Ratgut Spirit - Cadiz

[Not Espi]

A pilot enters the Spirit - hair still a bit sweaty from the flight suit helmet. He walks through the door, looks at the ground, bends to pick something up and continues walking towards the tap. He wishes to speak to the bartender in private and orders 6 Hamen Whiskers - deadly as the minefield, with a bit of rat in it. Recipe is Friday's and his alone. Nobody asks, as long as it doesn't actually kill a man. Sometimes - not even then. He orders 4 for each of the men sitting at the bar, one for himself, and one for the bartender. The men at the bar recognise the signal - each grabs his cup and starts walking towards the vacant sitting spots in the room.

The pilot takes a seat at the bar, looks at Friday and takes a shot. "Hit me again. Long two weeks in Sparta and a long flight home, amigo." He waits for the shot, then lifts it and observes the reddish colour.

"Thanks. I also need a shower. Damn Elders..."

He got distracted by a collective gasp in the room. Both Friday and the pilot quietly looked around the bar for prying eyes. Everyone in the bar suddenly looks at the tables in front of them, in silence. Anibal stood up from his bar-stool: "You heard me. If you don't like it, get the hell out!"

He then sits back, looks at Friday and asks for the monthly special.

"At this point I'd eat anything. Just give me whatever you have, and don't tell me what's in it."

He notices a smirk on Friday's face.

"Why am I telling you? You never do. Just bring it here. I want to take a dump but have nothing to push it out with."

He does the shot, then waits for Friday to get back with the meal.