Hi there. How are you? I'm fine, thanks. Hope you're enjoying your evening.

Words like that floated through Tristan's head as he worked. This was why he hated working nights: the volume was too loud, and the customers too disinterested to show any kind of curtosy to the staff. During the day, people were all too happy to exercise some manners and civility with the guy fixing their drinks. But as soon as the sun went down and the volume went up, the humble barman's role changed from service to servant, and no one ever bothered talking to the hired help.

At least no one had thrown up on his shoes yet, though. That was always a plus.

Tristan reappeared from mixing Riley's drink, and flicked off the pump pouring Antonio's with a flourish. The flow of beer slowed into nothingness, a perfectly full glass provided without Tristan even looking. Who the hell said that guys couldn't multitask, huh?

He rolled his eyes as his gaze settled on the duo, too busy engaging in what teens apparently thought that kissing was; but that looked to the outside observer like they were eagerly trying to eat each other's faces. Points for enthusiasm, sure; but not so much for style.

"If you guys are hungry," he grunted, speaking mostly to try and grab their attention as he set their drinks down in front of them, "We've got an ample selection of bar snacks."

His grizzled sarcasm didn't seem to register. That in itself deserved a sigh, which escaped him as he racked up the necessary cost fo the boy's bar tab. "Just keep it PG-13, and keep it off the pool table, alright?"