send me flying babe,
wearing diamonds down
wearing diamonds down
It was between her and her siblings, and maybe if she took a hard line of you guys have your adventures and chaos and brooding times while I sit here and bask in the sun all day, it might go over well. For now, though, Caly nods and beams to Flora, especially as the Doubletake begins to brighten with the idea of showing the cocktail recipes.
To which, Caly slips over behind the bar and takes in the view briefly before she’s getting to work. It’s different on this side, like being accepted into a higher bracket than just the patron she’s been since she’d arrived on Torchline’s shores. There isn’t the sense of accomplishment for having created something, but there was a sense of pride in continuing a legacy. Even if Flora wanted it back at some point.
So, in her own cunning way, she’s aiming to make Flora proud of sharing the Hanged Man with her. So when the little weathered book is slid over to her, her arms brace against the bar top as she reads the recipe and commits it to memory. “Aptly named.” She chimes with a snort, (obviously unaware of anything that might be happening between Flora and Caly’s father), but she does start getting the glass ready, following the instructions on the booklet to a T. The correct glass, the rum snagged from beneath the bar and expertly twisted the cork off of, pouring into the measurements. It’s like she’s a natural (though in reality it’s because she’s tried to replicate some of the drinks from here so many times just from taste).
“Mixin’ glass or shaken?” She asks to Flora, her amber gaze sliding over to the Doubletake curiously.
To which, Caly slips over behind the bar and takes in the view briefly before she’s getting to work. It’s different on this side, like being accepted into a higher bracket than just the patron she’s been since she’d arrived on Torchline’s shores. There isn’t the sense of accomplishment for having created something, but there was a sense of pride in continuing a legacy. Even if Flora wanted it back at some point.
So, in her own cunning way, she’s aiming to make Flora proud of sharing the Hanged Man with her. So when the little weathered book is slid over to her, her arms brace against the bar top as she reads the recipe and commits it to memory. “Aptly named.” She chimes with a snort, (obviously unaware of anything that might be happening between Flora and Caly’s father), but she does start getting the glass ready, following the instructions on the booklet to a T. The correct glass, the rum snagged from beneath the bar and expertly twisted the cork off of, pouring into the measurements. It’s like she’s a natural (though in reality it’s because she’s tried to replicate some of the drinks from here so many times just from taste).
“Mixin’ glass or shaken?” She asks to Flora, her amber gaze sliding over to the Doubletake curiously.
Calypso
kiss my neck and make me never doubt you now
