Victorian stories have something of an obsession with people drinking absinthe. Ah, absinthe! La Fée Verte – the green fairy, the opalescent liquor, the verdant demon, a swirling fog of mesmeric imagery leading us into a whirlpool of decadence. Except that in England the average man was far more likely to feel the wrath of the temperance movement, or Blue Ribboners as they were derisively known, just for taking a few glasses of beer, than to ever come across absinthe. But who am I to buck a trend?
- Summary
- As everyone learns at Nanny's knee, you should never, ever mix your drinks.
- Spoilers
- Crush
- Period
- 1895
- Written
- June 2003
- Word Count
- 8,327 words
- Rating
- All Ages
- Characters
- Will
- Content
- Implied violence, including some against children; strong language; the imbibing of intoxicating liquor. And cake.
- Footnotes
- 1 footnote
Teaser
'This is good stuff.’
The barmaid stopped polishing beer dregs into the bar with a rag for long enough to look up. ‘Best in this neck of the woods.’
‘Not arguing with that. Not best compared to what’s in other necks, but neck o’ the woods – not arguing.’ He drew a thoughtful hand under his nose and smacked his tongue, tasting the last heeltap lingering at the back of his throat. ‘You wanna give me ’nother one?’
The barmaid’s eyes flicked over to the door, as if her mind were considering something connected with exits in general.
‘You sure about that, cock?’ a man along the bar commented. ‘Sure you don’t want to be getting home to the wife and kiddies?’
‘Wife and kiddies.’ Will sniggered. ‘Yeh, o’ course.’ He raised an ironic glass. ‘Here’s to the wife and kiddies.’
The barmaid hesitated for a second longer, then shrugged and refilled his glass. ‘And we’ll have no more of that sort of talk, thank you, Pat Baxter,’ she remarked to the man who had spoken. ‘In The Hobgoblin a gentleman is entitled to take as much as he judges is good for him. He may be a little merry, but there’s no harm in that, and I don’t like talk that says otherwise. It drives away the customers and it ain’t healthy. There’s a sight too many of them blue-ribbon types in this ne— in these parts as it is.’
‘Now, now, Molly, no need to take on. He just seems a few sheets further to the wind than is altogether comfortable. I ain’t one of they preaching hypocrites, we’re all friends here.’ Pat raised his pint cheerfully.
She sniffed. ‘Well I’ve known you a long time, Pat, so I’ll let it pass this once. But I know them temperance sorts – won’t be happy till there’s not an establishment left in the country is what. And they ain’t to be trusted. Sneak in under cover they does and pretend to be regular folk. Then when your back’s turned – quick as a flash, they whips out a pamphlet, and there’s another decent customer gone to the Band of ’ope.’
Will sniggered.
Read on…
Disclaimer
Buffy The Vampire Slayer and Angel, and all the characters in them, are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, Twentieth Century Fox, the WB, UPN, and just about everybody else on the planet except me. I acknowledge this fully; and I promise I’m only playing with them without hope of profit. I will put them back in the box carefully when I’m done and apologise if they got a bit hurt while I was using them. But come on, they are vampires, they can probably take it.
Please be aware that since the stories involve vampires some of the subject matter may be unpleasant or otherwise not suitable for children. To help protect minors and those of a sensitive nature, all the pages on this site are labelled with ICRA.