Starter for: @ruby-hampton Where: The Public House
Lou never doubted that his bar was in fine hands with Ruby on shift. She did a far better job handling the business of it than he did, and she definitely shut down more fights than him.
But she was still vulnerable, in the sense that all mortal folks are vulnerable. The Mayor kept Goodluck safe from most prying eyes, but Lou was eternally waiting for some shit-stirrer to come poking around in the bit of safe haven he'd made.
Most weekday afternoons were nice and quiet. Ruby would beat on his door if he wasn't already awake, and he'd wander downstairs to the bar for a cup of coffee and a cigarette. There might be one or two folks having a drink, but more often than not, it'd just be him and Ruby bickering about distributors or ordering or the ongoing sore spot of what she called his "macho antics."
On this fine day, however, he hit the bottom of the staircase to find the bar packed with strange faces asking if they had a fucking lunch menu. He glanced down the counter to see Ruby pouring pints, so he intercepted the question himself. "This ain't some fancy gastropub boyo, we got booze and stale pretzels."
Sliding a sad wicker basket of the said out-of-date snack down the bar, he met Ruby at the tap and leaned in to whisper. "Who the hell are these clowns, then? Haven't even brushed my teeth yet and I'm fielding questions about lunch. Some hillbilly holiday I ain't heard of?"
