Tiffany gulped the remainder of her existing drink in one swallow and stepped into line behind him.
“Hi there,” she said brightly, flashing her best smile. “I’m Tiffany.”
The Legionnaire glanced at her. “Hello.”
Realizing the man was not about to supply his name, she switched quickly to another conversational ploy.
“So … have you been in the Space Legion long?”
“Yes.”
Again the abruptness of the response left her without anything to say.
“Well-“
“Your drink, sir,” the bartender interrupted, pushing his offering across the bar.
To Tiffany’s surprise, the Legionnaire reached into his pocket.
“You’re paying?” she blurted. “I thought this was a free bar.”
The man fixed her with a brief, level stare.
“It is,” he said. “We still tip the bartender, though. Just because the captain’s paying for the drinks is no reason to short the help for their work. Like the captain says: `You don’t break someone else’s rice bowl.'”
With that, he tossed a bill on the bar, gathered up his drink, and left to rejoin his group.
“Something for you, miss?” the bartender said pointedly.
“Hemlock, neat,” she muttered, staring after her departed victim.
“Excuse me?”
“Nothing. Give me a rum and Coke. Heavy on the rum, no lime.”
It was clear that “bright and friendly” wasn’t working. Maybe she should change gears and see if the crowd was up for “sultry and a little horny.”
“Chilly out tonight, isn’t it?”
Tiffany glanced around.
“Lex! I thought that was you at the briefing. Let me tell you, darling, it’s good to see a friendly face. I was starting to think I had grown another head-and an ugly one at that.”