The bar was predictably quiet for a Thursday evening, and having finished polishing the glasses and stacking them back in cabinets, I was idly rearranging the spirits on display when a low, "ahem", alerted to a waiting customer.

I turned on my heel, plastering on a friendly smile. "Hi, what can I get you?" The man stared at me with bright green eyes and a pensive expression before they flickered to the cabinet I'd been re-organising. "Your strongest liquor." He replied, but there was enough authority and class in his low silken voice, I didn't bother questioning his choice. His accent certainly wasn't local. I eyed him a moment, taking in his inky shoulder length hair with a touch of a wave to it, and out of season pale expression. In fact, his attire, a black suit, was entirely out of season. Perhaps he'd attended a funeral? It made sense, he wanted the hard stuff. I pulled down the Polish Vodka, and a tumbler.

"What would you like it mixed with?"

"Keep it straight." He swiftly replied.

"Sorry, can't do that." I heard his hand slam down on the counter, and turned, ready to tell him to get out, but he had a hundred dollar note under his long fingers. Pianist fingers, my mum would call them.

"Then surprise me." He murmured in a voice like crushed velvet.

"Very well." I studied him a moment longer, and spun around, gathering ingredients. A bitter drink for a bitter man, but, a little warm spice and dash of sweetness. I sat the drink on the bar, and he delicately handed me the note.

I placed his change on the counter as he took his first tentative sip. "Impressive." He murmured, taking another drink.

"You're welcome. I've been told I have a knack for choosing the appropriate drink for patrons."

"Truly?" He studied me behind the rim of his glass, those green eyes calculating. "And why did you choose this for me?" I shuffled uncomfortably under the weight of his stare.

"Lime bitters for a bitter day, spice to warm a desolate heart, and a dash of honey'ed mead for hope." I froze, and stared at him. "My apologies, that sounded terrible." He let out a low, bitter laugh.

"Ah, but it was the truth. You are perceptive." I shrugged and picked up a cloth, wiping over the sink below the bar top.

"Tell me..." His gaze darted to my name badge, and then back to my eyes. "Toria?" I raised a brow, waiting. "What do you deem the meaning of life?" He swallowed down the rest of his drink, and I immediately began making another.

"Now, that is quite a loaded question." I replied, unsure if I should be encouraging the conversion, but the strange man was oddly intriguing, and he was obviously going through something personal. Sometimes, the best ears were those of a stranger. I mixed his drink, pondering his question, this time adding a little more of the honey'd mead. "Biology would say to procreate, and perhaps for most creatures on this earth, that is their instinctual goal." I mused, setting his next drink down and taking up my cloth again. "But, if you look back through time, through evolution. Perhaps it is to merely survive?"

"Go on." He urged, as if with baited breath.

"Survival, is our most basic instinct. We go to great lengths to survive..." I trailed off, no longer enjoying the trajectory of my thoughts.

"That we do." He murmured, more to himself, and I flickered my gaze up, to catch a shadow of regret in his eyes. "But why do we want to survive? What drives us?"

"Hope." I whispered. "Hope for something better once it's all over. Be it love, happiness, acceptance or just, peace." Again, I'd spoken freely without thought and turned away back to my tasks.

"When do you know if you have those things?" His voice was a weary sigh.

"I guess, it's when you feel like you belong in your own skin."

"For a young midgardian, you are quite astute." He declared, downing the second drink and nodding for a third.

"A term from your homeland, I take it?" I raised a brow at what he'd called me. He nodded.

"Something like that." He, to my surprise, leaned forward and rested his head upon his arm on the counter and peered up at me. "I have everything I ever wanted, and yet it does not seem enough. Something is still missing. A part of me still craves for something else, something bigger."

"Are you happy?" I asked. Such a simple question, but altogether hard to answer.

"Of course I'm happy, I am leading my people successfully, they are happy, my father is safely in an aged facility, I'm fulfilling my purpose as heir..."

Ah so he was a corporate business man. Perhaps an owner or CEO. "Your people are happy, but, are 'you' happy?" I countered.

"What do you mean?" He frowned.

"When you finish work, and you no longer have the responsibility for a few hours, like now, are you happy then? Are you happy now?" I'd noticed he wore no wedding band on his finger, yet, it did not mean he was partnerless. "Are you happy to take off the tie, and go home to your family?" Grief flashed through his eyes, and I remembered the all black suit he wore. "Sorry, that is not my business, I should not have-"

"I've no family close." He said. "At least, not anymore." He lifted his head, and sipped at his current drink. "You've added more honey." He noted.

"I did."

"You waste it on me. There is no hope for me."

"There's always hope." I countered.

"You sound like my mother." He scoffed.

"Then she is obviously a wise woman." I flashed him a quick grin, trying to lighten the mood.

"She was. The wisest." He murmured, sorrow back in his eyes. "I best return. Thank you for this insightful chat."

"Any time." I replied, my smile sincere as the odd man elegantly rose from his stall, and strode from the bar, the bell at the entrance indicating his departure. I shook my head, hoping he'd work out his problems, and went about shutting up for the evening.