Tristan was glad that the barman understood what he meant at last, but he was increasingly offended by the cook's coarse manners. It seemed to him that he had dodged a bullet with Pippa. Her good breeding had taught her good manners, even if it hadn't taught her housekeeping. But in that moment, Tristan thought that he would rather have a servant who didn't know how to cook, than a cook who didn't know how to be a servant.

"That's alright," said Tristan, eager to de-escalate the situation. He picked up his drink and took a sip. "It's quiet today..." He could understand why, but he left that to inference. "Is the place new?"

"Newish." Llew said.

"Newish he says!" Came the voice from the kitchen. "Don't you ever answer questions direct?"

"We been here three years." Llew said and once again, the woman said it at the same time he did. "Knock on wood." And he knocked three times on the bar. "It's still early. In the day, in the week. How do ye like the ale?" This wasn't just idle conversation, he really wanted to know. He never even heard of that ale before.

Tristan couldn't help but frown as the insolent woman interrupted again. The pub should fire her. Or perhaps there just weren't enough cooks on the market.

He didn't like the drink much, though he liked it better than Guinness. Still, he was too polite to tell. "Oh it's good, thank you," he said. "How come the place is called the... what was is... Roosterless..." he asked, trying to make conversation while he waited for his food. He had been staring at the off name outside and had been a little puzzled. There were billions of 'Rose and Crowns' and 'White Hart Inns', but he had never come across this name before.

"The Duckless Rooster."  Again, there were two voices, not just one.  "My dad told me a story of a rooster what had a friend what was a duck.  They were great friends.  One day the duck died.  The rooster tried to make friends with other ducks, but no duck would be his friend.  So when people saw him all alone, they called him the duckless rooster.  I liked the name and always knew if I ever owned a pub, I'd have to call it the Duckless Rooster.  Besides, I've always heard that a pub is known by its story."  Inside he knew only too well that he was a duckless rooster also so he knew exactly what the lil fella felt.  He paused for a moment.  "It's obviously not on when the food finally gets served or nothing like that!"  He yelled the last.

"I know I know."  The woman in the back said.  "If you don't like it, you can always fire me."  And she just laughed knowing full well he'd be up a shit's creek should that ever happen.

"How long?"  Llew asked the voice from beyond the back wall.  

"Not long now."  Came the screech.

Tristan listened to the story, wondering about the same thing: why it had such meaning for the man. But this was not his business of course, except that as an alienist, he sometimes couldn't help himself. They remained silent reflections, however, rudely interrupted by the man yelling at the woman in the kitchen. He couldn't help a light cringe. So the poor manners were mutual?

He held up his hand and quickly said: "It's alright. I'm in no rush!" It wasn't like he had a social life or anything to do in the evenings. "I'm a slow drinker, anyway."

Llew had this gift that whenever someone didn’t like something, he knew about it.  Whether it was an instantaneous bad face or a wrinkle of the forehead, or any little thing, he knew.  That’s what made him so good with customer service.  Okay, well customer service inasmuch as making sure your customer enjoys his food and/or drink.  Not necessarily manners.  His rapport with the cook was his rapport with the cook.  He thought it gave the Duckless Rooster its character.  But he knew the customer in front of him didn’t like the drink.  There’s was something to him. 
 
“Slow drinker?”  He repeated the remark.  There you are, see.  Tell tale sign he doesn’t like it.  “My good man, I know you asked for a local drink and all, but I can’t be sure you’ll likem.  So why don’t you tell me what you know you will like that we have and I’ll give you that on the house, shall I?  Anythi-any ale you like.”  If the guy refused, so be it.  But you can’t say Llew didn’t try to make amends for giving him an ale he didn’t like.  But somehow he felt like he might tell people the Duckless Rooster was no good.  He didn’t need the bad talk.  No indeed.  Businesses succeeded with good talk.  Bad talk killed businesses.  Look at the Blind Sergeant.  No doubt bad talk killed it stone cold dead. 
 
He also decided he would make it up to the gentleman another way also.  But what he needed right now was the goddamned food.
 
“Oi! You!”  Came a screech from behind the kitchen door, now open with two hands holding beautiful golden fish and chips on a large platter.  Even Llew became hungry just looking at it.  The fish was battered beautifully and was one of the largest pieces, he knew that!  There was also lemon and a round bowl of tartar sauce.  Llew took the platter with a huge grin on his face and happily put it before his customer.  There you are sir!  I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.  Would you like ketchup or vinegar for your fries?”
 
“OI!”  Again the screech.  Two hands held out:  one held ketchup, the other vinegar.  As soon as Llew took them and put them on the bar, “OI”  And another hand held out a glass of mayonnaise.  Llew took it and put it on the bar before the gentleman.  Hopefully his culinary needs would be taken care of no matter what he might like with his chips.  If the stupid sod didn’t like the ale, at least the blighter would like the food!  Llew thought, or he’d have to cut his tongue out.
 

Tristan felt embarrassed. He had already made the man replace one drink. He couldn't stand the thought that he'd have to replace another. He didn't want to seem choosy and demanding. "Oh no, really, I quite like it." And to demonstrate, he quickly took a sip and managed to keep his face plain.

It was the food he was here for anyway, and he was delighted when the woman brought a plate of delicious looking fish and chips. It smelled fantastic. "That looks delicious, ma'am, thank you," he called out to her. He put some of the ketchup on his plate and began to eat. Then he turned back to the barman. "So what happened to the rooster?"

Llew looked at the man.  He knew he was lying.  "Sir, if you tell me that you like that ale when you really don't and you go out there and tell people that I forced you to drink somethin you didn't like, that wouldn't be right.  I'm gonna ask you one more time and it's not because I'm being a prick it's because I care about my guests."

"Yes he does."  screeched the woman from the kitchen.  "He really wants you to like your stay here sir.  Please tell him what you want."

"I hesitated saying this afore but I'll give you anything you want on the house, up to a point."  Llew wanted him to like what he was drinking.  That was really all there was to it.  "What would you like?  Now if you really do like that ale, that's fine, but don't tell people I forced you to drink something what you didn't like."

"That's lying!"  Another screech.  

This was the last chance he was gonna get.  Either he orders something else now, or he has to make do with the drink in front of him.  If he says anything bad about the place and Llew heard about it, woes be to the customer whoever the hell he was.  He'd be found dead and in some place that would warn people not to talk badly about a pub what tried to serve the man an ale he liked.  But now Llew had opened it up to any drink.  "Up to a point" made sure he didn't order the most expensive thing in the house.  

"Hmm what?"  The man's question completely caught him off guard.

Tristan frowned, and he pressed his lips together unconsciously. Alright, this was beyond uncomfortable. What the hell was wrong with this guy? He felt attacked and called out, and felt some anger rise, though he hard learned early to restrain himself. Still, he had half a mind to just pay and walk away. He didn't though. He knew he shouldn't cause trouble, especially with people he didn't know. And so he resolved to eat his meal quickly and leave.

"I quite like it, sir," he lied obstinately. "And I assure you, I wouldn't talk negatively about your pub." Though he was beginning to see why he would. Anyway, he didn't have many people to talk to.

Llew didn't buy it, but that's what he said so he went along. "Okay, I'm sorry." He said. "I have a sense about these things and I follow it."

"And he's never wrong!" Came the usual screech.

"How's the fish and chips, sir?" Llew asked. "She does the best she can, you know." He smiled widely, obviously just joking,but the screech returned yet again.

"Does the best she can he says. He should try cooking. he'd lose every customer, he wood."