Slainte Pub, The Bowery, NYC, Friday

[withoutverona]

After stopping at the brunch, Romeo made his way to a bar where it seemed vaguely possible the more medieval members of their party would either fit in, or have enough Guinness that it didn't matter

Comments

[bitch_prince]

One of the two medieval members of the party had made sure to wear (very expensive) modern clothes to this trip, so it wasn't like he had that much trouble fitting in. Still, Arthur was sort of appreciative of the choice. "Looks more than all right," he said, jovially, pulling his scarf off in the meanwhile.

Wearing those everywhere was Merlin's occupation. "First round's on me." Okay, 'jovially' was maybe the wrong word, taking soreness and a slight hangover into account, but Arthur was nothing if not dedicated to the task of keeping such things way from view.

Well. Sometimes.

[bigdamndestiny]

...Francine made his scarf and it was lovely.

"They have Guinness," Merlin pointed out brightly, oddly slipping into more Irish than English for a moment there. For no reason. "Have you all tried that before? It's like the ale at home."

[raspberryturk]

"Anything like dicks-in-the-dirt at all?" Reno shoved his hands into his pockets, slouching as he inspected the liquor list. "I think I had Guinness that time I was a chocobo for a class assignment, yo. Turned me green."

Oh, Fandom.

"Wasn't half bad, though. It's gotta be better than the swill we drink back where I'm from, yoto."

[withoutverona]

"Dicks-in-the-dirt?" Romeo had to repeat, mostly to see how the words tasted in his mouth. He must not have liked it; he made a face, though that might also have been about the concept of swill.

"That's worse than the ones Brooke orders -- screaming orgasms and pantydroppers. And those don't turn you green. I'll take Guinness, anyhow.