"Tha's very kind of you, sir, very kind," chuckles the bartender with more than the perfunctory warmth of someone who makes their living getting good tips. They move to fetch three chilled glasses and begin swirling them with absinthe and filling the lined glasses with ice. "This heat'll can make anyone right parched, even those of us who're used to it."
"One just learns not to notice it," Yrael runs his fingers over the shining green beads around his neck, amused. He has never bothered with a local accent for himself, as he is so obviously Not From Around These Parts. That kind of minor mystery - where is he even from, is he actually a mutant? - helps draw audiences on curiosity as well as a straightforward love of music and having a good time. Besides, even not-so-observant New Orleanites might catch something off about a faked accent if the particular slants and omissions and elongations of vowels aren't represented authentically. A skilled few might even be able tell exactly whereabouts in Louisiana a person is from by their accent, and would be quick to spot discrepancies - but Jim's accent is good, a believable blend of locales.
From elsewhere in the building come the sounds of dinner conversation, the occasional clinks of cutlery and wine glasses. The bar features more muted conversation from the few occupied tables. In another age, the room would have been also wreathed in cigar smoke. And it was, at one time, the faint memories of tobacco leaving their trace in the grain of the wood despite modern cleanliness and layers of polish.
The bartender adds Sazerac rye whiskey and Peychaud's bitters and three sugar cubes to a mixer and stirs them together until the sugar is dissolved completely. Then, the ice is discarded and the cocktail poured into the absinthe-lined glasses, and a delicate curl of lemon peel is added to the rim of each glass with a delicate hand.
"Enjoy, gentlemen," smiles the bartender, offering up the finished cocktails.
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Date: 2016-06-30 03:25 pm (UTC)From:"One just learns not to notice it," Yrael runs his fingers over the shining green beads around his neck, amused. He has never bothered with a local accent for himself, as he is so obviously Not From Around These Parts. That kind of minor mystery - where is he even from, is he actually a mutant? - helps draw audiences on curiosity as well as a straightforward love of music and having a good time. Besides, even not-so-observant New Orleanites might catch something off about a faked accent if the particular slants and omissions and elongations of vowels aren't represented authentically. A skilled few might even be able tell exactly whereabouts in Louisiana a person is from by their accent, and would be quick to spot discrepancies - but Jim's accent is good, a believable blend of locales.
From elsewhere in the building come the sounds of dinner conversation, the occasional clinks of cutlery and wine glasses. The bar features more muted conversation from the few occupied tables. In another age, the room would have been also wreathed in cigar smoke. And it was, at one time, the faint memories of tobacco leaving their trace in the grain of the wood despite modern cleanliness and layers of polish.
The bartender adds Sazerac rye whiskey and Peychaud's bitters and three sugar cubes to a mixer and stirs them together until the sugar is dissolved completely. Then, the ice is discarded and the cocktail poured into the absinthe-lined glasses, and a delicate curl of lemon peel is added to the rim of each glass with a delicate hand.
"Enjoy, gentlemen," smiles the bartender, offering up the finished cocktails.