The Churchill Martini, made famous by Sir Winston Churchill
One bottle of ice cold gin
One unopened bottle of vermouth
Stir gin and ice together.
Gaze at the unopened bottle of vermouth while stirring.
Strain into chilled glass.
Add olive for garnish.
Yes, essentially what you get is a glass of gin. Winston Churchill liked his Martinis served without the vermouth actually being added to the drink, just present in the same room. He is quoted as saying of the drink, “Glance at the vermouth bottle briefly while pouring the juniper distillate freely”.
This is kind of a companion piece for what I posted for Day 2 (HERE) – meaning everything originally came from the same old long fic and was then edited to stand alone well enough. There may be some extra layering going on if you read Day 2 before this one, but if not, it should be fine, hopefully. Pepper’s POV, about 1.3k words of IM1/IM2 ranting ft. a lot of purple prose and cheesy metaphors because I am in fact very weak!
“She’d be wildly conflicted, which would only make her more… crazy about me.” – Tony Stark
She sobbed the whole way to Edwards Air Base the day Tony
was due to land in the United States.
She stood there on the runway, looking at the sky, for
almost an hour. Happy told her to wait in the car, he knew how much she hated
to needlessly stand under the sun, but she was there anyway. Not for the first
time in the last three months, she felt the whole of the California skies
weighing on her shoulders, grounding her as she waited. Waited. Just
waited when all she wanted and knew how to do was search, even when she didn’t
know what she was searching for, but especially when she did.
(“Are you looking for something?” Tony had asked the very
first day she came to look for him at home, almost a decade ago. “You,
actually,” she’d answered. He had scoffed. “You’re not looking for me.”)
In the tags you wrote about a Hillary story that involves martinis and olives and now I really want to know it!
It’s a story someone told me that at a party in the 90s Hillary was slightly tipsy drinking vodka martinis and she took all the olives out of her glasses and lined them up in the palm of her hand and said she wouldn’t eat them because they were her little friends
A story about hook ups, drunk conversations and sex in a car (or over it)
Honestly, the best part of a martini is the olive. Sure, it makes you wince a little when you bite into it and the gin soaked bitterness floods in your mouth, but still, it is the best damn part, and it makes you feel fancy. That’s always a plus.
A sigh left your lips after you finished the last drop of your drink and you looked at your friends, who were in the middle of a pretty heated conversation. You didn’t need to actually hear their words to know what they were talking about, their sour faces and the over fanning of their hands said it all. You knew the words by heart, God knows you had said it yourself a couple of times before and you were probably going to say it a few more times. Boys were dumb, boys were useless, who needs boys? You literally didn’t need to keep track of the conversation to know how it went.
A glance to your right, and all you could see was the broad span of Harry’s back. Beyond that, there was not much you could actually see, or were interested in. He wasn’t paying attention to you, not at all, his eyes were fixed on the TV where the Packer’s game was in the middle of…something, you weren’t quite sure, you weren’t really interested. You couldn’t see his face, but it was a safe guess to say it was pretty much the same of the other 5 boys around him, their jaws a little slacked and their eyes somewhere between vacant and excited, the maniac glint they got when they ere watching sports. All of them looked like brainless zombies to you, while they sipped on their beers and waited for…again, something. Goals and touchdowns and shit and stuff.
Him being a Packer’s fan was another question you needed to your endless list of questions to be asked.
“H?” You whispered softly, and your fingers snuck down the fabric of the white shirt he was wearing, where you allowed your nails to scrap on the small of his back and to the meaty, soft skin of the love handles you liked so much. But an annoyed huff came out of your lips when you realized that had barely stirred him up, just enough to make him turn around and press a quick kiss to your lips, soft and unaware, before he went back to the game.
First rule of hooking up: Don’t hook up with friends. Nothing good can come out of it. Status: Broken.
Drabble idea: Mick and a martini. (I don't know where that idea came from. It just sort of popped into my head.)
He sat down at the bar not long after you started your shift. Wearing a dark blue suit with a white collar shirt he looked like he belonged in an upscale bar in New York instead of the honky tonk he was currently sitting in.
As you were heading over to take his order two men in jeans and flannel shirts joined him.
“What will it be guys?”
“Two of whatever’s on tap,” the shorter of the two flannels answered.
“I’ll have a martini with three olives please Love,” the suit ordered.
You raised your eyebrow at his accent. Now you were curious. “First, it’s Y/N, not Love, and second, you are in a good ol’ boys country bar. You have two choices. Beer or whiskey?”
The man turned slightly red and his friend grinned at you before answering for the man. “Make it three of what’s on tap.”
As the night went on you found yourself watching the three men, wondering what their story was. Bringing their third round of beers over, you noticed they clinked their glasses together and you thought you heard them mention vampires.
“Y/N!” the shorter flannel said, calling you over. “My name is Dean, this is my brother Sam, and Mr. Martini here is our friend Mick. We are out celebrating…things…and well my friend Mick here would like to know what your schedule is tomorrow.”
You grinned and glanced over at Mick, who was a deep shade of red and staring at the bar intently. “Tell him if he wants to know he should ask me himself,” you answered, jotting your number down on a napkin and sliding it over to Mick before walking away.