30M2DW III - Day Whatever

Shakespearean English

I slipped into the Twelfth Night Pub unobserved and thought to myself "Hmm, what a coincidence. The Twelfth night and this was the 16th night I'd been on the case." Cops weren't always the most accurate of people but, hey, close enough.

I parked myself in one of the darkest, deepest recesses of the bar and sat with my back to the wall so as to observe the comings and goings.

"What be your pleasure, my liege" boomed a voice in my ear. It was the barkeep, a swarthy looking fellow in what looked like knickerbockers and long stockings, shoes with silver buckles and a frilly shirt like in that Seinfeld episode.

I immediately thought of Dylan, but of course that wasn't the pleasure little Lord Fauntleroy was referring to.

"A whiskey with a Pabst chaser, and keep 'em coming."

"Forsooth, my lord has a liking for the spirits" claimed LLF.

"I don't know about your four suits but four Pabsts sounds about right."

He disappeared behind the bar and went to work on my order. I thought to myself "Gee, this guy's striving for authenticity in the Twelfth Night Bar speaking Shakespearean English and all. I'm sure glad I wasn't sent to a Chaucer Pub.

I could see out the large front window that a long, sleek, jet-black Cadillac was pulling into the parking lot. It's headlamps cut a swath across the dark interior of the bar.

Some wag at the bar shouted "Hark, what light through yonder window breaks?"

LLF was just about to chime in when I saw for myself who was entering the bar. It was him. Horse face.

LLF turned to my man and inquired: "My lord, perchance thou might share with me why the long visage?"

Prithee search out We Work For Cheese if thee feign any interest at all in this day's prompt.