The Crossroads of the Aether
Dear Ladies and Gentlemen, I hereby formally invite you to attend The Accepted Cog Saloon.
For all those worried about the time of day, do not fret. I have oft heard the saying "it is 5'oclock on Friday somewhere." Well I fed this data into my analytical engine, then plugged it into one of Mr. Steampunker's temporal iris machines. Once the crank on the tabulator was turned, Eureka, a temporal time shift bubble encased the saloon. Once you enter the doors of this place, it is 5 of the clock on a Friday afternoon, and you can pack up your worries and enjoy it like it is the weekend tomorrow.
What happens after you leave the temporal bubble is your problem, sorry.
Want a beverage or foodstuff that does not exist in England in the Year 18..? Do not fret. A well respected author I refer to a lot discovered L-space, that dimension created by the accumulation of knowledge into which all libraries in time and space are linked.
I reasoned that since once alcohol is consumed people seem to know everything, the same principles could be applied here, thus:
Alcohol=knowledge, knowledge=power, power = energy, energy=matter, and matter=mass.
Since mass has the ability to warp space, this formulae allowed me to punch through the barrier of space and time and link all places where alcohol is served via B-space, wherever and whenever they may be. So, request a food or drink, and I shall navigate the labyrinth of B-space to find you your desire (by removing it from another’s establishment) and return to you in mere moments. There is a karma in it all, as I have allowed other barkeeps entrance to the system, so we all borrow from each other.
So, come one, come all, park your air ships on the roof, shrug off your jetpacks and coats, wipe the coal dust from your cheeks, and come in for an evening of entertainment and lively discussion.
time for a little music. classical i think.
The best sour mash you have my good man. Make it a double straight up if you please.
I am in keen favour of Jamesons. Tis mellow and retains its flavour in your mouth.
Excellent! Care to join me?
to your health. heres mud in your eye.
If there is one thing i have learned in the last few weeks, it is not to get to caught up in the proper doing of things, and try out something new. The "depth charge" (thankyou wally, i knew it had a name, but it eluded me) is just a little something to try, that is all. It seems clear to me though that you are a man of good taste, who prefers his whiskey as is, and this is a fine thing. I am glad you ordered another and did not leave in a storm of curses at your simple bartender, and i hope it enables you to clean the distaste of my suggestion from your palatte.
Incedentally, do you mind if i catch that tear and bottle it. There are some customers in here that will pay well for such as a refreshment as gentlemans tears.
Mens tears are so hard to come by. I would pay handsomely for some. Name your price!
Mind the bar a minute wally.
And here we go my good sir. procured from the year 1725, after most of Scotland’s distillation was either shut down or forced underground by the English Malt Tax. This here bottle was given to me from its hiding place under the altar of the Blaich Church in Ardgour. The priests did not want to part with it, but of course, they do not know they have yet!
My fine barman, could you set up a memorial shot, (that shall remain untouched), of your very finest libation. For I have lost yet another helmsman upon our last venture. When, I ask you, will they learn to duck cannon fire? Is there an able bodied pilot in the house friends? Anyone?
Alas, another good man down. A shot (maybe not the best word in such circumstances) of my best, and placed onto the empty space on the shelf reserved for just such occasions.
To yourself, and the rest of the crew, welcome back and good health. I trust the expedition was a success despite your loss. Any stories to entertain our customers with?