#tennent's bar
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I would rather see, unmistakably and without a shadow of a doubt, A GHOST in my home than the bug i just found in the cabinet
#he was in my expensive chewy protein bar box!!#its his now. hes burried with it. in the dumpster#my cats been asigned guard duty over my body while i sleep#dont ask what bug i shant speak his name#i do not like this new home#it has....tennents...........
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Whisky, gin and beer
It was always going to be about beer, too - not only whisky and gin. And it was probably designed to be a simultaneous project, that might have been postponed for various reasons: funny how all those intelligent people across the street forget everything about COVID, when it does not fit their agendas. And by COVID, I do not mean only the prolonged lockdowns, but first and foremost the worldwide logistics crisis, with compromised supply chains and overall a huge blow on the transports' sector.
In fact, looking at those trademark websites, it becomes evident that first (now abandoned) trademark application for beer was filed in at the same time as the one for whisky, on December 28, 2018:
Separate categories, as per US regulations, need separate filings, of course. And beer is a brilliant, simple idea, with high quality local ingredients (it's really barley, water, hops and yeast) relatively easy to source. Well, spare perhaps for the hops, but that is not really a problem, anymore:
(Source: the James Hutton Institute's booklet Hops in Scotland, 2018 - well, then. The institute is based in Dundee, by the way, so I think they know exactly what they are talking about, especially after a four year long feasibility study with encouraging results: https://www.hutton.ac.uk/news/scottish-hops-viable-commercial-crop-hutton-research-finds)
As I always make a point of reminding anyone, this page does not deal in fantasy and empty, meaningless scouring of social media accounts. And cackle to your heart's content, Mordor, but S seems to have a genuine, informed interest in the industry, as shown above.
This is a different business plan and a different marketing model, based on affordable production costs and yield/volume (as compared to successive, 'limited batches' of tequila or whisky, where the accent is placed on the excellence of the product and know-how, as reflected in the final price tag). You can bottle that beer or you can sell it on tap, partnering with local bars and pubs first, then progressively extending that network. And I bet the farm it is going to be a premium, artisanal beer first, with options open for a more democratic product, once brand awareness is properly built: beer is versatile, like that.
Whisky and gin were expensive, carefully curated pet projects. Beer is a fun, easy and lucrative one, with a wider clientele and fast growing potential. And this is how that unknown, struggling Scottish actor who once was the face of Tennent's has a fair opportunity to strike it big. To be followed, which I might do. And this is also how his products could cover the entire price range, from luxury to affordable.
It is also always disheartening to see how all those bitter women congregating on certain Tumblr pages feel the need to dismiss anything he does. As I always said and I always will, many of them have no idea about the very basics of business and trade, no exposure to that world and, to be honest, no particular intellectual acuity. Plus I bet the farm many of them lie about their own circumstances: it's easy to pretend, on the Internet and always sexier (and lame, of course) to introduce yourself as a corporate whatever than a secretary. But I wonder how would they feel, in the unlikely situation they would be running their own lemonade stand, if passers by started cackling and bitching about their trade, out of the blue.
So, all in all, we seem to be dealing with some careful preparation, portfolio diversification and yes, taking much needed strides away from McGrandma. To be continued, of course...
PS: FMN Gin, still crickets? Ahhh...
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A wee wander around Anstruther and a swift Tennents Lager in The Royal Bar.
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saw at least one other person doing this and decided to go crazy about it
[Image Description: a page displaying various bug fables lgbt+ headcanons. On the left are two columns of three individual character sprites each, with pride flags and pronouns to their right.
Vi: the sunset lesbian and genderqueer flags. a big scribble then “(it’s complicated).” Leif: the genderfluid and bi flags. “he/she/they but could be anything depending.” Kabbu: the trans and bear flags. “he/him”
Zasp: the bi and trans flags. “he/him.” Mothiva: the lesbian, grayromantic, and graysexual flags. “she/her.” Mothiva and Zasp have a line between them labeled “I’d have to write a paragraph but in summary: yikes.” There’s also a line going from Mothiva to a small sprite of Jaune with a heart and a question mark. Neo: the mlm flag. “he/him” There’s a line between Kabbu and Neo labeled with a heart.
On the right side of the page are a number of images. The top is a large lesbian flag with Carmina, Crow, Chubee, H.B., Bea, Jaune, Rebecca, Kina, Hawk, and Muze on it. On the bottom left Crow, Arie, Serena, Carmina, and Janet’s sprites are encircled with a dotted line labeled “spy cards yuri night.” On the right of that is text reading “everyone who shows up in the Underground Tavern: some flavor of queer (it’s also a gay bar)” next to the gilbert baker rainbow flag. Under that are Artia and Reed’s sprites with *bi flag* 4 *bi flag* above them. On Reed’s other side is a line connecting to a small sprite of Tennent labeled “exes >:3″. End ID.]
#an aquila original#'wow aquila that's a lot of lesbians' thanks it's the lesbianism. I just kind of default to it#also getting weirdly specific on some of them but whatever. havin fun#not tagging everyone because wow#will tag the ships tho bc I saw someone asking#kabbu/neo#mothiva/jaune#artia/reed#zasp and mothiva isn't really a ship here? they're a disaster not a romantic/sexual relationship#bug fables
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Alle Tennent's che ti sei bevuta di nascosto in camera e a tutti quei cappuccini che non hai preso perché ti vergognavi a sederti da sola al tavolo del bar.
A quella volta che, preso il coraggio a due mani fregandotene di quello che dicevano gli altri, hai comprato il biglietto del cantante di cui ti eri invaghita quest'estate e sei andata al suo concerto da sola.
Al sesso, quello praticato da sola o in compagnia. A quello occasionale e quell'amore che, auspicato, non è mai arrivato.
A questo che doveva essere l'anno della tua America e dei tuoi grandi cambiamenti e non lo è stato.
A quello che hai distrutto e alle macerie che restano che tuttora ti circondano.
Agli insuccessi molto più che ai tuoi successi.
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One Tree Hill Sentence Meme - In da Club
“It’s my turn to be responsible for a change,”
“You know you’ve really come a long way in the past month,”
“Thanks for the invite,”
“Why didn’t you give me any notice?”
“You look nice,”
“Hate to break it to you, but most guys aren’t friends with their exes,”
“You know when you said you don’t like me? Well, I don’t like you either,”
“You lightened your hair, it looks awesome!”
“Oh, you bought me a drink?”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“I finally have time to party,”
“You’re embarrassing,”
“Well you won’t listen to reason, so maybe embarrassing you out of town is the answer,”
“No, I’m not okay, I’m pretty far from okay right now,”
“I’ve never performed in front of a crowed before, I mean, alone,”
“What if I fail?”
“You’re not gonna fail, I promise,”
“I don’t get out much,”
“Never realized how boring bars can be with no alcohol,”
“You’re not just any other tennent,”
“Something on your mind?”
“Hey, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,”
“Okay, what’s going on with you?”
“Why’d you sneak over here the other night? I saw your car parked outside,”
“Tell me I don’t look like her when I dance,”
“Hey, so what were we talking about before I left?”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“I’ve never seen your jealous side before,”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“What have you become?”
“You have two choices, you can use the number, or use the napkin,”
“He’s not worth it okay, let it go,”
“You are acting like an idiot,”
“And you are acting like a child,”
“Oh please, I’ve done nothing but help you,”
“If you think you can do it alone, just say the word,”
“You’re not a kid anymore, so grow up,”
“When are you gonna grow up?”
“What do you expect me to do? You want me to just sit back and watch while some jerk harassis you?”
“You’re not always the guy that has to jump in and do something, and I’m not a damsel in distress,”
“I think I’ll catch a cab home,”
“Don’t be ridiculous, come on I’ll drive you,”
“I moved here for you, remember? You need to figure out what you want,”
“Why are you here?”
“You know, when I asked if we were dating, you laughed in my face,”
“We’re done, this is over,”
“Thank you for showing me that there are more important things in life than work,”
“Let me ask you something, do you have an alarm in your head that goes off everytime I’m happy with someone else?”
“You still love me, don’t you?”
“I need to watch my temper, all it ever does is get me in trouble,”
“I’m a little drunk, so in case I said a lot of inappropriate things tonight I want you to know, I meant all of them,”
“So are you gonna ask me out now, or what?”
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Old School House 6/7/23
price - p cheap (£6 double)
range - most stuff, tennents
vibes - cursed ground!!, good memories with bad people, sports bar with outside space
score - 6
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How's the beer in Scotland?
I've been drinking on Tennents and i will say it's better than most US piss beer but worse than caribbean/central american piss beer. To be fair that is a high bar. Tropical countries are on a whole other level with the cheap/drinkable ratio.
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Benedico le cuffie quando al bar, al tavolo vicino al tuo, si siedono 4 ragazzi tutti imbellettati che parlano delle loro super scopate mentre tu sei appena uscito da lavoro e sei alla terza tennent’s dopo una giornata di scazzo.
Benedette cuffie e benedetto Marcio, che mi accompagni da anni in queste serate del cazzo, daje
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Hook this pettiness to my fucking veins.
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Hot Cock Burger & Salt and Chilli Chips w/ a pint of Tennents 🍔🍺
#burger#salt and chilli chips#salt n chilli#bucks bar#hot cock burger#food#burgers#fries#spicy food#scran#glasgow#salt n chilli chips#tennents#tennents lager#lager#beer#scr4n#spicy#spicy burger#chicken burger#fried chicken#fried chicken burger#american style burger
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Light Across The Seas That Severed (Ch2)
Read on AO3
Jamie was sat, feeling maudlin and staring into the depths of his pint after a particularly difficult day. If Jenny had been beside him, she’d tell him to wise up and be grateful for the situation he was in. But he still wasn’t used to being so far from home, away from his parents and Lallybroch. He wouldn’t let himself say it out loud but he even found himself missing the tinny aftertaste of a pint of Tennents that he had yet to find on sale south of the border.
He knew his parents were over the moon about his acceptance into Oxford, how could they not be? Jamie had walked around Broch Mordha with his mother and father a few days after he’d received the happy news and found that the standard twenty minute scoot around the shop was considerably stretched out to allow his parents to stop and boast to every person they could about their youngest son’s achievement. Jamie had smiled sheepishly and thanked people for their well wishes but if he was being entirely honest, there was a knot in the pit of his stomach every time someone mentioned him leaving home.
Jamie tried not to let his nerves get the better of him as he settled into his new home those first few days. It wasn’t just that he stuck out like a sore thumb as the 6’ 4 red headed Scot that was almost as broad as he was tall. It was the fact that the people seemed to be looking at him funny. He made the mistake of asking someone for directions and ended up on the receiving end of a joke about his accent, the man making a mean comment about Jamie being asked to join Oxford University as some attempt to reach whatever entry quota of undergraduates hailing from underprivileged backgrounds. It didn’t matter that he was there on the merit of his exam results that he had worked his arse off for, the same as everybody else. Jamie Fraser was a working class lad from the Highlands, not some self-entitled Etonian arsehole whose father knew somebody who knew somebody. He was surrounded by future Lords and Dukes and he knew that if he heard the words ‘titan of business’ again, he was going to have to start cracking some overprivileged skulls.
And so he sat in The College Bar on a Friday night, hidden away in the corner upstairs where he could sit in peace and brood over his very fortunate situation that he didn’t feel so fortunate about. The only thing that he made the whole thing worthwhile was the girl who lived a few doors down from him in Merton College.
The first time he saw Claire Beauchamp she was fighting a losing battle with a cardboard box that looked like it had already taken a few bashings. Jamie had moved into his dorm a few days prior and was out that morning in an attempt to scout a route for his morning runs. He was keeping a close eye on his AppleWatch, making sure that his heart rate was staying in the optimal zone when he encountered one of the more colourful expletives he’d had the pleasure of hearing before.
“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ!”
His head swivelled on his neck and his eyes landed on her.
Her long arms were wrapped around the box, trying to keep it steady on a propped up knee while the glaring at the taxi driver who was stood fiddling with his phone rather than helping the poor lass. Irritated at the absence of chivalrous manners, Jamie jogged towards the car to offer help.
“Are ye managin’? Here, let me,” he moved to her side and grabbed the next box, lifting it without thought and immediately straining as gravity worked quickly against him. “Christ, lass, what have ye got in here? Rocks?”
“That one contains books, laddie,” she spat back in frustration at him, trying her hand at matching the Scottish brogue and failing miserably. Jamie found it utterly adorable and couldn’t help but smile as he placed the box on the pavement and unloaded the next one which was thankfully much lighter. After wrangling her suitcase from the boot of the car, he tried not to watch the delicate movement of her limbs as she paid the fare.
Trying to pretend that he hadn’t been avidly watching her, he faked a jump of surprise as she thrust her hand towards him, “Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp.”
He liked her instantly. He found himself thinking, who the hell introduces themselves with their full name anymore? What an interesting wee thing she was.
“James Alexander Malcolm MacKenzie Fraser,” he returned the gesture, shaking her small hand in his large one, damning the tough skin of his calluses for keeping him from feeling the exact texture of the soft skin of her palm.
“That’s too many names.”
“What?” The question burst out of him in an exasperated laugh. “No, it’s no’. ’Tis the number of names my parents gave me and if ye want tae live a good long life, Sassenach, ye winna get intae the bad books of my wee ma.”
“What’s a… sassanatch?” Her head tilted to the side in curiosity.
“Sassenach,” he corrected her pronunciation with a wry smirk. He knew that if he tried to give her anything but the truth, she would see through him in an instant so he decided to answer honestly. “It means ‘outlander’.”
She snorted at him and rolled her leopard eyes into the back of her skull.
“Sorry to break it to you, Toto, but I have a feeling we’re not in Scotland anymore.”
“Now that I am painfully aware of,” he sighed, sending a cursory glance around the quad that they were standing in and almost willing it to magically transfigure itself into the hills of his home.
“Not enjoying it so far?”
“Jus’ takin’ me a while tae get used tae it, naebody spiks tae ye here. Said hullo to the man in the shops and he looked at me like I’d twa heids.”
He was putting it on a bit, thickening his accent to amuse her but he was delighted to see that it was working. She laughed, looking at her feet and then sighing at the boxes that he had stacked into a neat pile on the pavement. She looked wistfully at them and cast a sideways glance at the man in front of her, an idea forming in her mind.
“Rather large, aren’t you, Fraser?”
He grinned wolfishly at her, “That I am.”
“What if I make you a promise to say hello to you every time I see you? In exchange for a small favour?”
“And what would that be?”
“Help me to my room with my things?” She sent him a dazzling smile to try and convince him but he had already resigned to himself that his morning workout had changed from cardio into upper body strength training.
“Wisnae going tae let ye carry these yerself, I’m no’ that cruel,” he smirked as she triumphantly pulled out her phone, bringing the information of her dorm up on her screen.
“You’re a saint. I’m staying in Merton, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is?”
He tried not to look too enthusiastic as he felt the universe click things into place, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
And that day was the first day of their story together. With Claire holding open doors, Jamie managed to get her boxes to her dorm in three trips and they bantered the entire time, her quick wit shining from her and almost doubling him over with laughter at one point. Without really making an effort to do so, they seemed to find themselves in each other’s orbit more often than not, walking to lectures together despite chasing completely different degrees and finding that they enjoyed the same very specific spot in the library that offered the most sunlight with the least amount of noise. He surprised her the first time he appeared with the correct number of sugar packets for her to dump into her coffee and he beamed when she peeled the gherkins from her burger and dropped them onto his plate, knowing that he would eat them for her. They came to know each other, slowly showing the parts of themselves that not many people were allowed to see. She banged on his door in the late afternoon after a particularly bad seminar and his hand found the perfect purchase against her shoulder as she laid her head on his and cried, admitting to feeling overwhelmed and burnt out in such a competitive environment. In turn, he let her in on his feelings of inferiority which she quickly shot down, telling him that he was not only the smartest person she knew but the kindest and that was no small thing. Soon enough, they were practically inseparable, both having their own friends but somehow always ending up in each other’s company. Jamie began to relax into his life in Oxford, knowing that as long as he could do it with Claire, well, it might not be so bad.
“Nice to see you didn’t wait for me, Fraser,” she puffed as she sat herself down on the stool across from him at their usual table in the pub, unwinding her long scarf from around her neck as she greedily eyed the pint that was sat waiting for her. Claire took a long drink before setting it down again and sighing heavily as her fingers, stiff and bright red from the cold, attempted to undo the buttons of her coat.
“Ye call me and tell me tae meet ye in the pub in ten minutes and then ye show up half an hour after. What am I meant tae do, just sit and stare at the ‘hing?” Jamie muttered in response, not meeting her gaze as he picked at a piece of dried candle wax that had dripped and solidified on the table. He had been studying in his room when she had called, demanding that he meet her and even though he would rarely say no to her, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t let her stew for a bit. Trying to hide a smirk, he pulled his eyes up to see her face, immediately regretting his teasing. “Sassenach? What’s worst wi’ ye?”
“It’s nothing, it’s-“ she finally managed to pull her arm free of her coat only to thrust it deeply into her pocket, retrieving her phone and staring at it with a furrowed brow. “Bloody bastard, he hasn’t even text me.”
His ears pricked up at the mention of a ‘he’ but Jamie kept his mouth shut, raising his pint glass to his lips to stop himself from blurting out all the questions that were brewing behind them.
“Why are all men total pricks, Jamie?” She took a deep drink from her own glass, her eyelids drooping slightly at the relief the cold liquid brought her before she wiped her lips with the back of her hand which she then waved in his general direction. “Present company excluded, of course.”
“Och, I dinna ken, ye’ve called me worse things in our time thegither.”
That earned him a laugh and he watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly, her slight frame melting back into her chair.
“Bad date, was it?”
Claire snorted, the sudden expel of air causing one of her curls to dance around her face, “I don’t suppose it counts as a bad one if the guy doesn’t even show up.”
“He pied ye?” Jamie’s skin felt hot as anger licked at his insides. Her face scrunched up in confusion, as it did sometimes if he used a colloquialism from home that hadn’t quite found its way across the border.
“What?” she asked before deciding that it didn’t matter, carrying on in her irritation. “He didn’t show! No call, no text, nothing.”
“Good riddance then. Where did you find this one?” He asked, not really wanting to know the answer.
Part of being her friend was watching from the sidelines as men, and some women, fell at Claire’s feet. Not for the first time, Jamie found himself ruminating on the fact that her name in Gaelic, Sorcha, meant light. She drew people in and without meaning to, they soon found themselves to be in her orbit.
“We quite literally bumped into each other in the library. He’s reading History.”
“And what would a history man be doing in amongst yer medical textbooks, Sassenach? Sounds like a bit of a creep to me. Or mebbe he was lookin’ up some horrible rash he’s got on his-”
“Same again?” She interrupted after downing more than half of her pint in an attempt to catch up.
She was already out of her seat before he had the opportunity to answer. He enjoyed, probably a little too much, watching the sway of her hips and the way her curls bounced as she bounded down the stairs towards the bar and he leant backwards, letting his head rest against the wall and sighing in frustration. She was going to spend the rest of the night sneaking glances at her phone, hoping that this new guy would try to get in touch with her and he would have to suffer in silence. He would tell her that she has nothing to worry about, that whoever this guy was would have to be a fool not to crawl over broken glass to get to her.
Because that’s what Jamie would do. If she ever asked him to.
After a second round and a third and a fourth, they came to be sat on the same side of the table, hidden away in the alcove that their table was situated in. They were both drunk although Jamie would never admit to it, saying that a Scot was never drunk as long as they could stand upright. Their shared laughter was getting louder and Claire’s gestures were getting bigger, sloppier, as the frustration began to pour from her.
“I mean, I’m reading medicine, for Christ’s sake! I have good prospects, I’m only minimally neurotic, I don’t think I’m that terrible to look at. So what’s my problem? Am I just destined to be alone for the rest of my life?” A massive hiccup ripped through her, followed by a laugh as she brought her hand to her chest as though the act would calm them. Jamie’s eyes fell to her hand, trying so hard not to let his eyes focus on the breasts beneath it. Realising that the drink had made his reflexes slower, he pulled his eyes to face forward, staring at the floor and worrying that he’d been caught.
“I dinna think so.”
Her index finger stabbed a little too hard at her phone, the screen lighting up and showing no notifications, “It’s not like there’s a line of men waiting patiently at my door.”
“Then they’re eejits.”
A whirlwind of curls twisted towards him, a slight smile that was playing on her lips admitting to her surprise. The words had left his mouth before he realised it and the moment he did, red creeped insidiously up from the collar of his shirt, seeping into his cheeks.
“Eejits, huh?”
He looked at her then, blue eyes fixing onto their honeyed counterparts, humour dancing across her face mixed in with the light that was cocooning them.
“Every man who doesnae fall at yer feet tae do yer bidding is an eejit,” he conceded.
“Are you including yourself in that list, Fraser?”
He fought the urge to roll his eyes, not needing to lend even more credence to what they both already knew but were too afraid to speak out loud. That he was completely under her spell and happy to be there.
“I think ye’ll find ye had me cartin’ yer wee boxes tae yer room within minutes of meeting ye, Sassenach.”
Claire bit her lips between her teeth, trying her hardest not to smile, “Your mother raised you to be a gentleman.”
“That she did. Which means I buy the next round and then I’m walking ye home,” Jamie said.
“Not heading to see Annalise tonight?”
Rising to his feet, he fought back the urge to snap at her, irritated at the mention of the girlfriend that he hated being reminded of when he was with Claire and simply replied with, “Not tonight.”
Something playful and dangerous glinted in the amber eyes and she leaned forward on her elbows, as though she was stalking her prey.
“Then I shall delight in having you all to myself.”
By the time Jamie returned with their drinks, the moment of flirtation had passed. Claire was back frowning at her phone and tapping a single bitten fingernail against the wood grain of the table. Determined to distract her from falling down the rabbit hole of despair, their final drink was spent teasing, telling funny stories to each other about the idiotic things that had been said in their seminars, gloating about who got the best marks on their last essay. Before they knew it, Claire’s scarf was being wrapped around her neck once more as the two of them stumbled into the cold night air.
They had stayed a little later than last call, a classmate of Claire’s being the barman on staff and allowing them to finish their drinks while he wiped down the bar and cleaned the lines. It meant that they were alone as they walked, not amongst the mass exodus of warm bodies that had left the bar twenty minutes previous. Jamie watched from the corner of his eye as Claire furiously rubbed her hands together in an attempt to introduce some heat. With the alcohol loosening the usual restraint that he kept firmly in check, he turned to her and grabbed her small hands in his and brought them to his mouth, blowing the hot air from his lungs against her skin. Even through the drunken fog, he felt the flickers of electricity that seemed to pass every time their hands touched. It wasn’t unheard of for their hands to find their way to each other’s in those long study sessions when both of them were tired and stressed and in need of a comfort. A gesture that said ‘It’s okay, I’m here with you’. Things were always easier if they touched.
Slowly, he became aware that she was holding her breath, confirming it by sweeping his eyes from her hands to her face. She was staring at him, like a leopard stalking its prey. No smart remark or witty retort fell from her lips which were parted, allowing her breath to leave her in little bursts that betrayed how fast her heart was beating. The drink making him bold, he began to lace his fingers through hers, the only sound on the street being her sharp intake of breath as he pressed their palms together. Jamie became immediately more aware that their faces were closer than they ever had been before, that her body was pressed lightly against his and he suppressed a groan at how easy it would be to pull her closer and lose himself in her. His eyes caught her her tongue darting out to wet her lips and he wondered if she realised that she had done it. He couldn’t stop looking at her mouth, her pretty pink lips forming shapes that he wanted to know the taste of.
“Jamie…“ her breath was sweet against his mouth. It was an invitation but there was a hesitance there that he recognised and he knew that she was thinking the same thing he was. That if they did this, if they kissed, nothing would be the same again.
“Aye?”
“Can I…?”
An imperceptible nod of his head was all it took for her dart towards him but she stopped himself just shy of his lips. His mouth was hovering above hers, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on his face. Jamie held himself there, basking in the anticipation of a moment that he had dreamed of so many times. This wouldn’t be another first kiss to regret.
A small whimper escaped Claire’s lips as she softly pressed her mouth against his and it was all it took to undo him, his whole self filling with the need to taste her the moment that their lips met. Jamie raised a shaking hand to her face, to cup her cheek and kiss her slowly, deeply, wanting to drink in every part of her that he could.
He was kissing Claire Beauchamp. And it was everything.
#light across the seas that severed#clan donnachaidh#ao3#outlander fanfic#jamie fraser#Claire beauchamp#outlander#modern au
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...continua....Il Mito. La Route 66 a Carrara. 🍺 #bar #oste #fastfood #carrara #marinadicarrara #Tennents #tennentssuper #tennentsitalia #tennents33 #birra #beer #mito #mcluis #instapic #instafood #instabeer #locationtop #beerporn #Tennentsporn #RiccardoFranchini #igerscarrara (presso Mc Luis) https://www.instagram.com/p/Bx0Os2mIAH5/?igshid=ih045s7a7vx1
#bar#oste#fastfood#carrara#marinadicarrara#tennents#tennentssuper#tennentsitalia#tennents33#birra#beer#mito#mcluis#instapic#instafood#instabeer#locationtop#beerporn#tennentsporn#riccardofranchini#igerscarrara
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Hate when you’re in a student bar and they don’t have tennents like what the fuck is wrong with you
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The Beginning
A/N Here’s the latest fic from the Metric universe. I woke up this morning thinking about how Metric Jamie and Claire might have met. A word of warning: it definitely isn’t a meet-cute. Previous ficlets are available on my AO3 page.
August 12, 2012, The Pride of Spitalfields, London, England
The pub throbbed with the revelry of dozens of thirsty patrons. Jamie grinned at the irony that their arrival had probably thrust the establishment past its occupancy load. He’d just finished a ten hour shift, he was thirsty, and he wouldn’t be filing a fire code complaint anytime soon.
As the rookie at his station, Jamie drew all the short straws. He made the coffee at the start of each shift. He climbed the tower with heavy wet hoses draped over his shoulders. He was on call every night of the past seventeen, as London swelled to bursting with Olympic athletes and spectators. And now that the Games were over, so was his enforced prohibition, but he was still responsible for getting his coworkers their chosen drinks first.
Jamie was blessed with an uncomplaining disposition that made these petty hardships easy to bear, but after three trips between the bar and their overflowing table, having his elbows jostled, ale spilled on his shoes, and, on one notable occasion, his rump squeezed a lewd hand in the heaving crowd, he was more than ready for his long-awaited drink.
“Waddaya mean ye’re out of lager?!”
“Sorry, mate. We’re inside the security zone, so our distributor can’t get ‘is lorry in. I jus’ pulled my last pint for this young lady here.”
Following the barman’s casual hand gesture, Jamie observed the woman on the barstool next to him. She was turned away, chatting with whoever sat beside her, so his first impression was of riotous dark curls, slim shoulders, colt-like legs wrapped in a jean mini-skirt, and an untouched pint of Tennent’s sitting on the bar by her elbow.
He tapped her shoulder. No response. Tapped again, and added a loud but polite “Pardon me,” in order to be heard over the crowd. A pale hand lifted in dismissal was the only indication she had heard him. He was starting to get pissed off, but short of grabbing the beer and making a run for it (both beneath his dignity and having a low degree of probable success, given the close confines of the bar), he was out of options.
Just as he was about to order a whisky instead, the woman finally turned in his direction, and the cacophony all around blurred to nothing. A delicate face, transformed into something fierce by the intensity of her gaze. She was looking imperiously down her nose at him, and it brought to mind a childhood visit to the Edinburgh Zoo; the lioness gazing out of her enclosure with piercing golden eyes.
“Wot?” the lioness demanded, and he dropped back into his surroundings.
“Are ye gonna drink that pint, lass?”
“I beg your pardon?” He had never before considered himself a meek man, but she was putting that hypothesis to the test.
“Yer lager. I asked if ye planned tae drink it. I’d like tae buy it from ye, if no’.”
She spun her knees in his direction, ignoring her companion entirely to focus on him. She wobbled a tiny bit on her stool, and he got the impression she wasn’t entirely sober.
“Let me get this straight,” she pronounced with a faint slur that bordered on a lisp. “You want to know whether I intend to drink my beer? Is that it?”
He nodded, tongue-tied for once.
“For what purpose do you think I purchased it, if not to ingest it?”
He couldn’t tell if she was secretly laughing at him, or furious. He was accustomed to using his dashing good looks (an ex-girlfriend’s turn-of-phrase) and Scottish charm to talk his way into or out of any situation, so her prickly demeanour posed a unique challenge.
“I dinna mean tae infer ye’d only bought a pint for decoration, lass. Only, tis the last lager in the whole place, and I reckon I need it more than ye.”
He recognized his error as soon as the words left his mouth. This was not a woman who took kindly to being told what she did and did not need.
Instead on pouncing on him, she flashed a feline grin and proposed terms for their stand-off.
“That’s an interesting propo-prop-proposition, lad. That you need this pint more than I do. Here’s what we’re going to do. My friend... Geil, get over here... is famously impartial. Now you, sir, are going to plead your case as to why you deserve this pint. I will do the same, and to the victor go the spoils, as it were. Are we agreed?”
He felt very much like a mouse being toyed with by a particularly malevolent cat, but his inherent competitiveness refused to let him back down at this juncture. He sensed he was about to be bested at his own game, but he was looking forward to finding out exactly how.
“Aye, agreed. Ladies first, if ye please.”
“Oh, I bloody well think not. This all started with you coveting my beer. You first.”
Jamie grinned and ran his hand through his hair, trying to collect his thoughts. From across the bar, he could see his mates watching his exchange with this vexing woman, their laughter muffled by the din.
“Aye. Alright. Weel, I’m a firefighter, ken? A probie in my first six months o’ service. My uncle Dougal is my captain, but tae show there’s no favourtism, he gives me all the shitty tasks, the worst shifts. Which means I’ve been on call since the Games began, cooped up inside w’out a drop tae drink an’ a flatmate who snores like a congested hippo, while the entire world ran riot o’side my window.”
He paused here to see if his tale of woe was having any effect, but the lioness merely raised a finely arched eyebrow, as if to say ‘is that all you’ve got?’ He dug his heels in for the long ride.
“An’ when I did get a call-out, twas always some daft drunkard who forgot his beans on the hob watchin’ Mo Farah’s race or somesuch.”
Nary a muscle moved on her face.
“An’ I stubbed my toe somethin’ fierce the o’er night when my flatmate...”
“The congested hippo?” she clarified.
“Aye, the congested hippo. The bastard dragged our couch against one wall sae he could, and I quote, do justice tae Bradley Wiggins. I walked inta it on my way tae take a piss.”
He might have been imagining things, but there was a slight twitch at the corner of her mouth.
“An’ when I was a lad, my big sister convinced me twas a fairie livin’ in my clothes press tha’ stole my socks, an’ since then I canna grab my trousers wi’out crossing my fingers first.”
He wrapped up with his most winning smile, the one usually reserved for his mam and first dates. His adversary observed him dispassionately, but at least her friend, the purported judge of his performance, looked suitably amused.
“That’s it, then? A three week dry spell, a boorish flatmate, and lasting childhood gullibility?”
“Thas’ about it, aye,” he admitted. He supposed, if nothing else, it spoke well to his life thus far that he hadn’t been able to surface any more sympathy-worthy incidents.
The woman raised the controversial pint, and for a fool-hardy moment he thought she was going to hand it to him. Instead, she raised it in mock salute.
“I’m deploying to Afghanistan in the morning,” she said, and took a long drink, her leonine eyes never leaving his over the rim of the glass.
**
Several hours and a couple whiskies later, Jamie stepped out onto the pavement and breathed the relatively cool midnight air. His mates had a good laugh at his expense when he’d returned to their table empty-handed, with neither lager nor the lass’ number.
The door behind him opened, and the woman in question staggered outside, leaning heavily on her much-shorter friend.
“If it’s not the lad who believes in fairies!” she exclaimed upon noticing him. Of all the details for her to remember. He tipped an imaginary cap in their direction.
“An’ how was yer lager, milady?”
“Dee-licious,” she proclaimed before stumbling sideways and nearly pulling her friend down in a heap with her.
“Can I help ye, ladies? Per’aps call ye both a taxi?” he suggested, worried about their ability to navigate home without coming to ruin.
“T’won’t be necessary, lad,” the shorter, red-haired one said. He realized belatedly she was Scottish as well. “We live jus’ down the way. Although... I could use yer brawn to get ‘er up the stairwell, if ye wouldna mind.”
The brown-haired one with the uncanny eyes started to sing to herself.
“I’m so happy I could diiiiiiiiiiiiiiie...”
“Is she always this macabre?” he asked her friend, draping a slack arm over his shoulder and trying to steer her slight weight in the right direction.
“Wouldna ye be, in ‘er shoes?”
“She’s really a soldier, then?” he asked, mystified by this singular creature.
“Army nurse,” her friend clarified, and he found himself relieved. At least she wouldn’t see active duty. Although why he should care was beyond him.
“I canna imagine...” he said, mostly to himself.
“Weel, one man’s combat zone is another woman’s escape route, ye ken?”
He didn’t, but it wasn’t any of his business, and they had already arrived at the door of their building. After a great deal of maneuvering and cursing during which their burden remained only marginally conscious, they finally got her settled in bed with a towel, a basin, a tall glass of water and three paracetamol. Jamie got only a vague impression of her room, but it was surprisingly feminine with wispy drapes and an elaborate print of an ancient city on one wall. He didn’t know what he had been expecting. Camouflage linens, perhaps?
“Thank ye sae much for lending a ‘and, lad,” the redhead spoke as he returned to the tiny living area. “Ach, I dinna even think tae ask yer name!”
“Jamie. Jamie Fraser. An’ twas nae bother. Except fer the lager. Tha’ was blatant cruelty,” he jested.
“Ye didna stand a chance, but ye acquitted yerself admirably, Jamie. Can I offer ye a beer now, as a consolation prize?”
She was looking at him in the particular way that women did, when what they said they wanted wasn’t what they were asking for at all. He considered the situation. It was just past midnight, and he was off the next day. His flat had nothing to recommend except Rupert snoring and passing gas. Her roommate wouldn’t be waking anytime soon. And while she was no lioness, her friend was quite pretty, in her own elfin way.
“Whas’ yer name, lass?” he asked as she handed him a cold bottle.
“Geillis. Geillis Duncan.”
***
January 1, 2015, The Royal London Hospital
His eyes refused to open, so he relied on his other senses to understand this new world. There was heat so intense that it froze. Mechanical bleating. The smell of antiseptic and stench of vomit. An alien rasp that, after countless repetitions, he realized was his breath.
“I need a main line for electrolytes, right now!” He thought he recognized the voice. The whirlpool of sensations was making him nauseous, so he focused on its familiar pitch and cadence.
“...third degree burns extending across sixty percent of his back... Christ, where is that fucking trauma resident?”
A creeping chill started near his elbow and sent icy needles towards his heart. He wanted to panic, but couldn’t draw air into his lungs to scream. The mechanical bleating grew violent.
“It’s alright,” the voice soothed. “Here, take a deep breath.” A pressure around his nose and jaw, followed by the blessed rush of oxygen into his lungs. The hammering of his heart slowed slightly.
“That’s it, soldier. Deep breaths. Can you open your eyes?”
He fought against the heavy weight that seemed to press on him from every angle. The overhead lights were blinding, and he squinted against tears. A blurry smudge hovered above him. Blinking furiously, the smudge resolved into dark curly hair pulled back from a face half-covered in blue surgical garb. Between the horizon of the mask and the heaven of her curls shone the most intense pair of leonine eyes he’d ever seen.
His last conscious thought was that he was happy she made it back safely.
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Marcescent Forest
It was her third day on the ride when Ysmay reached Toussiant, and she was desperately in need of a bed. She wanted to be away from Cintra at all costs, and Toussaint, at short notice, was the best she could do. Striding beside her horse, Thumbelina, a black-and-white spotted beauty, is when she was met with the Cockatrice Inn, by her maps, bordering the Marcescent Forest, where it was whispered Kikimores roamed free. She scoffed at the thought.
Tying Thumbelina to a post she turned to her pet. “Now, you be good, understand?” Said she, petting the horse’s neck before it bumped her, something she hoped was a sign of endearment.
Before entering the Inn, Ysmay lifted her hood to veil her features as much as possible, even in sparse villages such as this, she could be recognized--she was royalty after all--and she dared not think of what her mother would do to her if she was found. Stepping into the pub gave her a sense of calm, since the sun was just beginning to sink over the tree tops, the bar was sparsely populated, and most other tennents sat in darkened corners, or hunched over the bar itself.
She moved swiftly, almost as if the air carried her to a seat at the bar, her step never once making a noise louder than a sigh. She kept her voice low, ordering an ale and inquiring about a room for the night--or a few.
“I trust no Kikimores will break in during the night, will they?” She laughed lightly, giving her best attempt at conversation with the innkeeper, before turning slightly to the left of her, her eyes darting from person to person, something here made her uneasy.
@severingblade
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