There was no need to rush through the meal; he was stuck there until the last of the fops finished their meals. Persephone was always too polite to rush a meal; it was one of her most endearing and sometimes annoying qualities.
The bar, to the right from Samson's seat, appeared to be hard wood, but from the distance and in the soft blue lighting that was hard to tell. It was well stocked, not indicated from specific labels he could read, they were still too far away but from shapes of common spirits bottles Samson had often enjoyed in the past.
There were rums, whiskeys, vodkas, malts, hard-wines, sweet fruity things he never willingly touched, exotic blends, some small local distillers, things he couldn't name or categorize. There was even a shelf of fantastically expensive 'Old Eart
