Post-brunch Sunday afternoons weren't the busiest. Her tables were light (one man drank 120 fl oz iced tea, thus far, [one trip to the bathroom, only]), the sun was beautiful, and Moya hummed under her breath as she cleared another one. The warm weather meant shorts instead of pants, and she liked those too. The white shirt, as always, had her name tag ('Moya' in little plastic letters, she liked it very much), and she noticed Rygel immediately. He sat at the bar, not at a table, but it didn't slow her down to help him (she knew him, better than anyone else [she liked serving him, more than anyone else]).
With a smile, Moya made her way behind the bar quickly to pour a whiskey the way he liked it and set it in front of him. A quick glance [tables clean, food served, water full, ice tea topped up] let her know it wasn't busy. She began wrapping silverware in napkins as she stayed near Rygel. "Hello, Rygel," she was in a great mood [standard, when working], "How can I help?"