11; checking up on you. (private messages for Zev and Buffy, and spam for the pub.)

[hungryanhorny]

 [Private to Zev]

You holding up alright?

[Private to Buffy] You need another spar, B?


[Spam for the pub]

[Faith's decided she needs a break from her cabin, and it's bouncing puppy; so she's got him leashed up behind the bar, while she works on drinks; ignore the occasional yips, would you? Puppies are hard to keep quiet.]

Comments

[Spam?]

[hungryanhorny]

[Hey, don't get her wrong - it's fine so far as flying ships go; better than the prison she went to by far.

She's working on some new drinks when the girl gets there, though - all those alien alcohols? She's got nothing to do but mix them up.]

[Spam?]

[love_slave]

[She slips onto a stool at the bar, legs crossed delicately as she looks at the arrangements of bottles.] What do you recommend?

[Spam?]

[hungryanhorny]

Depends on how drunk you want it. [Faith's slayer metabolism and natural tolerance means most of her drinks could knock a bull on its back.]

[Spam?]

[love_slave]

I'm willing to try anything. [She has a very unfortunate history with getting drunk, too. But no one is going to drug and torture her right now! ...Probably. But it's not like she has the key to the Lexx or anything.]

[Spam?]

[hungryanhorny]

Sure about that? [Faith wouldn't let them anyway.

For now, she's pouring her specialty - ramulan ale cut with coke, and mixed with lemon and ice cream. Guaranteed to sneak up on just about anyone, before knocking them on their ass.]