mixing mishaps

This was, for all intents and purposes, the best idea ever. Chugging down drink after drink at The Rabbit Hole was fun, sure, but the tab at the end of the night was nearly as eye-watering as the clawdkas that Breakfast slurped down in excess (as fast as she could, mind you, for fear of actually tasting it). Especially when there were bills to be paid.

A more level-headed succubun might have examined their more expensive proclivities and made appropriate adjustments to their lifestyle, but she was not that bun, so the best she could do was take advantage of the aforementioned best idea ever: a mixology class hosted by one of the girls down at The Rabbit Hole! 

The lesson was scheduled a few hours prior to the bar’s opening, presumably so it didn’t get in the way of normal day-to-day operations. It was actually sort of neat to see the bar she frequented nearly emptied out with the lights on, chairs tipped upwards on each table, almost like she’d snuck into some place that she shouldn’t be. The sight satisfied a wickedly mischievous little itch in her heart. “Come on over!” Hops hummed when Breakfast ambled in, beckoning her over with a single hand. The little fantasy was over, but Hops’ smile was too genuine for Breakfast to do anything but grin herself.

She came to the front of the bar, but to her delight, Hops opened a hip-high length of swinging door on the side to let her through. “Back there?” Breakfast asked, not nearly as apprehensive as she should have been. Itch scratched. Wasn’t everyone a little curious about places they weren’t normally allowed to go?

“Mhm!” Hops nodded. “You’ll be an honorary bartender when we’re through here.”

Hops was a good teacher in that she kept Breakfast’s easily-diverted attention while she ran down the basics of drink mixing and its essential ingredients. “Alright, pop quiz,” Hops eventually said, clapping her hands together before holding up a bottle of amber-tinted liquid. “What’s this?”

“Whiskey!” Breakfast replied.

“Ding ding!” Oho, she was good at this. Hops set the bottle down so she could retrieve two lowball glasses from below the counter that they stood in front of. “And what kind of drink can you make with it?”

“Sinnamon whiskey!” she answered, matching Hops’ cheery intonation.

“Yes! And how do you make it?” Hops held her hands together at her chest, eager to see if the student had finally become the master.

“You raise a little hell!” Breakfast answered, the pair cheering in unison, having thoroughly worked each other up.

And hell was, indeed, raised, Hops throwing out her hands to cheer and sending the bottle of whiskey flying from the counter to the floor in a rather dramatic crash. It happened far too fast for the pair to do anything about it, and once it had happened, all they could do was stare at the mess for an excruciatingly long few moments.

Hops was finally the one to let out a long, burdened sigh, kneeling to take from below the counter a quarter-full bottle of vodka this time. She opened the bottle to take a swig first, then poured out what Breakfast now knew to be called a finger pour in each glass before her. She slid one of them over to the other bun.

“Ah…” Breakfast began. “So what’s that for?”

Hops took the shot of straight vodka without any suggestion on her face of having done so. She set the glass back down on the counter before finally answering, “To get through the damned day.”

Breakfast took the glass she was offered and glanced into the clear liquid before sliding it back over to Hops. “Need a Marlburrow?” she asked, as gently as she possibly could, while also taking out the pack of cigarettes from her purse. Obviously Hops needed a cigarette about now.

“Yeah,” she answered. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”