No Need To Worry

She let her finger trail around the rim of the glass, her other hand toying with the edges of the cocktail napkin as she stared into the amber liquid contained within. A passing stranger, although wrong, might have described her stare as “absent-mindedly” but this would be a poorly used description of her at the moment. Far from it in fact; her mind was fully engrossed in the present. Her thoughts a rapid-fire re-cataloging of recent events and changes.

She raised her glass and took another sip of the whiskey cocktail; expertly blended with just a touch of orange bitters, a perfectly smooth finish. She grinned to herself as she though that, after two of these, of course it had a smooth finish.

Oh where to begin in organizing the storm of thoughts going through her head. Probably, it was best to start with the money. At first she’d dismissed the messages as scams or jokes, until the man in the suit had showed up at her door to talk to her.

A week later, she was still trying to wrap her head around it all. Why her? She thought back to the conversation she’d had with him in her quarters after he convinced her that he was a legitimate lawyer, and that no, this wasn’t a joke. An “anonymous beneficiary” had decided to unplug from his pod for the last time, and had somehow come to the conclusion that she (of all people?) should be left the sum of 300 million isk and a brand new, unscratched, Vindicator-class battleship.

She’d recounted the story to Shaw, her friend and favorite bartender (and probably the best one in Sinq Laison) three times in the past week now, and it made him tear with laughter every time. Shaw and her had worked behind the bar together for years before her acceptance into the academy, and as a rule, he was her go-to for good talks, good jokes, and good drinks. Unlike herself, Shaw had never had any desire to get into a capsule, but he was always ready to hear about her own misadventures.

“Damnit Shaw, this is serious!” she’d snapped at him when confiding her first misgivings of her strange fortunes to him had resulted in peels of laughter from her friend.

He’d laughed harder and reached up to the top shelf behind him to take down a bottle of 25 year-old real oak-wood aged scotch. “Its just money kiddo, this,” he held up the bottle and tapped the glass with a finger, “this is serious” he finished with a wide grin. He’d taken out two glasses and poured them both a drink of the phenomenally expensive scotch. “Thanks for the drink though” he’d winked.

She thought some more about the Vindicator, an incredible ship, but not one she’d be able to effectively fly anytime soon. Shaw’s recommendation had been to sell it, and she was pretty inclined to agree with him. Not that she necessarily needed the money, but who couldn’t always do with another billion isk? It also might do better as cash to help fund the wormhole POS operation she’d been thinking about getting into recently.

Ah well, a lot to think about, and as Shaw had put it earlier when she’d expressed her conundrum, “whiskey and uncertainty make poor bed-fellows”. Too true.

With the warmness of the whiskey settling in her core, she decided it was time to go. She left some money on the bar (enough that she was sure Shaw would bitch about it being too much later), and made her way down to the end of the bar where he was taking a stock list of the wine bottles.

“Fantastic as always my dear” she said to him, raising an imaginary toast.

“I know” he said with a cheeky grin through his salt and pepper beard.

She laughed and gave him a hug as he came around the bar to say goodbye.

“See you tomorrow darlin” he said, and slyly slipped her an unopened beer. “For the road” he added with another of his token winks.

She made her way out of the bar and into the night of the warm constant spring of the stations bio-dome park. She cracked the beer as she left the path to take the long way home through the trees to her apartment, took a sip, and sighed. A lot to think about maybe, but there was no need to worry. She took another long sip and headed off towards home.


As someone who did actually work behind a bar for a number of years, I have a certain affection and interest in creative mixology and cocktails. Many thanks to the amazingly talented guys at NYC’s “Death + Company” for making this one up for me the other night. Truly fantastic.

The Recipe:

Red Breast Irish Whiskey

St. Germain Elderflower Liqueur

Dash of Orange Bitters

Stirred vigorously but definitely not shaken, finished with a Laphroaig rinse and garnished (at my request 😉 ) with a thin sliced curl of orange. Served in a low martini glass.

I tried to remember to get a feel for the proportions but I missed it when he was pouring. Basically its a an old fashioned, “Old Fashioned” served up, so I want to say 2 parts whiskey, 1 part St. Germain. I’ll try to go back and wrangle the info out of them ;).



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