Hemingway couldn't help but laugh at that, imagining trying to explain to anyone how he had gained himself such a nickname. "Ah, good, you know I'm not Prince Charming," he joked. "Actually, that would be Jay, right?" he pointed to the bartender, who only tuned in to the conversation at that point.
"What? Me?" he shook his head, not wanting to admit that he had no idea what the two drunks were talking about anymore.
"I'm serious, Knightly. I never joke about literature," he insisted, and it was true. He would never say something just to be nice, not when it involved books.
"Jagermeister-" Jay responded, almost reluctantly, but he did manage to put on a smile of encouragement. Hell, he was used to drunks rolling about on his lawn, and near drowning in his pool, he really didn't care how wrecked they got. He'd make sure they got up the road okay, if need be.
"Hardened drinker time, Knightly. Get it down you," he told her, picking his own glass up, and downing the sticky cough-syrupy shot, and as he placed the shot glass down again he was sure the bar did a full 360 around him, his fingers gripping to the side of the bar for a second to stop from just sliding right off the stool.