bar blues [jacques]

@"Jacques"

However did the day turn out so badly?

Well, it wasn't horrid by any definition. Nobody he knew well had died and nothing had burned down. But the weather was quite warm when Pasha preferred below freezing, and a gaggle of people had come in just as he opened, just to leave the place a mess when they left.

Okay, so not quite so bad. Just minor inconvenience that he'd prefer not to have.

So Pasha spent the majority of it cleaning up, thankful for the quiet that afforded him to go at a leisurely pace until the later evening hours rolled around and he was left spinning glass cups. The bottles in the back had been packaged and settled, the boxes had been taken out, deliveries had been made and, if he wanted to, he could close up early.

Of course, that needed to be quickly broken by the squealing of that old, rusty metal door coming open and closed. He sighed.

"Добро пожаловать в зимний ден." Came his usual greeting, barely bothering to glance up until a moment later.

@"Jacques"

A raccoon stepped into the bar.

Not a literal raccoon, but he may as well have been. Pasha knew there were some downright strange people and things wandering around the island, but this one took the cake so far. A goddamn anthropomorphic raccoon. He almost sighed, wondering why in the world he'd decided to stay here for a while instead of somewhere a little quieter.

Well, he had the language going for him. At least the thing could speak Russian. He decided not to comment on anything else.

Instead, he gestured vaguely to the wall behind him, filled with bottles upon bottles of liquids. "These are what I have." He spoke in Russian, his voice rough as it tended to be. Too many punches to the throat, too much scar tissue.