WHO: Ian Kingsley, Casper Decal, Hunter Sommer and [open!] WHEN: 11:10am, December 12th WHERE: The Brass Key WHAT: Waking up and tending bar WARNINGS: Language, otherwise TBD
Ian always wondered why the fuck he was expected to be up at the asscrack of dawn when he was employed as a bartender - of course, the 'asscrack of dawn' to Ian Kingsley was any time he had to wake up before 10 in the morning, since he had never been someone who could be labeled as a 'morning person'. He didn't like working early shifts like the one he got stuck with because his co-worker went and decided that she was going to get the flu and not work her mid-day. The tips were always shit, since the strongest drink most people got before noon was a bloody Mary with their breakfast, and he usually wound up just standing around wiping down the bar while he waited for people to show up.
Yanking open the door of the bar, Ian quickly stepped inside to get out of the cold, raking his fingers through his hair in a failed attempt to try and get it to do something other than stick up in a million different directions. He hadn't given himself much time to actually wake up, seeing how he had hit the snooze button on his phone one too many times, not having gotten much sleep the night before since Nona had stopped by rather unexpectedly after her shift at the hospital. It wasn't like he could really use that as an excuse for being late - which he was, and it didn't go unnoticed by his boss, who was glaring at him from his spot behind the bar.
"You're late, Kingsley...again."
Ian sighed, currently working on removing the jacket that he had managed to remember to grab while he was quite literally running out the door.
"Overslept."
The older man grunted at his excuse and shook his head. "Yeah, well...get your ass in gear, I've got better things to be doing than your job." Ian gave a mock salute. "Sir, yes sir." He replied sarcastically, which earned him another disapproving grunt. It only made Ian smirk to himself, as he took his place behind the counter, grabbing the towel his boss had been using to wipe down the bar in order to finish cleaning up the vodka and tomato juice that had spilled over from someone's glass.
Bloody Mary's. Predictable.
Once that was finished, he finally tossed the dirty towel to the side in order to turn his attention towards the person who had approached.
"What can I getcha?"
The question was asked before he looked up and actually registered who it was he was speaking to.