His maid wasn't such a good cook yet. That was why he was out tonight. It had nothing to do with feeling lonely and trapped in his home. It was better after all, this life in Whitby. And it was, in many ways. He didn't have to face the horrors of the asylum or his occasional prison duties.

And yet these institutions had given him structure and people to talk to. Here, he didn't have that many clients yet and once his workday was finished, he would feel a certain discomfort sneak up on him. He had been looking forward to living closer to Tobias. But his old school friend was busy with his work and his new wife and her troubles. Tristan had soon come to realize that apart from Tobias, he didn't know anyone here. And that was tougher than he had thought. It wasn't easy making friends when one didn't know anyone. Especially in his position. 

He didn't like to admit it. And so he had told himself that he was going out for a drink and a good meal and to give Pippa a break, not for any other reason. He was fine. The move to Whitby had been a good decision.

He found a pub with the odd name the Duckless Rooster and stepped inside. It was quiet, since it was still quite early. He sat down at the bar and waved to get the barman's attention. "Do ye serve food?"

Llewellyn Longass still liked the name The Duckless Rooster for the pub.  It was completely in the British tradition of British pub names.  The problem was Whitby might've been a little out of that tradition for many people mentioned the strange name of the place.  But that was part of its charm, wasn't it?  You stopped by to find out what the name meant.  Llew didn't mind telling the story over and over again because it had so liked the story.  And he had to tell himself over and over again that a new pub would take some time to get a return clientele.  So far it was mostly tourists who came in.  

He was wiping down the bar on the other side of it when he heard a voice asking about food being served.

"O'course, o'course we serve food."  He said, slightly put out by the question.  What kind of pub wouldn't serve food?  "I need a place to eat or I'd be dead meself!"  He said with a laugh.  Now he needed to find that list of items they sold.  Um.  Where were they?  He probably moved them since he was cleaning up behind the bar.  Lists, list.  He wondered where they might've gone.  "How are you today?  Are you a tourist or a local, sir?"  And that's why small talk was invented, so people could find things without making their customers realize they were missing.

"Neither, really," he replied, resting his forearms on the bar and wondering what the man was doing. "I just moved here. Haven't been to this place yet. It looks nice." He tried to make compliments where he could. If it didn't make people like him, at least it made the chance of getting in trouble smaller.

"Well thanks for coming in."  Llew said, obviously preoccupied with finding something.  While others might be less conspicuous about losing things, Llew wasn't one of them.  It helped if he had the lists within sight when he made  the small talk to cover the fact that he couldn't find them.  But he still didn't have a clue as to their whereabouts.

"What would you fancy, sir?"  Llew decided to ask. "To drink and eat?  Cook can make it all, dependin'."
Cook also threatened to quit that next time he asked a customer what they fancied because they came up with chicken parmigiana the last time.  That wasn't normally on the lists in British pubs.  But cook made do.  Cooked the chicken and threw some kind of cheese on it.  When the customer complained there wasn't a tomato sauce on it, Cook just diced up some tomatoes and threw them in a pan for a moment with some spices.  

And there they were!  All this time the lists had been alongside the cash register.  Of course they were.  The one place Llew would never have looked for them.  "Ah, here you are sir."  Llew said, giving him one.  "Sorry about that.  You're our fir - one of our first customers today so we're not all set yet."

And this is why he never married.  He was just one of them blokes who was a little addlebrained.  The cook was a great cook and pleased everybody with whatever they ordered as long as it was on the list.  If it wasn't, the cook made do, but with slight problems here and there.  It also depended on whether they had the needed ingredients.  Luckily, Cook took care of those too.  Won't even tell you what happened when it was Llew's responsibility to make sure the kitchen was stocked with the necessary ingredients.  Addle brained.

Tristan took the menu, oblivious to the fact that the man had lost it and had been stressing about it, though not oblivious to the fact that the man seemed a little tense and awkward. "That's alright," he said, not sure what was supposed to be alright. "Well, that puts no pressure on me at all..." he said sarcastically. He looked at the menu. "I'll have the fish and chips, please." He ate that too much these days, but it was one of the safe options. "And a pint... Any local brews you'd recommend?"

"Fish and chips!" Llew yelled, kinda in the customer's face.  It was obvious that he needed help with serving customers.  Whoever was scheduled wasn't in yet.  It was kind of a question whether he would show up or not.  And so Llew was on his own for now.  

Meanwhile, there was a woman's voice from the kitchen behind the bar.  "Waht you mean yellin at me like that.  I warn you if you treat me like this - "  

Llew went into the back and there was a little back and forth. 

"We got a customer waht wants the fish and chips."

"That's all you had to do was tell me.  You don't hafta yell at me the way you did."

"I'm sorry.  I gotta get back and get him an ale."

And Llew returned.  He liked Guiness and expected everybody did, so without confirming it with the customer, he poured him a Guiness in the right manner.  Holding the mug at an angle while the dark brown liquid filled the mug and straightening it as it got filled up.  He put the mug in front of the customer and the foam slowly went down.

"There you are sir." Llew declared, smiling.

Tristan jumped and nearly fell from his chair when the man shouted. He tried to resist the urge to frown. Those were poor manners. But then again, he didn't know what kind of establishment this was. He was still getting to know the town and its businesses. He listened to the exchange and wondered whether it was a family business, and it was the man's poor wife in the kitchen.

He had had Guinness before and didn't like it much. But he was also too polite to say anything. And so he watched the man pour the drink and smiled when he put it down in front of him. "Thank you," he said. "I hope I'm not troubling the Mrs. too much?"

"Missus?"  Llew asked, looking at the stranger, not comprehending at first what he meant.  "Oh no!  God forbid!  Who'd marry me?  No, that's not me wife.  That's my cook what's worked for me for a few years now.  Always says she'll quit and never does.  Thank God!  Don't know what i'd do if she did leave."

"And you remember that!"  The woman's voice came from the rear again. 

Although the man was smiling, there was something that Llew thought wasn't right with him.  "Oh I'm sorry.  I seem to give everybody Guinness."  Llew said.  "Would you like something else instead.  No trouble at all, believe me."

"No, no trouble at all cause he'll drink it himself.  The only reason he serves everybody Guinness.  Lucky he owns the place.  Don't know what his granddad would say if he known."  The woman from the kitchen again.

"Ah... sorry..." he said when he realized his mistake. He didn't think the man looked particularly unattractive, and wondered why he considered marriage so unlikely, but perhaps it was only meant as hyperbole. Awkwardly, he listened to the woman scolding the man, almost about to take a sip from his drink, just the have something to do, when the barman seemed to realize he didn't like Guinness. Was he a mindreader or something? "Oh... well... something local?" he asked again.

[Content warning: curse words, vulgar language. ]

Llew looked at the man, not quite understanding what he meant.  "Local?"  Llew asked himself, more than his customer. 

"Farmhand."  Yelled the woman from behind them.

"What does a bleeding farmhand have to do with this?"  Llew asked, now even more confused.

"Farmhand Ale, you twat!"  The woman yelled back.

"Ale?"  Llew asked.  "There's a Farmhand Ale?"  He asked no one in particular.  And he looked at the ales in front of him and sure enough one was labeled Farmhand.  "Well whowouldathought?"  He asked. 

"Open your eyes fool, what do you see?"  Came the woman's voice.

Llew took another pint glass and as he did with the Guiness filled it up with the ale, turning the glass at an angle and righting it as the lighter liquid filled the glass.  He put the glass in front of his customer and sighed as the foam settled down a little. 

"Oh shit!"  Came the woman's voice.  "The fish and chips!"

"Apparently your fish and chips will be a little longer than I thought."  Llew told his customer, smiling a little.  "I'm sorry bout that."

The woman said "I'm sorry bout that" at exactly the same time.