[@Mega Birb]

"Loikly...maybe..." Luciel vaguely replied to the question of the drink, panning through the bottles both behind and under the counter. The Hole was certainly in possession of a slurry of whisky bottles, though specifically requesting 'irish' was new, since most didn't care as long as it was close enough. With this, the bartender worked with the supposition that such liquor was in stock. The jackalope returned after a moment, holding a bottle to check the label before giving an affirming nod and pouring a glass. The question he was asked was met with a stone-faced disinterest while swiftly fishing through a drawer to unfold and drop a blue umbrella in the 'irish' whisky on the rocks, as per the bottle's title.
'Rocks' being sheared-smooth granite cubes kept in the freezer, used as an alternative to ice which would dilute the drink as well as hold temperature far longer. Whoever this bartender was who shared few meaningful words with the avian, they were quite the conscientious slinger of suds. Another signature of Ansel was his 'bagged lunch' he kept stuffed in the back of the minifridge below the freezer section.

"E're, y'go" Luciel grunted, showing genuin hospitality in how he slid a coaster under the drink. The question made his expression darken, ears flicking as they slightly folded back. "Dohn believe th'tart. Shes [i]not[/i] my sister. Th'r waitresses everywhere" the jackalope growled before resuming his stance, standing up straight and mechanically resuming the causal smile now that his business was concluded, reaching to start polishing the next nearly identical glass.