LitShark
Predator
- Joined
- Nov 8, 2002
- Posts
- 3,474
Over the sounds of power tools and banging hammers, the Proprietor recognizes the sound of a bell. He doesn’t look up from his work, converting what was once a pool house into a log cabin. It also seems to have some other purpose as a rather intense looking ventilation system is also being installed.
“Kitty. I got you a new uniform…” he says, gesturing with a claw hammer toward a rack full of new uniforms, “get dressed and I’ll show you how to make the Old Fashioned.”
The uniforms are designed to be worn as crop tops. Red, plaid flannels with no buttons, meant to be tied at the center between breasts. There are also incredibly tight khaki shorts and high-heeled Timberland boots—working together to make the wearer’s ass look great. Also, apparently just for Kitty, a pair of red, flannel cat ears with an oversized bow in the middle made from the same material.
“WALK-IN HUMIDORE” The Proprietor labels the cabin with a piece of charcoal before leading Kitty over to the bar.
“The Old Fashioned has to be ‘extra as fuck.’ I’ll show you an example…” The Proprietor pulls down a high-ball glass and plucks a sprig of rosemary from one of several hanging, clay pots.
The rosemary is lit on fire and stabbed with a brass knife, but using a summoning circle made of rock salt, its spirit is channeled into the high-ball glass and bound there by a generous drizzling of heirloom orange bitters. Next, three shots, measured and muddled from the house-made rye whiskey, clear until it encounters the rare bitters and the bound spirit of wrongfully murdered rosemary.
Next, a Marachino cherry trained as a samurai commits ritual suicide into the glass just as the spirit of the vengeful rosemary begins manifesting. While aggressively muddling with a chicken bone, The Proprietor cuts a huge block of perfectly clear ice into a perfect sphere, about the size of a billiard ball using an axe.
The translucent sphere of ice is lowered into the burgundy liquid, bringing the contents right up to the very rim of the glass. Lastly, he shaves the zest of a pitch black, vampiric blood orange into a curl to garnish the rim of the glass, one side black, the other blood red.
He slides the glass to Kitty when she finishes getting changed.
“It has to be extra as fuck. Every time.”
“Kitty. I got you a new uniform…” he says, gesturing with a claw hammer toward a rack full of new uniforms, “get dressed and I’ll show you how to make the Old Fashioned.”
The uniforms are designed to be worn as crop tops. Red, plaid flannels with no buttons, meant to be tied at the center between breasts. There are also incredibly tight khaki shorts and high-heeled Timberland boots—working together to make the wearer’s ass look great. Also, apparently just for Kitty, a pair of red, flannel cat ears with an oversized bow in the middle made from the same material.
“WALK-IN HUMIDORE” The Proprietor labels the cabin with a piece of charcoal before leading Kitty over to the bar.
“The Old Fashioned has to be ‘extra as fuck.’ I’ll show you an example…” The Proprietor pulls down a high-ball glass and plucks a sprig of rosemary from one of several hanging, clay pots.
The rosemary is lit on fire and stabbed with a brass knife, but using a summoning circle made of rock salt, its spirit is channeled into the high-ball glass and bound there by a generous drizzling of heirloom orange bitters. Next, three shots, measured and muddled from the house-made rye whiskey, clear until it encounters the rare bitters and the bound spirit of wrongfully murdered rosemary.
Next, a Marachino cherry trained as a samurai commits ritual suicide into the glass just as the spirit of the vengeful rosemary begins manifesting. While aggressively muddling with a chicken bone, The Proprietor cuts a huge block of perfectly clear ice into a perfect sphere, about the size of a billiard ball using an axe.
The translucent sphere of ice is lowered into the burgundy liquid, bringing the contents right up to the very rim of the glass. Lastly, he shaves the zest of a pitch black, vampiric blood orange into a curl to garnish the rim of the glass, one side black, the other blood red.
He slides the glass to Kitty when she finishes getting changed.
“It has to be extra as fuck. Every time.”
