He sat down unbuckling his gear and sat it gently aside on the empty stool. He smiled softly as the bartender he knew from long ago offer his drink he had ordered so long, long ago.
Fisherman's Fog; for which the brew is named for a dark murky liquid which folds over itself. Just as you thought the glass was dark it gets even darker. Brandy, Rum, Liquor Creme and a small trace of Salted Sugar is executed into the glass.
The bartender stirred in a smooth oval glass: Brandy from Nomme, Dark Lispean Rum, Salt from the salt mines of Midgar, and set it in front of the elf and offered his choice of "murk" in two bottles. He grinned always knowing which one the elf would choose. Rhy'Din had a liquor creme quite suitable to be in the "Fog" as did Avalon which both proved equal in becoming murky when poured into a glass. To suffice the palates of many would opt for the Rhy'Din. Then again many did not order this drink. It was for old folks and the thankless bastards who worked a harder life at seas than many would guess. Fishermen the first pioneers of the seas. It was to them this drink was named, it helped him feel numb and lost when he wanted to feel that way.
"I have it here Richard". Cinder nodded as the bartender took both bottles away and the elf procured his own in a small flask, he poured a small amount into the glass. It swirled and enveloped the brownish red colour of the brandy and rum till it turn cloudy.
"It's been a while Cinder, I guess that means you will be here on Midgar for some time"?
"Ay, I heard Dom had died, he was a good man, good fisherman. His wife moved back to Rhy'Din"? He hadn't taken up the glass as yet he watched the fog roll into the glass till all was still.
"Yeah, that's right, about eight years ago right. You should stay longer, I hear they need an old salt like you at the docks. Teach them young folks a thing or two bo't fishing, what'ya say"?
He shrugged on a perhaps and drank his drink. After he drank one of those it was pretty much agreed that he wouldn't be talkative the rest of the night, he ordered a few more as the hours passed and each time he watched the fog roll in.
"'Tis you who makes my friends and foes". Cinder glowed.
"'Tis you who makes me wear old clothes,
Here you are so near my nose". The Bartender chuckled watching the elf.
"So tip her up and down she goes". Cinder finally grinned.
"Even longer have we heard songs in this place, yes sir".
Fisherman's Fog; for which the brew is named for a dark murky liquid which folds over itself. Just as you thought the glass was dark it gets even darker. Brandy, Rum, Liquor Creme and a small trace of Salted Sugar is executed into the glass.
The bartender stirred in a smooth oval glass: Brandy from Nomme, Dark Lispean Rum, Salt from the salt mines of Midgar, and set it in front of the elf and offered his choice of "murk" in two bottles. He grinned always knowing which one the elf would choose. Rhy'Din had a liquor creme quite suitable to be in the "Fog" as did Avalon which both proved equal in becoming murky when poured into a glass. To suffice the palates of many would opt for the Rhy'Din. Then again many did not order this drink. It was for old folks and the thankless bastards who worked a harder life at seas than many would guess. Fishermen the first pioneers of the seas. It was to them this drink was named, it helped him feel numb and lost when he wanted to feel that way.
"I have it here Richard". Cinder nodded as the bartender took both bottles away and the elf procured his own in a small flask, he poured a small amount into the glass. It swirled and enveloped the brownish red colour of the brandy and rum till it turn cloudy.
"It's been a while Cinder, I guess that means you will be here on Midgar for some time"?
"Ay, I heard Dom had died, he was a good man, good fisherman. His wife moved back to Rhy'Din"? He hadn't taken up the glass as yet he watched the fog roll into the glass till all was still.
"Yeah, that's right, about eight years ago right. You should stay longer, I hear they need an old salt like you at the docks. Teach them young folks a thing or two bo't fishing, what'ya say"?
He shrugged on a perhaps and drank his drink. After he drank one of those it was pretty much agreed that he wouldn't be talkative the rest of the night, he ordered a few more as the hours passed and each time he watched the fog roll in.
"'Tis you who makes my friends and foes". Cinder glowed.
"'Tis you who makes me wear old clothes,
Here you are so near my nose". The Bartender chuckled watching the elf.
"So tip her up and down she goes". Cinder finally grinned.
"Even longer have we heard songs in this place, yes sir".