put it on the to-be-cleaned rack beneath the counter, her head twists and she offers a bright smile. "Just 'nother beer, or are you lookin' for somethin' stronger?"

Well, this woman seems friendly. Darwin smiles back at Trina, swiveling his wheelchair a little so he can easily keep his eyes on her. "No problem, I'm in no real rush - and I'll have whatever you think is good. I'm not the driving type, so something strong might be in order." It's nice to be in a bar when there aren't a lot of people. Talking one-on-one is a Good Thing, or so he's been told. "My name's Sam, by the way. You work here often?" Small talk. He's not good at it.

"For the next couple'a weeks, anyway. Fifty fun-filled hours, all served up five days a week." Energetically thrusting out her slender hand, the dark haired woman's smile never dims. Meeting new friends, after all, is a great way to cover up for only average skills behind the bar. "'Name's Trina. Pleasure to meetcha." Then she leans in, grin growing almost mischievous. "You a fan of boilermakers?"

ALERT, ALERT, we have uncharted territory ahead! Darwin just looks blank when the phrase 'boilermakers' is uttered, though he leans forward to take Trina's hand for a loosely-gripped shake. "I'm not quite certain what a boilermaker is. Those also sound like some pretty rough hours to deal with. Getting through college?" She looks about the right age to be pursuing a higher education, after all.

"Gettin' through livin'," Trina replies. And then… she laughs. "And if you haven't had a boilermaker at least once, then you haven't lived." Turning around, she goes to pulling out another pub glass and then filling it with dark Guiness stout. Her teeth gleam in the golden yellow light that chances from those track lights illuminating the glass shelving behind the bar, the woman's face probably best not seen as her grin goes from 'mischievous' to downright devious when Darwin can's see her. She does a cute little bend backwards as she pulls the stuff carefully monitoring it as it fills the glass. "How are your chugging skills?"

Chugging skills, what? The writer leans back in his chair, propping his chin up on a raised fist after his elbow comes to rest on one of the chair's arms. He looks less than convinced that this is a wise idea, but - well. Why not indulge for a single day? The nagging sensation that it's way too early in the day to be drinking is shoved to the back of Darwin's mind, and he just lets a little smile quirk itself up at the corners of his mouth. "I wouldn't say they're practiced, but they're not terrible." His eyes stay riveted to Trina's form as she measures out the drink. He can't help but be reminded of the stereotypical mad scientist.

Oh, if ever there was a way to make Trina's afternoon at work, 'twould seem Darwin's found his way to it. Licking her lips as she straightens up in order to help tone down the otherwise downright maniacal look that is threaten to take hold over her features, the young woman then turns around. "Here's part one," she declares, setting the glass atop a white cocktail napkin. Then her finger comes up, bidding her hapless victim wait. "Now for the fun part." Reaching down the bar towards her rail arsenal while simultaneously grabbing a pair of small shot glasses, Trina plucks out the bottle of whiskey and meters out one full. In (almost) the blink of an eye, that is set beside the pub glass. Planting both hands backwards on the bar so she can offer that shining grin of sheer EVIL towards Darwin with a generous flash of cleavage, the bartender explains. "Now, the rules." Holding up her empty shot glass demonstratively, she hovers it over the glass of stout. "You're gonna take that lovely shot you have and drop it in. The trick? Once it hits the bottom, it's gonna start foamin' like a rabid bitch. So you better start to the drinkin', or you're gonna have yourself one Hell of a mess." Biting her lip, Trina then lowers her empty glass and offers a waggle of her eyebrows to egg him on. "Y'up to the job?"

Darwin is only human. He can't help but be distracted from the drinks by the sudden appearance of flesh in front of him, but he pulls his gaze away from Trina's chest with admirable swiftness. The description of the drink causes a slight knitting of the writer's brow, and he reaches forward to wrap a hand around the base of the beer glass. "I suppose I can give it a try and send the cleaning bill to you if this ends in disaster." He's joking about that part! Darwin pays his own bills. After dragging the larger glass back towards himself he plucks up the shot with his free hand. There are a few moments of hesitation before he decides that he can't live forever, and drops it in.
Clink. FZZZ. Carbonation makes its move, and proceeds to fizzle its way into Darwin's beard by the time he gets it to his mouth and starts to drink, tipping his head back swiftly while his throat twitches along with the speedy gulping. He's only a /little/ attacked by suds.

As the depth charge makes its way to the bottom of the pub glass, Trina is quick to lower herself to the counter and start pounding upon it with her open palm. "Go! Go! Go!" she cheers encouraging, giddy as a virgin in a West Virginia strip bar. Naturally, her antics are gathering some of the attentions of two flannel-clad patrons at a table elsewhere in the bar, and they are very quick to chime in, feet stomping against the floor as they laugh. They've been here since eleven, after all, and are quite merry to start with by their own merit.

Aaaand Darwin gets whacked in the lip by the previously-submerged shot glass. Still, he manages to finish the thing off despite a bright flush that works its way into his ears to tip off a bit of selfconsciousness. He keeps his head tilted back as he pulls the bar glass away, the shot held onto by its lower rim between his lips. Both glasses are thunked back down onto the bartop a moment later, and Darwin immediately reaches for a napkin. He's sudsy. "That was.. interesting." And also somewhat scary.

By the end, Trina's all laughter. "You're such a good sport," she finally allows, moving forward to playfully mock-punch the guy in the side of the arm. He doesn't belong here, but — to her — that only means she has to try all the harder to make sure he doesn't feel that way. "And now you can't ever say you don't know what it is again. Experiencin' stuff is one of the great parts of livin', right?"

"So they tell me," Darwin admits with a grin. Hey, punching means friendliness, right? He wipes off his face and dabs a little at some of the stray trickles that have made their way onto the collar of his shirt, all the while continuing to eye Trina. He's interrupted by the sudden buzzing of a ringtone, and he spends a minute fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. "Hm. I hate to drink and run, but - well, it looks like my friend has decided showing up to the right place is a bad idea." Odds are good that Darwin will be back, dive or not. The staff is outgoing! "Thanks for the drink and the experience." He slides a ten across the bar to Trina and smiles.

"Sorry to hear 'bout your friend," Trina confessess with a sideways tilt of her head, sun-kissed dark hair spilling over one mostly bare shoulder even as she moves to snag the bill with the opposite hand. "But hope to see ya' back soon. I always love to see a 'sport." The last is punctuated with a snap of the bill in her hands before finally turning back towards the till to settle the man's bill. Goodness, nothing beats a good laugh. S'gonna make the rest of the night easier.

Unless otherwise stated, the content of this page is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 License