Who: Wes/Hermes and Kurt What: Making drinks and (powerful) friends Where: Flanagan's Irish Pub When: Monday night Rating: PG-13ish (language)
For someone who's every waking moment often required some sort of half-assed attention, Wes Cummings was a creature prone to random wandering. Hey, it happened. And it just happened to happen down the stretch of clubs and restaurants that included one La Chat Noir - a smooth little jazz and martini bar from which the most annoying music was coming from this evening - and Flanagan's, a joint much more up his alley as far as preferences went this evening.
And as the Fates would have it, Wes's bored smart-phone trolling of his and Phil's brilliant little web project found the proprietor of the Cat just as bored and listless, right as he was was walking by.
It was about time he picked up a new project, anyway. Hermes was getting twitchy with all the damn routine. Time to shake it up!
So, after a well placed offer, the communications guru planted himself at a well-lit and centrally located table in the green-glass and oak-finish Irish pub. There was a decent crowd for a Monday, probably because of the equally decent live band up on a far too small stage by the big window. They were playing a cover he vaguely recognized, but was thoroughly enjoying when one sleek, fedora'd motherfucker wandered in. Hermes had great instincts when it came to general mortal identities, even when they weren't on the godly radar. He picked up on the guy fairly quick, displayed in each hand the shot and pint-glass required for the first round of Irish Car Bombs of the night - plus a set for himself.