Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison)
Subject: [Inn] 'Raelf: Mixed Drink, Mixed Blessings
Message-ID: <C1n5uv.EvH@ibeam.intel.com>
References: <1993Jan26.213534.6080@cheshire.oxy.edu>
Date: Sat, 30 Jan 1993 00:40:06 GMT

'Raelf hugged ar'Elya (much easier to reach around in the form of
the blonde sorceress) disturbing three of the dragonets that clustered
around her.  She looked at him, questioningly.

"Just a sec."

'Raelf got up from the table and walked over to the bar.

A whispered conversation with Bob Littlefair produced several bottles.
First, a clear glass bottle - Smirnof, in poorly transliterated English.
Then, a brown stoneware bottle with a cork in the top.  Finally, a small
pitcher, kept in a bowl of ice (snow, from outside, right now).

A tumbler, half height.  The kahlua, from the stoneware bottle, first.
Then the cream from the pitcher.  Then a jigger of vodka.   Result: one
White Russian, which is what ...sage tends to drink, on those occasions
when tea or water or LittleFair's good table wine or small-beer are
inadequate.  No little umbrella.

"You know how to make one of these, right?"

"Well, I don't usually use that much vodka, or that much cream."

"Personal taste."

Second.  A tulip glass.  An imperfect glass, sagging on one side.
And a layered drink is built, the 'kan whispering very quiet words
to help keep the layers from blending prematurely.
First layer, on the bottom: tequila, pure fire laced with mescaline.
Of course, the worm goes in the glass.
Second layer, in the middle: Ouzo, a liquor from Greece, but this
bottle actually from Turkey, and laced with opium to match the dead
sterile hint of pine pitch and the perfume of licorice.
Third layer, on top, a liquor which has been known for centuries
for its wormwood taste and the poisonous green sheen of the alkaloid
that causes madness in those who take it frequently.  Absinthe.
Illegal across most of Europe.

LittleFair watched skeptically.

"What's it called?"

"Death by Degrees.  It's something made up by an acquaintance of
mine.  A major drag, like our Father Lucas, but he could opt out.
Which he did, by drinking five of these, then driving his 'vette
at 180 down the wharf into a concrete piling.  Celebrating his
big 3-0."  'Raelf gently placed both drinks on a service platter.

"An ill-omened drink."

"Truth."

The blond mage grinned and picked up the server.

Father Lucas looked up, and winced internally.   That 'kani fellow
was coming to the table, and just when he'd gotten nerved up for the
depressing and ultimately futile conversation with the albino drow.

The fellow grinned at him in an extremely annoying way.

"Legacy," he said unnecessarily, placing the layered drink in front of the
priest.  It quivered, balefully green on top, worm on the bottom.

"...sage.  My place, open invite.  Directions."  He placed the White Russian
in front of the librarian, and nodded, then returned to his table.  The paper
blotter under the Black Russian glowed with a miniature map of Generica.