Lucky. The owner called him lucky, after a quick visual inspection. Meraki lifted his shoulders back, fixed his vest with a snap of the fabric, and even pivoted on his feet some in case the owner wanted a full-degree view of him. Never mind he was thin under his cheap thread-worn clothes, they were the hardy clothes of a worker and he was fit, not sickly.
Being called Lucky brought a slant of a smile to the Anaxi wick’s face. He glanced at the finger that poked against his chest. He leaned from the touch – not to sincerely get away – in a playful jest, as if the other man’s finger had all the strength of an actual shove. His eyebrows raised. He rid himself of the smile and nodded. He repeated the order plainly, “Madeira and brandy.”
The wick threw up a hand in a poor imitation of a salute. This was going well. The striped bar towel transferred over, with a loud thwack on his shoulder. Around the wick, the mona lightly trembled with a sort of eager tension. He nodded again, when he heard the rest of the instructions. Meraki glanced over at the brawny server who’d taken the order before. The wick added a quick acknowledgment in a respectful tone, “Mister Byron.”
Meraki had assumed correctly to prepare for this. As much as it might’ve gone smoothly, as much as to anyone watching it would’ve seemed like a stroke of luck, the wick knew otherwise. He had a rough approximation of who all was involved, now. While he was a stranger to the men, they weren’t exactly strangers to him… such as knowing the owner’s name when it hadn’t even been provided. He had to keep watch on his tongue, to make sure he didn’t slip up and give away too much. However, the tsat from the Stacks couldn’t resist a momentary size-up of Byron… he could take him, probably. Not that he would need to, but if it came to it… the wick felt assured he’d manage. He’d swung at larger and brawnier humans before, though not many. The key was to get on their back where they couldn't reach you, but you could get at them still.
He looked back to the owner and nodded once more. Lucky, he thought for a moment. He liked that name. Wouldn’t mind if that stuck, was a lot better than what the boys back in Brunnhold called him… and it was the sort of trivial thing that made all the difference when it came to Meraki’s interest for working at a place.
“Y’ won’t…” said Meraki but the man was already moving away, to talk with the oily dandy known as Gervaise. He didn’t know as much about that man, but he didn’t know nothing.
The wick didn’t linger though. He ducked under the bar’s entrance and popped back up on the other side. A smile toyed at his lips, in the swap of places while he took over the set up that’d gotten started by the other man.
If there was one thing that Meraki had learned through the swift hop between jobs he’d gotten used to performing, it was that for the jobs that resembled his past ones… he could fall in without a word otherwise. Easy as lying through his teeth, he could make it seem like he’d been working at a joint for years when it’d only been minutes or hours. Give him a day? A week? Well, if a place kept Lucky for more than a week, that was a miracle in itself.
He worked quick and without pause or hesitation. Not nimbly, for he had the bruised and scarred hands of a lifetime fighter, but his speed made up for his lack of fine-tuned agility. He hummed to cover the noise he made with the shuffle of a bowl, the clink of glasses, and the sound of his boots as he paced along the bar to inspect where things were located. He stirred sugar and eggs and the like, with a whisk he’d found, and got a good look at everything. Not a whole lot different than most hotel bars he’d worked in the Stacks.
A couple had approached the bar, to order drinks, and Meraki nodded to them while he listened. Nothing more than a couple shake-and-pours, though his hands were busy with the flips. He set down the bowl, and promptly poured the pair of absinthe before setting them near the drip faucets. Here, he slowed somewhat so he could balance the spoons and then the sugar cubes in the proper place. He glanced at the lady of the couple while he did so, and asked, “Ever had absinthe, m…”
“Miss,” she corrected his pause, glancing at the drip faucets and shaking her head. Her ringlet curls bounced in a spritely fashion around her heart-shaped face. “No, I hear it causes one to see frightful things.”
Meraki wiped down the counter in front of the couple, with a glance toward the disinterested man. Disinterested, he suspected, because they weren’t a pair for romance but perhaps a pair of circumstance. He returned his attention to the woman and said, “It can, it can… but only for those wit' frightfully evil minds. Do y’ got a frightfully evil mind, miss?”
She giggled and shook her head in denial.
“’Course y’ don’t,” said Meraki while he moved back to start thickening the flip mixture between two pitchers. He made a show of it for the woman, lifting the pitchers high as he aimed the liquid between them. “I’m not a gamblin’ man, but I bet you gots a right beautiful mind. Y’ know what that means, miss…?”
“Felicity,” she offered to his pause. She took out a fan, and fluttered it in front of her face, as she glanced at her companion. The man seemed to be looking toward the back area, as if checking for someone or thinking of something. He wasn’t paying attention to their conversation, that was obvious.
“Miss Felicity, lovely.” He offered a wink, then poured the flip mixture into three mugs he’d lined up before. “Well, Miss Felicity, if you gots a mind as half as pretty as you, then absinthe would do y’ nothing but good when it comes to things. Ladies like you are what makes the fairy green with envy.”
The wick set aside the empty pitcher. He carefully picked up the toddy rod, though he tried a small toss to switch the grip to the other hand. Once he caught it, he dipped the red-hot end into the first mug. It frothed and foamed over. He moved to the second, and then the third. Once done, he set the rod to cool.
“How ‘bout it?” he asked while he set the mugs on a round tray. He turned away, moving quick as he gathered the brandy and wine. Meraki placed them on the counter, then he moved in front of the lady. He placed his elbows on the counter and leaned toward her in a casual posture. His field trembled, he focused on making it a pleasant vibration. He asked in a low voice, “Y’ feel like tryin’ some-thin’ new tonight, Miss Felicity?”
He watched the pink gather in her cheeks, unrelenting in his green-eyed gaze that he kept on her. She kept glancing at the man – who Meraki felt certain now, by everything he’d seen, was likely some sort of cousin – and then she placed a hand on her companion’s arm.
“Georgie? Can we?” she asked, then she glanced at Meraki. Her blush worsened but she tried to hide it behind the fan and then she asked again to the distracted man, “Dare we?”
“Whatever you want,” muttered Georgie. “Get on with it, will you?”
“Daring Miss Felicity,” complimented the wick. Meraki winked at the lady again, then he took down the two absinthes from before. He replaced them with new glasses, freshly poured, and set the drip on them. The wick moved back to finish up the drinks, with the madeira and brandy being the most straight-forward of the lot. He took care with it anyway, though, because it was the owner’s request. Didn’t matter how great the other drinks were… if the owner’s drink lacked any decent impression.
All of the drinks on a tray made for a perfect balancing act. Meraki kept the the absinth carefully away from the admiral flip mugs to keep the cool glasses far from the heat. He drifted away from the bar, with a glance toward Byron.
“Y’ mind watchin’ things for me, sir?” He glanced at the couple, where the lady still tracked him with a piercing gaze from above the edge of her fan. Meraki added in a teasing voice so she could hear, “Keep an eye on that there Miss Felicity, will ya? She sure looks like trouble.”
He didn’t wait to hear any answer. Meraki wanted to deliver these drinks himself. The wick slowed his steps, listening as he approached. It was obvious what the two men were talking over. Poppy. So that’d been truth, not rumor, then. The owner held himself strong, from the sounds of it, not cowering but also trying to buy some time.
“…Tell me Gervaise, where are you going to go, if not through me?”
And where the hell were the drinks?
“Here we are, fellahs,” said Meraki in a clear, energetic voice. He set down the brandy and wine first, in front of the owner with a nod. He then set down the absinth at the table, then two of the flips, for Gervaise’s boys. He swiftly moved around, and finally – lastly – set down the flip for Gervaise with only the slightest of spillage that drifted toward the fancy man’s shoes.
He spun the emptied tray between his fingertips, then tucked it under his arm. Meraki glanced toward the bar, then back and leaned down to hushedly murmur to the owner while facing away from Gervaise.
“’pologies to bother yer meetin’, Mister Allardyce,” he wagered the name even though it hadn’t been given, and he said, “But if youse is lookin’ for poet flowers…”
And here, he shrugged, then started back toward the bar without another word. If the owner caught the tone, if he had a smidgen of keenness, then he would know what the wick was getting at.
Meraki returned to the bar, ducking under the entrance, and he tossed the tray aside. He turned off the drip on the absinth, then set the two glasses down in front of Miss Felicity and her companion. The woman had set coins on the counter, far more than needed, and she said, “Extra’s for you.”
“Finally,” snapped Georgie. He swiped up the absinthe, roughly hooked his arm around the lady’s elbow, and guided her away from the bar and toward the back area.
“Enjoy your night, Miss Felicity,” he offered with a wave toward her, then fixed up the drip faucets so they were clean and ready for the next order. Meraki went about, to clean up the mess he’d left on the counter from the flips. He did his best to not glance over and see if the owner would follow-up or shrug off the hint of potential information. It wasn't like he had much time to spare. There were already new drink orders waiting to be made. He got to it, a growing familiarity with what was where.