A Cocktail in Two Parts

There were only two customers in The Haddock and Bum. They’d worked up an astonishing tab. The barmaid, a wiry insect thing named Wendy, had never been worked so hard by so few. Not even those alcoholic Siamese twins’ joint stag weekend. She’d been instructed to uncover esoteric spirits from the bowels of the pub.

Currently, the tiny panda one was surveying the optics.

“Hurry up, love,” shouted the frightful one from their table. “It’s been your turn for months.”

“It’s been six minutes!”

“It’s a turn of phrase.”

“It is not.”

The tiny panda one turned to Wendy.

“What’s the purple one called?”

“That’s grape Jexta,” replied the barmaid. “Gives you a four-second hallucination every half hour until you drink the lime Jexta.”

The frightful one piped up. “That sounds lovely! Get that one.”

The tiny panda one didn’t reply. He shook his head slowly.

“How about the orange one?”

“Which orange one?” asked Wendy.

“Both.”

“This one’s Groovum,” she explained, indicating the tallest of the two bottles. “Cancels out your hangover, but you’ll be blind in one eye for half a day.” She indicated the smaller, rectangular bottle. “And this is Eduzornum. Not too strong, and the flavour’s randomised.”

“Yes, alright,” sighed the tiny panda one. “Two shots of each, please.”

“Great decision, Panda!” cried the frightful one, whose ugly ugly hat fell off as she applauded. “No hangover – we can drive out early tomorrow, get a head start in that race.”

“You will not be driving blind in one eye!” cried Panda, sounding genuinely panicked.

“Keep your hair on,” giggled the frightful one. “Wendy, love – any drinks that make you grow an extra eye?”

“None,” said Wendy, placing four shots on the bar. “Although we might have an ale that gives each eye individual depth perception ...”

“Do not encourage her,” hissed Panda. “Shots on the tab again, please. And can you bring them to the table? My paws are getting terribly sticky.”

Once Panda and the shots were safely on the table, Wendy sat down in a carefully-selected seat, wanting to keep an eye on her strange customers.

The frightful one had produced two new, larger shot glasses from somewhere. From the ugly ugly hat? She poured Panda’s shots into them. There came a soft whistling sound as the drinks mixed.

“What’s this one called, chuck?”

“It doesn’t have a name.”

The frightful one frowned.

“It’s untitled, Iris.”

“There’s ambitious you are,” she snapped. “You invent a cocktail, but no, let’s not give it a name. You could be famous, Panda.”

“It’s not a cocktail. It’s two distressing shots that seem to be curdling.”

Iris leaned back in her seat and narrowed her eyes, assessing the glasses.

“Best drink ‘em quick then.” She finished one of the drinks in one. “Anyway, Panda – I’m still waiting for that name. It’s incredibly tasty. You don’t want your name on it?”

Panda was quiet for a moment. After a while, he muttered, “Prude With Violin.”

“You’re terrible with names, chuck, I’ll give you that.”

Panda took a sip of the drink.

“You liar, Iris! You said this was incredibly tasty.”

“Is that what I said?” Iris wobbled up. “Anyway – my round!”