Slainte Pub, The Bowery, NYC, Friday

[withoutverona]

After stopping at the brunch, Romeo made his way to a bar where it seemed vaguely possible the more medieval members of their party would either fit in, or have enough Guinness that it didn't matter.

"Is this all right?" he asked, more as a point of courtesy than because he actually had any interest in going anywhere else. He was feeling lazy and self-satisfied.

[OOC; For those who know who they are.]

Comments

[bitchprince]

Arthur shrugged. "It's not too bad," he said, "What's really lacking is your choice of meats. It's hard to even find anywhere that sells decent venison. Nevermind the rarity of bird meat beyond chicken..."

[bigdamndestiny.livejournal.com]

"For all the extra food there is here, there are less types." No one ate game anymore! "And it's really better than it sounds," He assured Reno.

"There are... spices. Of sorts."

[raspberryturk]

People probably wouldn't have been opposed to eating game in Edge! If it wasn't for the fact that if it wasn't a monster running around out there, then it was probably a chocobo. And nobody really had the heart to eat a chocobo.

"Here's where I gotta do the obvious and ask what sorts of spices we're talkin' about, yo."

[future_sandworm]

Leto smirked. "Well, certainly not Spice."

[withoutverona]

"... which would be the spice from your home that is a drug as much as it is a spice?" Romeo tried, reaching back in his mind. "I'm impressed I remember that."

[bitchprince]

"That would be the one," Arthur said, faux-cheerfully, and took a sip of his drink. "Very clever play on words. Anyway, it's just..." Beat. "Pudding."