Log Title: An Oil Cake A Jug of Enerwine and Thee
Date: Apr. 29, 2014
Summary: The crude and the hoity-toity find themselves at the same bar for a relaxing drink. Hilarity ensues.
Like most Dockside buildings, this place is livelier on the inside than it would seem to be from the outside. Most hours of the day, this place has people in it, though the crowds are quiet, sitting in small booths talking quietly amongst themselves and studiously not making optic contact with anyone but those at their table. Curiosity is not welcome here, if you must look around try not to make it noticeable. The bartender is an older tankfemme, built like a half-sized Guardian. There appear to be no bouncers... either they're well hidden or she doesn't need 'em.
Swindle walks into the bar. No, it's not the punchline for a joke, or even the setup for a joke. He walks over to the bar counter itself, has a seat, and orders a standard enerbeer. He gulps it down rapidly, then ahhhs in satisfaction. "Good ol' Rigellian Enerbeer."
Perched atop a sleeping Deadfall, a mini stego watches the patron, having woken up recently, himself.
Blast Off follows Swindle, looking aloof and bored. He stands next to his teammate, looking around for any possible trouble. "We really ought to be on our way, Swindle... I want to finish this chore and get back into space.... I have things to do."
The door to th' bar opens suddenly and a Tetrajet Seeker walks in. This mech is a 3 tone pastel blue with blueish white accents and he's a complete stranger to those in the bar. As the mech walks in some look his direction not recognizing him or his orange optic visor. The Seeker ignores the looks and walks with a quiet confidence up toward the bar.
Scourge is there, at the Sweeps' favorite table, and beside him is Sunder. The Curious One (Sunder, that is) raises an optic brow at Blast Off's comment, and then turns his attention to the pastel tetrajet-seeker. "Oh, now, who's this?"
"Oh," Swindle says, "Well, I need to order a bunch of enerwines for the enerwine tasting. This shouldn't take very long, though. Why, are you going to help me procure the wines?" He grins.
Blast Off glances over to Swindle at the mention of "enerwine". The Combaticon shuttle considers himself to be quite the wine connoisseur.... "Well... I suppose... in THAT case, there is no greater expert on enerwines than *I*..." He looks as the "newcomer" comes in, but is too busy being "bored and aloof" to bother scanning him ... though he remains alert to the others present.
The blue Seeker is being rather aloof himself as he sits at the bar and orders something to drink. Something pretty high on the frequency level and the highest class this place can drum up.
The little mini stego jumps off Deadfall's back, scampering to the stranger, nosing the seeker's ankle with his COLD STEGO NOSE!
"Oooh, enerwine tasting. Sounds delightful," Sunder says. He himself is of the aloof sort most of the time, considering himself to be high-class.
The Blue Seeker looks down at the small mech for a moment, "Can I help you?" he asks in a slightly strangled mid range tone.
"Are nuuuu?" Slugfest says, peering up at the mech. "No has seen."
The Seeker takes a sip of his energon and shakes his head, "Not really but I've been gone for a while. Probably left before your time."
"Great," Swindle says, "What are the better brands that I should bring in and include? I have a partial list but it may not be a complete one. I wanna make sure I get in the really good obscure brands."
Blast Off looks over at the blue Seeker and notes the drink purchased. An optic ridge is raised. Sunder may consider himself to be high-class... but Blast Off KNOWS /*he*/ IS. The highest, high class. Yep. I mean... indubitably. *disdainful sniff* He glances over to Sunder, nodding to the mech, then back to the stranger. There's something familiar about him... but then again, most of the Seekers kind of look alike anyway. He nods to Swindle as well, "Let me look at the list, then, and I shall inform you what is worth getting. I am an expert on this matter, after all."
Swindle wordlessly hands Blast Off the datapadd with the list visible as one scrolls down, at least the brands Swindle has managed to remember so far. Brands like Igyak Valley, Solar Enervintners, and de Gallotron.
Slugfest thinks something seems suspicious about the seeker! "Where beens?" the little stegosaur persists.
The Seeker frowns, "What?" he has no idea what 'beens' means. Well he does but in his present guise he doesn't...
"Where went when went away?" Slugfest wants to know.
"I was away." The Seeker says bluntly as he takes a long sip from his glass.
"Why?" Slugfest asks, like a 2 year old.
The Blue Seeker twitches a wing irritably, "Because I was ordered to."
Sunder watches the strange seeker with interest, picking up on the twitching wing. Now where has he seen that before...?
"What are name?" Slugfest asks the seeker.
"Warjet." The mech says flatly.
Slugfest ohs quietly. "So what was ordered to do?"
Warjet looks at the small mech. "You ask a lot of questions." he says.
Demonhead finally wakes up, clutching at his head with his claws. "Oooorgh, did anyone get the name a' that bus...?"
Slugfest ooohs and scampers over to Demonhead, nosing at the mech. "Falled sleeps?"
Blast Off looks over the list. "Well... THIS is worth getting." he points, then continues perusing the list. "THIS is not. And de Gallotron? Seriously?" He gives Swindle a pitying look. "NEVER waste your time... or, certainly...MINE... with THAT cheap concoction."
"What? I was getting that for mouthwash," Swindle says, "And to weed out the wanna bes. I wanna have a good laugh at some faker as they try to describe that swill with flowery notes and earthy tones. Can you see it?" He smirks.
Sunder chuckles. "Making fools out of fake connoisseurs sounds like it would be amusing. I'm all for it, just to see the looks on their faces." He shoots a sly grin in Blast Off's direction.
Demonhead sits up, shaking his head to try to get the pounding out of it. "Sleep nuttin'. I got full blown knocked da slag out." he grumbles, idly petting the stegobot.
Slugfest yays and is petted. "Maybe need moar energons."
Warjet glances over at Demonhead. He doesn't know that mech. He just gives a slight nod and works on his drink.
Demonhead finally gets back up on his feed, groaning the whole way. "I'll drink ta that." he says, exchanging nods with Warjet, then plops himself back down in front of the bar and orders another round of something...not quite so overpowering, this time.
Blast Off looks slightly relieved that his teammate isn't THAT uneducated about fine enerwines. I mean, he expects HE knows them best, but still.... He nods. "Indeed. You either KNOW your fine wines... or you don't. And any self-respecting high class mech WILL know them." He also nods to Sunder. "That... could be amusing, yes." Demonhead is unfamiliar to him, so he just glances towards them, then away again.
"I look forward to this enerwine tasting," Sunder says, "Have you thought about fancy snacks that you'd like to have alongside the enerwines? Such as fancy enercheeses?"
"Well I did have some enercrackers and enercheeses in mind," Swindle says, "Why, is there something else you'd like to see there?"
Sunder's olfactory sensors suddenly pick up a familiar scent on the strange seeker. Doesn't that smell like...Windshear? He narrows his optics.
Warjet catches Sunder's look and just gives him a look like 'dont blurt it out.'
Both Sunder and Scourge take in Warjet's 'look'. They give him questioning glances and raised optic brows.
Warjet just smirks a bit and his optic band (looks like one of Jazzes spares but it fits perfectly) swirls in shades of orange a bit.
Blast Off looks to Sunder, nodding. "Yes, some sort of enercheese... perhaps a little turbocrab and crackers..."
"That all sounds good," Sunder says, "But I was also thinking along the lines of techo-beluga enercaviar. The most delectable in the galaxy." The Sweep has a cross between an aloof and hungry look on his faceplates now.
"OH! Oh yeah! I can get that! That should kick up the class a notch or two, shouldn't it?" Swindle says.
Blast Off also keeps studying that odd Seeker over there.... and finally comes to the realization that that sure looks and appears to be Windshear. However, the shuttleformer is not snoopy, and if Windshear doesn't want to be exposed, Blast Off won't break his cover. Unless, of course, he had a reason to.
Warjet glances back at the conversation and just gives a shake of his head. Then he turns back to his glass and orders a refill.
Blast Off gives the slightest, subtlest nod of the head to the Seeker, then looks back to the others. "Indeed. I haven't even had techo-beluga enercaviar recently. Too busy with... other pursuits. I did enjoy it, however, and would very much like to have some again."
Demonhead grabs his glass of just basic old high grade, downing it in one go. Not gonna hit the hard stuff again, not this soon after the last one. After setting the glass down on the bar, he turns to Warjet. "So, what's yer story?"
Slugfest clambers up onto a bar stool and clamors for energon!
Blast Off looks over at Demonhead. He's not as familiar with this individual, and so he studies him. He says nothing for now, though.... just quietly looms... as he often does anyway.
Warjet looks at Demonhead, "What do you mean?"
Demonhead shrugs, though without a face it's difficult to tell what kind of expression he's going for. "Well, how'd ya end up where you ah? Ya gotta have /somethin'/ interestin' ta say about it."
Swindle looks over at Blast Off to see which suggestions he's keyed into Swindle's list of enerwines and other delicacies to procure.
The Blue Seeker thinks about that for a moment trying to understand what the mech said through his accent. "I...was sent away millenia ago on an exploration mission to look for energon. The expedition was lost a few hundred years into it, Im the only survivor and i recently made my way back to Cybertron."
Slugfest ohs quietly. "How were lost? Flew in black hole? Eated by grue? Starved to deaf?" the little stego wonders.
"Whats grue?" Warjet wonders.
"Dunno what are but it eat peoples," Slugfest says.
Demonhead gives Warjet a hearty pat on the back. "So ya were an explorah, huh? That's great! I was an explorah too, but me an' the boys had a lot more luck by the sound'a things. Prob'ly 'cause we were all hardened killers."
Blast Off finishes inputting some things on Swindle's datapad. "Just remember to get THIS, THUS, and for the sake of all that is upper-class please NEVER, NEVER stoop so low as to get THIS." He shakes his head at the sheer horror of the thought, then hands to list to Swindle. "There. I hope that shall suffice for now?"
Then he overhears some of the other conversation and tilts his head, looking at Demonhead. "OH, you're an explorer, are you? Hardened killers, even." He doesn't sound impressed. Of course, he's a Combaticon... mercenary for hire, before his involuntary Combiner status, and before that- explorer of space. And- he's Blast Off- he's rarely impressed. "What did you explore, then? Or kill?"
Swindle checks the list over and nods. "Though I'll get the deGallotron just for laughs. One bottle, so we can all laugh at the phonies."
Demonhead swivels around in his seat, focusing his optic dome on Blast Off. "Every paht'a da galaxy that wasn't already explored, an' everythin' there that wasn't already dead."
The Bartender brings a bowl of energon for the little stego, and Slugfest eagerly drinks! His slurping is quite noisy, like a dog drinking from a water dish.
Warjet takes the pat on the back as best he can. He wast expecting it and nearly shoves his glass through his nose plate as he lurches forward (right as he was taking a sip). He is quiet for a moment thinking back on the mercinary stuff he did when he was a pirate in his real history. He jut smirks slightly. "So was I." is all he says.
Blast Off looks calmly back at Demonhead, trying to make out just what his alt form is. "...Oh really? Did you visit the Horsehead Nebula? How about the furthest reaches of the Fornax constellation? Did you ever visit the Quasar in ULAS J1120+0641?" The space shuttle raises an optic ridge, then looks over and nods to Swindle. "Yes, that could be quite amusing."
Demonhead's altmode is quite difficult to figure out, as it takes the form of nothing found on or around Cybertron or Earth. The most the Combaticon can get out of it is some kind of space fighter. Demonhead himself, meanwhile, waves a dismissive claw. "Been there, nothin' worth remahkin' on. See, we were lookin' for things Lord Megatron can /use/ aftah the war. Nice, fertile planets full'a resources an' ripe for the pickin'," he explains, then taps his chin. "Well alright, I lied a little. We didn't kill /everythin'/ out there. What races looked like they might make good slaves, we spared, see." Still might be exaggerating /just/ a bit. [Blast Off(#11357)] Blast Off keeps looking... and yes, it's difficult to tell... but if he's a spaceship of some sort he might not be *complete* and utter riffraff, after all. Fellow sophisticated space shuttle, perhaps? Though... given his way of speaking... Blast Off hasn't decided yet. Also... how could one fly through the Horsehead Nebula and think it's "nothing remarkable"? Tsk! Of course, Blast Off has an appreciation for the finer qualities of space that perhaps not all space ships share.... Also, sounds like this mech is quite loyal to Megatron... something Blast Off has never been accused of, obviously. Though that cursed Loyalty program in his head prevents him from acting on it.
He continues looking at Demonhead, then nods. "I see. There are some rather... remarkable things out there, don't you agree? Things mere...planet bound mechs would never understand." He glances at Swindle. "No offense."
Swindle shrugs. "None taken." This is Blast Off, after all, his combatibro!
Demonhead shrugs noncommitally, sharing little of Blast Off's appreciation for space and its wonders. "Eh, view's nice 'round the nebulas an' such, but it's ruined when ya only have a bunch'a psychopaths for company. The cannibals were the slaggin' worst'a the bunch, though."
"Interesting," Sunder opines, "Sounds like fun."
Blast Off huffs slightly. Now HOW can you be a space ship and NOT appreciate the grandness of space? What a... shame. He raises an optical ridge and just *barely* refrains from shaking his head. But he can agree on one thing... "Yes... well, I know what it's like to be stuck on a long space trip with only a psychopath for company. Ever meet our teammate, Vortex?" He sniffs at the thought, glancing knowingly over at Swindle like, Am I right, or am I right?... But then he looks back... and imagines a whole CREW of Vortexes. Yikes. A glance to Sunder, then back to Demonhead. "Well... having only a psychopath for company on a long flight... is NOT my idea of fun, actually. And I should know, I work with one."
Then he blinks. "....Cannibals?"
Warjet frowns and looks at Demonhead, "Cannibals?"
Demonhead nods, somewhat grimly. "Yeah, cannibals. As in, the kind'a bots what eat their own. We came across a few other machine species out there. It wasn't pretty."
Warjet ponders this for a moment. Hes a Vampire. He preys on those he sets in his sights when the program must be satiated but to literally devour th emech?
"Cannibals, you say? Hm, maybe they were part Sharkticon," Sunder opines.
"That is.. disturbing." The Blue Seeker finally says.
Blast Off looks at Demonhead, then nods. "I have heard of them... had a run-in with what I suspected *might* be one of them once.... but I did not stick around to find out. But yes... there are.... rather uncouth species out there." And the Combaticon should know.... he's been from one end of the galaxy to the other..... "I found I needed a very powerful weapon system.... very quickly once I began my life exploring out there."
Warjet suddenly looks at Demonhead, "Sharkticons? Is that what you are refering to?" he grins, "They make nice pets Ive heard."
Demonhead suddenly laughs, which doesn't really fit the subject matter at hand. "No, no, I meant I was travelin' /with/ a couple'a cannibals. Had ta keep a blastah on me when I went ta recharge. Nothin' ruins a nice cruise like crewmates who're as likely ta eat ya as look at ya." He shakes his head to Warjet. "Nah, but Deep Blue fancies himself some kinda sea monster. I call him Bluey ta tick him off."
Blast Off huffs. "It's bad enough I have to deal with Vortex... if he was a Cannibal, too... I'd probably just eject him into space if he tried anything." He looks at Demonhead. "Ah. So you... traveled IN a ship, then? You weren't the ship itself?" A few suspicious mechs have sometimes accused the Sweeps of being cannibals, though no such rumors have ever been substantiated. Sunder and Scourge seem unconcerned however. After all, the Sweeps are a pack, and can handle any grubby mech-hungry mechanoids.
Demonhead would pull a look of disbelief, if he actually had a face to do it with. Instead, he just stares at Blast Off. "You kiddin'? Why in the pit would I wanna /be/ the ship, carryin' those mech munchahs in my belly?"
"EEEEEE!" Slugfest squeals.
Warjet almost chokes on the sip of drink he just took at Demonheads comment. He regains his /other/ persona instantly and looks at the barmech. "I asked for smooth, what do you call this muck?"
Blast Off gives Demonhead a deadpan look. "SOME of us GET to do that.... particular- *delight*...." The way he says it makes it clear he does NOT consider it a delight. "I'm a space shuttle, which means my team expects me to... surprise, surprise... *shuttle* them everywhere." He gives an ironic glance to Swindle, then back to Demonhead. "*I* have had to have all... sorts of riffraff..." He pauses, looking slightly uncomfortable suddenly. "...inside my cargo bay."
Then he rolls his shoulders, sniffing disdainfully. "Of course, this is why I attempt to be very... choosy about my passengers. ...When I..." He pauses, "...can." Obviously if he has direct orders, he's got to go with... whoever wants on board. Doesn't mean he'll like it, though.
"But will let me on board all times, yus?" Slugfest asks, nosing at Blast Off.
Blast Off looks down to Slugfest and nods. "Yes... you don't try to eat my interiors, leave messes on the floor..." He glances at Sluggy, "...Usually..." and then continues, "...or create a general nuisance of yourself. I can tolerate a well-behaved passenger... if I must."
Demonhead stares at Boff some more. "Ya got somethin' in ya vocalizer there, pal?" he asks, but then continues like he doesn't actually care about the answer. Which he doesn't. "So anyway, I ain't a shuttle, thank Primus. Just a fighter, flyin' through da stahs an' clouds an' rainin' death on the little guys below."
Blast Off glares a bit at Demonhead. "Well... don't get me wrong, there are few ships finer THAN a shuttle... it's simply that by BEING one everyone suddenly expects a free ride." He huffs a little, then suddenly has an urge to get a drink... so he waves the bartender over and orders one. then back to looking at Demonhead. "Indeed. There is no finer feeling than getting one's job done... sending off a nice orbital bombardment from space, watching as it annihilates a target city far below... and going back to base in time for some nice enerwine."
"Agreed," Sunder says, "Though there's also something to be said for an exhilarating recreational hunt."
"Yus, me no make messes!" Slugfest says proudly, as if that's some kind of major accomplishment. Though for a little stegotape, it probably is.
"Well for me there's no better feeling in the world than getting paid," Swindle opines.
Demonhead orders another glass of energon, then nods in agreement to both Blast Off and Sunder. "Yeah, but ya know what really gets my oil pumpin'? The look on the face'a some schmuck while his innahds staht poppin' like balloons. It's nothin' short'a magical."
Blast Off sniffs disinterestedly at Sunder's comment. "I suppose... not really my cup of enertea. I prefer to simply go in, get the job done, and be DONE with it. The less time I have to even deal with such riffraff, and the more time I can spend on more... cultured pursuits... the better." He nods to Slugfest, and nods more emphatically at Swindle's comment... as a fellow former mercenary he /does/ like to get paid... though probably not as much as Swindle does. Demonhead's comment gets a... stare. Ew, how... unrefined. Blast Off doesn't say anything though.... his look of slight disgust may register.
He receives his wine glass, and swishes it a moment, gazing at its rose tint. "For me... there is no finer feeling than being in space itself... and observing the things that only a spaceship CAN see. The universe is a grand, impressive place." Sunder shrugs at Blast Off. "Why, some mechs think it's very high class to hunt Turbofoxes," he says.
Blast Off looks to Sunder and nods. "True... I did a little of that, but it became boring rather quickly. Not enough... challenge. That Autofool... Mirage... I knew of him before the war. Fellow sophisticate. I recall he greatly enjoyed hunting those."
Demonhead flexes his claws at the talk of hunting. "I'd love ta get ahold'a one'a those Autobots. Ain't seen one since we left a few thousand years ago. Yeah, I'd have some /fun/ with one, ya know?"
The pastel Seeker finishes his drink and stands from his barstool. With a nod toward Demonhead and Blast Off and the rest he walks out of the bar.
"Me want hunt turbofox!" the little stego says.
Blast Off watches the Seeker walk away, then looks back to Demonhead. "Oh, well... Earth is infested with them... please, feel free to rid us of a few of those fools." He looks down to Slugfest. "I'm not sure you'd be up to it... they're tougher than they look... Not that they ever gave me a problem, of course, but you....I'm not as certain...."
Demonhead wraps an arm around Slugfest, pulling the little stegobot close. He takes his next glass in his other claw, downs it immediately, then gestures dramatically with it. "You an' me, fella, we're gonna rip 'em ta shreds. Lord Megatron ain't gonna know what ta do with all the heads we'll bring him!"
"Eh, I dunno, looks like Slugfest might be able to hunt one," Swindle remarks. He orders another enerbeer and sips at it.
"Yus!" Slugfest says, as Demonhead wraps an arm around him, "Can saw turbofoxes! Saw to pieces!"
Demonhead would blink, if he had eyes. "Wha- Turbofoxes? I'm talkin' Autobots, pal."
"Yus! Can saw those too!" Slugfest says.
Blast Off looks over to Slugfest. "Slugfest, turbofoxes are only found on Cybertron. The EARTH pest is the Autofool. Also endemic to Cybertron, alas, but now an introduced species on Earth as well." Blast Off goes back to sipping his enerwine.
Slugfest ohs quietly.
Demonhead noogies the stego. "'Ey, that's the spirit!"
Blast Off also looks over at Swindle. "Perhaps you'd like to take him, then?" Then he looks at Demonhead. "Or perhaps you can take him turbo-fox hunting and get him ready for Autofool hunting as the next step."
"Oh yeah, that's no problem," Swindle says.
"While turbofoxes are cunning prey and a challenge to locate and outwit, I prefer to wrestle Terrabore," Sunder says.
Demonhead shrugs. "Sure, but I prefah Junks. They can put themselves back togethah aftahwards, so it's like an endless supply'a punchin' bags."
Blast Off raises an optic ridge at the mention of terrabore. Of course, the Combaticon shuttle is physically pretty weak, so wrestlin' boars is NOT his chosen form of recreation. NO, he's a sniper and prefers shooting from a... safe distance. "I'd rather simply shoot something. Preferably something from far away, which takes an inordinate amount of skill to actually accomplish. Which, of course... I have." The mention of Junkions gets a glance. "I suppose that could be true... But... is it WORTH it? How challenging are Junkions? that seems like shooting turbofish in a barrel."
Demonhead shrugs again. "It's fun, that's all I care about."
"Shooting is fun, but impossible when confronting a Terrabore," Sunder points out, "Their hides deflect lasers and most forms of projectiles. One must grapple with the beast until it becomes exhausted and its throat and belly can be slashed."
Blast Off shrugs slightly at Demonhead in return. "Very well." The Combaticon is cold, but doesn't tend to see the point of annihilating inferior species... unless there's a specific reason. Not that he feels sorry for them, either. Sunder gets a look. "Sounds like...fun." His tone of voice implies he most definitely does NOT think it sounds like fun. At all.
Demonhead snorts at Sunder, an impressive feat considering the lack of nasal ducts. "Ten credits says an Armor Rippin' Slash could take care'a that."
"You're on," Sunder says, flexing his talons, "Sweep talons are very sharp, and yet manage only a basic hold on the upper part of a Terrabore's hide. You could try, but the beasts' hide is constructed to withstand most blows or blades. It would take quite some time to attempt to dispatch one in such a manner. Unless of course you could quickly flip it onto its back first. Then it would be a simple matter. But they are not quite so easy to turn."
"They also have a nasty habit of curling up to protect their vulnerable bellies," Scourge says.
Sunder nods at his Pack-Leader.
Blast Off just keeps sipping his enerwine because all this has absolutely NO appeal to him.
Demonhead flexes his own claws, tilting his head to the side. "That just makes it more interestin'. Everythin' has weakspots, an' I'll enjoy findin' the ones in its hide an' /gloatin'/ when I bring back its corpse," Then, a moment later, he adds, "In one piece."
"Now that I'd love to see," Sunder says. Though when the Sweep fells a Terrabore it's usually not in one piece because the Sweep has consumed it.
"If you do, be careful, Little One," Sunder cautions, "While you could indeed flush one out, take care it does not sink its tusks into your hide or your tail."
Blast Off just keeps sipping his enerwine. *Civilized* people such as himself do not deal with such...uncouth behaviors, after all. (Also, he knows he'd get his aft kicked if he tried doing any of this- and just doesn't want to admit it).
Sunder is a strange mix of aloof classiness and uncouth bloodlust. Or is that energon lust? "That smells like excellent wine," he remarks to Blast Off.
Demonhead gets up from his seat. "Well, if we're gonna settle this little bet'a ours, I'm gonna need an early staht. Next time ya see me, I'm gonna have a Terrabore ovah my shouldah." he says, then walks off toward the exit.
Blast Off ...is more aloof classiness, though he does possess a cold, professional side which makes him quite suited to be the Combaticon sniper. He looks to Sunder. "Indeed. Horsehead Nebula Vineyards.... just over a century old. Rather nice vintage. I do believe they have some more, if you are interested." As Demonhead walks off, he nods to him. Well, he is a fellow space ship... apparently. "Yes... I should be off soon, as well."
"Indeed, I do think I shall try some," Sunder remarks. "Let me know, Demonhead. I know the best hunting ground and where the beasts are easiest to locate."
"Wind to your wings," Sunder says to Blast Off.
Blast Off nods to Sunder, "Yours as well." and he finishes his drink, places a gratuity on the counter, nods to the others and walks off.