Holiday Blues w/ The Dadliest Catch

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Okay, so an Octopus walks into a bar on Christmas Eve, and that's not really fair. Gyuvin decides where he's hiding behind the bar with a stupid pair of antlers on his head. The man? Octopus in a suit is at least person-like, Gyuvin learns he has a wife, two lovely children, a stuffy nine-five, and an (unpaid) mortgage: Gyuvin counts him as considerably a person, he pays taxes after all, and seems to live in a full suit. Which is admirable to Gyuvin who would much rather be swimming in a hoodie and joggers sandwiched between his two roommates on their luxurious couch, watching some laughably bad Hallmark movie; than suffocating in his bartender get up, stuck behind the counter (but he's ought to pay the bills somehow). Octodad, as he learns, is just your average breadrunner with his own set of marital problems. He's a pretty average dude, even if his flailing limbs knocked over three too many chairs on his way to the bar, which is (in his defence) not too abnormal in a bar without a drink limit. It's just that usually the chairs didn't also get stuck to the suction cups on said flailing limb. He even has a moustache...well sort of. It's like part of his face actually.

"Blub blub blub." (Another round) Octodad slurs at Gyuvin after slamming his glass onto the counter. Said action loses most of its dramatic points when evidently the glass sticks to his limb.

"Another beer?" Gyuvin questions him anyway; thinking absentmindedly that his Korean must be very good because everyone understands him perfectly. (Gyuvin is unaware of Octodad's language plot armour).

"Blub blub?" (Got anything stronger?) Octodad questions, loosening the tie that is really... even Gyuvin could tie it better than that; marital issues for sure.

"How about something strong and fun? Like-" And Gyuvin loves moments like this when he gets free reign to choose a drink. He gets to challenge himself with drinks he's only made a few times or never. He finally gets to really show off his craft, and it's fun, really fun. He looks over his internal menu of recipes, and claps maybe a little too enthusiastically with the entirety of his gangly arms.

"How about an Amaretto Sour?" Gyuvin smiles like a maniac as he leans across the counter. He misses it when his coworker beside him (Yoo Seungeon) shakes his head at Gyuvin's antics, making the tiny bells on the end of the little elf hat clip in his hair ring. Even in the little space behind the bar the sound is muffled, as it is the bane of Seungeon's existence: Karaoke night. It's already crappy enough working on Christmas eve, but working on Christmas Eve, karaoke night? That got to be its own circle of hell. And for Seungeon himself he swears God's trying to smite him or something because he has not once, not twice but three times been dragged up there (against his will) to sing this or that Christmas song. It's not that he doesn't appreciate that some random bar patrons like his vocals, that's sweet really, but he's working; and his manager Mark is crazy (Affectionate: i love you king).

"Blub." Octodad blubs approvingly and Gyuvin gives him two enormous thumbs up and shoots off like a rocket collecting ingredients excitedly.

Gyuvin flies through the Kitchen doors, awkwardly greeting the line cooks as he rifles around for one large egg; a jar of maraschino cherries and a lemon: Gyuvin lists in his head. Once he acquires his items, he carefully succeeds in separating the whites from his egg, and whisking it nicely. He returns back to the bar with washed hands, and new gloves to put his bartending skills on display. He leaves his bowl of egg white beside himself, and slices up a lemon to squeeze (on the lemon squeezing do-dad he does know how to use) then he prepares his shaker that he does not salt the ring of like his first day. Luckily hes tall (as fuck) so he has very little struggle reaching the good bourbon or the amaretto liqueur or the Angostura bitters; he needs. No one ever told Gyuvin how much maths bartending required; there's a lot of measuring, and calculating in cocktails. He pours his egg white into the shaker, and uses a plethora of measuring cups to add his lemon juice; bourbon; and amaretto liqueur, before yoloing albeit maybe a little too hard with the bitters. With the lid on he does a little shaky shake shake while dwarfing the shaker in his hands; pretends like he can do some fancy tricks (He can not) until he almost (embarrassingly) drops the shaker. With a kicked sheepish expression Gyuvin strains his concoction into a rocks glass; and regains some spark as he garnishes it with a toothpick of maraschino cherries resting on the rim, and a lemon peel he twists and drops with a flourish.