His maid wasn't such a good cook yet. That was why he was out tonight. It had nothing to do with feeling lonely and trapped in his home. It was better after all, this life in Whitby. And it was, in many ways. He didn't have to face the horrors of the asylum or his occasional prison duties.

And yet these institutions had given him structure and people to talk to. Here, he didn't have that many clients yet and once his workday was finished, he would feel a certain discomfort sneak up on him. He had been looking forward to living closer to Tobias. But his old school friend was busy with his work and his new wife and her troubles. Tristan had soon come to realize that apart from Tobias, he didn't know anyone here. And that was tougher than he had thought. It wasn't easy making friends when one didn't know anyone. Especially in his position. 

He didn't like to admit it. And so he had told himself that he was going out for a drink and a good meal and to give Pippa a break, not for any other reason. He was fine. The move to Whitby had been a good decision.

He found a pub with the odd name the Duckless Rooster and stepped inside. It was quiet, since it was still quite early. He sat down at the bar and waved to get the barman's attention. "Do ye serve food?"

Llewellyn Longass still liked the name The Duckless Rooster for the pub.  It was completely in the British tradition of British pub names.  The problem was Whitby might've been a little out of that tradition for many people mentioned the strange name of the place.  But that was part of its charm, wasn't it?  You stopped by to find out what the name meant.  Llew didn't mind telling the story over and over again because it had so liked the story.  And he had to tell himself over and over again that a new pub would take some time to get a return clientele.  So far it was mostly tourists who came in.  

He was wiping down the bar on the other side of it when he heard a voice asking about food being served.

"O'course, o'course we serve food."  He said, slightly put out by the question.  What kind of pub wouldn't serve food?  "I need a place to eat or I'd be dead meself!"  He said with a laugh.  Now he needed to find that list of items they sold.  Um.  Where were they?  He probably moved them since he was cleaning up behind the bar.  Lists, list.  He wondered where they might've gone.  "How are you today?  Are you a tourist or a local, sir?"  And that's why small talk was invented, so people could find things without making their customers realize they were missing.

"Neither, really," he replied, resting his forearms on the bar and wondering what the man was doing. "I just moved here. Haven't been to this place yet. It looks nice." He tried to make compliments where he could. If it didn't make people like him, at least it made the chance of getting in trouble smaller.

"Well thanks for coming in."  Llew said, obviously preoccupied with finding something.  While others might be less conspicuous about losing things, Llew wasn't one of them.  It helped if he had the lists within sight when he made  the small talk to cover the fact that he couldn't find them.  But he still didn't have a clue as to their whereabouts.

"What would you fancy, sir?"  Llew decided to ask. "To drink and eat?  Cook can make it all, dependin'."
Cook also threatened to quit that next time he asked a customer what they fancied because they came up with chicken parmigiana the last time.  That wasn't normally on the lists in British pubs.  But cook made do.  Cooked the chicken and threw some kind of cheese on it.  When the customer complained there wasn't a tomato sauce on it, Cook just diced up some tomatoes and threw them in a pan for a moment with some spices.  

And there they were!  All this time the lists had been alongside the cash register.  Of course they were.  The one place Llew would never have looked for them.  "Ah, here you are sir."  Llew said, giving him one.  "Sorry about that.  You're our fir - one of our first customers today so we're not all set yet."

And this is why he never married.  He was just one of them blokes who was a little addlebrained.  The cook was a great cook and pleased everybody with whatever they ordered as long as it was on the list.  If it wasn't, the cook made do, but with slight problems here and there.  It also depended on whether they had the needed ingredients.  Luckily, Cook took care of those too.  Won't even tell you what happened when it was Llew's responsibility to make sure the kitchen was stocked with the necessary ingredients.  Addle brained.

Tristan took the menu, oblivious to the fact that the man had lost it and had been stressing about it, though not oblivious to the fact that the man seemed a little tense and awkward. "That's alright," he said, not sure what was supposed to be alright. "Well, that puts no pressure on me at all..." he said sarcastically. He looked at the menu. "I'll have the fish and chips, please." He ate that too much these days, but it was one of the safe options. "And a pint... Any local brews you'd recommend?"

"Fish and chips!" Llew yelled, kinda in the customer's face.  It was obvious that he needed help with serving customers.  Whoever was scheduled wasn't in yet.  It was kind of a question whether he would show up or not.  And so Llew was on his own for now.  

Meanwhile, there was a woman's voice from the kitchen behind the bar.  "Waht you mean yellin at me like that.  I warn you if you treat me like this - "  

Llew went into the back and there was a little back and forth. 

"We got a customer waht wants the fish and chips."

"That's all you had to do was tell me.  You don't hafta yell at me the way you did."

"I'm sorry.  I gotta get back and get him an ale."

And Llew returned.  He liked Guiness and expected everybody did, so without confirming it with the customer, he poured him a Guiness in the right manner.  Holding the mug at an angle while the dark brown liquid filled the mug and straightening it as it got filled up.  He put the mug in front of the customer and the foam slowly went down.

"There you are sir." Llew declared, smiling.

Tristan jumped and nearly fell from his chair when the man shouted. He tried to resist the urge to frown. Those were poor manners. But then again, he didn't know what kind of establishment this was. He was still getting to know the town and its businesses. He listened to the exchange and wondered whether it was a family business, and it was the man's poor wife in the kitchen.

He had had Guinness before and didn't like it much. But he was also too polite to say anything. And so he watched the man pour the drink and smiled when he put it down in front of him. "Thank you," he said. "I hope I'm not troubling the Mrs. too much?"

"Missus?"  Llew asked, looking at the stranger, not comprehending at first what he meant.  "Oh no!  God forbid!  Who'd marry me?  No, that's not me wife.  That's my cook what's worked for me for a few years now.  Always says she'll quit and never does.  Thank God!  Don't know what i'd do if she did leave."

"And you remember that!"  The woman's voice came from the rear again. 

Although the man was smiling, there was something that Llew thought wasn't right with him.  "Oh I'm sorry.  I seem to give everybody Guinness."  Llew said.  "Would you like something else instead.  No trouble at all, believe me."

"No, no trouble at all cause he'll drink it himself.  The only reason he serves everybody Guinness.  Lucky he owns the place.  Don't know what his granddad would say if he known."  The woman from the kitchen again.

"Ah... sorry..." he said when he realized his mistake. He didn't think the man looked particularly unattractive, and wondered why he considered marriage so unlikely, but perhaps it was only meant as hyperbole. Awkwardly, he listened to the woman scolding the man, almost about to take a sip from his drink, just the have something to do, when the barman seemed to realize he didn't like Guinness. Was he a mindreader or something? "Oh... well... something local?" he asked again.

[Content warning: curse words, vulgar language. ]

Llew looked at the man, not quite understanding what he meant.  "Local?"  Llew asked himself, more than his customer. 

"Farmhand."  Yelled the woman from behind them.

"What does a bleeding farmhand have to do with this?"  Llew asked, now even more confused.

"Farmhand Ale, you twat!"  The woman yelled back.

"Ale?"  Llew asked.  "There's a Farmhand Ale?"  He asked no one in particular.  And he looked at the ales in front of him and sure enough one was labeled Farmhand.  "Well whowouldathought?"  He asked. 

"Open your eyes fool, what do you see?"  Came the woman's voice.

Llew took another pint glass and as he did with the Guiness filled it up with the ale, turning the glass at an angle and righting it as the lighter liquid filled the glass.  He put the glass in front of his customer and sighed as the foam settled down a little. 

"Oh shit!"  Came the woman's voice.  "The fish and chips!"

"Apparently your fish and chips will be a little longer than I thought."  Llew told his customer, smiling a little.  "I'm sorry bout that."

The woman said "I'm sorry bout that" at exactly the same time.

Tristan was glad that the barman understood what he meant at last, but he was increasingly offended by the cook's coarse manners. It seemed to him that he had dodged a bullet with Pippa. Her good breeding had taught her good manners, even if it hadn't taught her housekeeping. But in that moment, Tristan thought that he would rather have a servant who didn't know how to cook, than a cook who didn't know how to be a servant.

"That's alright," said Tristan, eager to de-escalate the situation. He picked up his drink and took a sip. "It's quiet today..." He could understand why, but he left that to inference. "Is the place new?"

"Newish." Llew said.

"Newish he says!" Came the voice from the kitchen. "Don't you ever answer questions direct?"

"We been here three years." Llew said and once again, the woman said it at the same time he did. "Knock on wood." And he knocked three times on the bar. "It's still early. In the day, in the week. How do ye like the ale?" This wasn't just idle conversation, he really wanted to know. He never even heard of that ale before.

Tristan couldn't help but frown as the insolent woman interrupted again. The pub should fire her. Or perhaps there just weren't enough cooks on the market.

He didn't like the drink much, though he liked it better than Guinness. Still, he was too polite to tell. "Oh it's good, thank you," he said. "How come the place is called the... what was is... Roosterless..." he asked, trying to make conversation while he waited for his food. He had been staring at the off name outside and had been a little puzzled. There were billions of 'Rose and Crowns' and 'White Hart Inns', but he had never come across this name before.

"The Duckless Rooster."  Again, there were two voices, not just one.  "My dad told me a story of a rooster what had a friend what was a duck.  They were great friends.  One day the duck died.  The rooster tried to make friends with other ducks, but no duck would be his friend.  So when people saw him all alone, they called him the duckless rooster.  I liked the name and always knew if I ever owned a pub, I'd have to call it the Duckless Rooster.  Besides, I've always heard that a pub is known by its story."  Inside he knew only too well that he was a duckless rooster also so he knew exactly what the lil fella felt.  He paused for a moment.  "It's obviously not on when the food finally gets served or nothing like that!"  He yelled the last.

"I know I know."  The woman in the back said.  "If you don't like it, you can always fire me."  And she just laughed knowing full well he'd be up a shit's creek should that ever happen.

"How long?"  Llew asked the voice from beyond the back wall.  

"Not long now."  Came the screech.

Tristan listened to the story, wondering about the same thing: why it had such meaning for the man. But this was not his business of course, except that as an alienist, he sometimes couldn't help himself. They remained silent reflections, however, rudely interrupted by the man yelling at the woman in the kitchen. He couldn't help a light cringe. So the poor manners were mutual?

He held up his hand and quickly said: "It's alright. I'm in no rush!" It wasn't like he had a social life or anything to do in the evenings. "I'm a slow drinker, anyway."

Llew had this gift that whenever someone didn’t like something, he knew about it.  Whether it was an instantaneous bad face or a wrinkle of the forehead, or any little thing, he knew.  That’s what made him so good with customer service.  Okay, well customer service inasmuch as making sure your customer enjoys his food and/or drink.  Not necessarily manners.  His rapport with the cook was his rapport with the cook.  He thought it gave the Duckless Rooster its character.  But he knew the customer in front of him didn’t like the drink.  There’s was something to him. 
 
“Slow drinker?”  He repeated the remark.  There you are, see.  Tell tale sign he doesn’t like it.  “My good man, I know you asked for a local drink and all, but I can’t be sure you’ll likem.  So why don’t you tell me what you know you will like that we have and I’ll give you that on the house, shall I?  Anythi-any ale you like.”  If the guy refused, so be it.  But you can’t say Llew didn’t try to make amends for giving him an ale he didn’t like.  But somehow he felt like he might tell people the Duckless Rooster was no good.  He didn’t need the bad talk.  No indeed.  Businesses succeeded with good talk.  Bad talk killed businesses.  Look at the Blind Sergeant.  No doubt bad talk killed it stone cold dead. 
 
He also decided he would make it up to the gentleman another way also.  But what he needed right now was the goddamned food.
 
“Oi! You!”  Came a screech from behind the kitchen door, now open with two hands holding beautiful golden fish and chips on a large platter.  Even Llew became hungry just looking at it.  The fish was battered beautifully and was one of the largest pieces, he knew that!  There was also lemon and a round bowl of tartar sauce.  Llew took the platter with a huge grin on his face and happily put it before his customer.  There you are sir!  I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.  Would you like ketchup or vinegar for your fries?”
 
“OI!”  Again the screech.  Two hands held out:  one held ketchup, the other vinegar.  As soon as Llew took them and put them on the bar, “OI”  And another hand held out a glass of mayonnaise.  Llew took it and put it on the bar before the gentleman.  Hopefully his culinary needs would be taken care of no matter what he might like with his chips.  If the stupid sod didn’t like the ale, at least the blighter would like the food!  Llew thought, or he’d have to cut his tongue out.
 

Tristan felt embarrassed. He had already made the man replace one drink. He couldn't stand the thought that he'd have to replace another. He didn't want to seem choosy and demanding. "Oh no, really, I quite like it." And to demonstrate, he quickly took a sip and managed to keep his face plain.

It was the food he was here for anyway, and he was delighted when the woman brought a plate of delicious looking fish and chips. It smelled fantastic. "That looks delicious, ma'am, thank you," he called out to her. He put some of the ketchup on his plate and began to eat. Then he turned back to the barman. "So what happened to the rooster?"

Llew looked at the man.  He knew he was lying.  "Sir, if you tell me that you like that ale when you really don't and you go out there and tell people that I forced you to drink somethin you didn't like, that wouldn't be right.  I'm gonna ask you one more time and it's not because I'm being a prick it's because I care about my guests."

"Yes he does."  screeched the woman from the kitchen.  "He really wants you to like your stay here sir.  Please tell him what you want."

"I hesitated saying this afore but I'll give you anything you want on the house, up to a point."  Llew wanted him to like what he was drinking.  That was really all there was to it.  "What would you like?  Now if you really do like that ale, that's fine, but don't tell people I forced you to drink something what you didn't like."

"That's lying!"  Another screech.  

This was the last chance he was gonna get.  Either he orders something else now, or he has to make do with the drink in front of him.  If he says anything bad about the place and Llew heard about it, woes be to the customer whoever the hell he was.  He'd be found dead and in some place that would warn people not to talk badly about a pub what tried to serve the man an ale he liked.  But now Llew had opened it up to any drink.  "Up to a point" made sure he didn't order the most expensive thing in the house.  

"Hmm what?"  The man's question completely caught him off guard.

Tristan frowned, and he pressed his lips together unconsciously. Alright, this was beyond uncomfortable. What the hell was wrong with this guy? He felt attacked and called out, and felt some anger rise, though he hard learned early to restrain himself. Still, he had half a mind to just pay and walk away. He didn't though. He knew he shouldn't cause trouble, especially with people he didn't know. And so he resolved to eat his meal quickly and leave.

"I quite like it, sir," he lied obstinately. "And I assure you, I wouldn't talk negatively about your pub." Though he was beginning to see why he would. Anyway, he didn't have many people to talk to.

Llew didn't buy it, but that's what he said so he went along. "Okay, I'm sorry." He said. "I have a sense about these things and I follow it."

"And he's never wrong!" Came the usual screech.

"How's the fish and chips, sir?" Llew asked. "She does the best she can, you know." He smiled widely, obviously just joking,but the screech returned yet again.

"Does the best she can he says. He should try cooking. he'd lose every customer, he wood."

Tristan was still somewhat uncomfortable, but he was glad that the guy dropped it. "Oh they're very good, indeed," he said. Indeed, they were and he ate eagerly. Then he paused, intent on changing the topic. "So what happened to that rooster from your story?" he asked.

"I'm glad you like ye meal, sir." Llew said, grinning out of absolute pride, knowing he answered genuinely. "Rooster? Oh -" He started laughing, slightly embarrassed now. "You know I don't know. My father never told me.

"Oh... well that's a shame," he said. "Though I suppose that means you can finish the story yourself." Now there was the alienist talking.

"You mean make it up?" Llew's disgust at the idea was too obvious. "I couldn't do that. Stories like that should be true, ain't they? The truth makes them interesting. If you suspected for a moment I was lying to ye, you'd walk outta that door."

"And right you should too!" Came the all too familiar screech. "Besides, the good gent don' t lie."

Oops. That was a bad thing to say, apparently. "I meant no offense. I didn't know that the story was real." he quickly said.

Well, neither did he believe it was.

"I don't understand why nobody believes a rooster can make friends with a duck." Llew said. "I know of a lot of strange friendships." and he lowered his voice to a whisper and said: "Look at me and her then."

"My friends can't believe I'm still work here." The screech came.

"How'd you hear that?" Demanded Llew.

Then two men came in and sat at the bar.

"Excuse me, sir." Llew said to Tristan. "How can I help you boys?" The men gave their orders as Llew was already pouring them Guinesses. "Oh wait. Did you want Guinesses then? You do? Really?" Disappoinment was written all over Llew's face as he was hoping to drink them himself.

"I was listening at the door." Said the screech, making the new customers jump slightly.

"Oi! Who's that then?"

"I'm the cook. You hungry, gents?" Llew put a list of menu items on the bar for them and returned to Tristan to give them some time to figure things out.

"I..." began Tristan, but the barman was called away. Tristan quickly ate some of his meal to speed up his stay. All of this was very surreal. Had he accidentally medicated himself? He frowned as he thought through the actions of the day and the possibility of having accidentally mixed something in his water. Nope. But best start now. He downed some of the ale.

"I don't have a lot of experience with roosters... nor with ducks..." he said awkwardly when the barman returned.

"Oh..er, what?" Llew said, having forgotten what the two men were discussing. "What do you do then, sir?"

The guys at the other end of the bar decided on adding nothing to their order and just drank their ale.

"I'm an alienist and a doctor," he said. "I've not been in the countryside much..." He had met a patient who thought he was a duck though. Perhaps he should have brought in a rooster to comfort the poor soul. "So I wouldn't know what they're like..."

"Well I like the name and it don't scare away the customers." Llew told the man. "That's all I know and care about. Want another, sir?" Then the words the man told him a few minutes ago came to him. "Wait. You say you're a doctor? Where's yer office what I can go to if I need yer help?"

Tristan nodded. He hadn't meant to mock or criticize the name of the pub, and he hoped that he hadn't offended the barman by asking questions about it. The man had overreacted before, and Tristan didn't want to get in trouble. Luckily the topic was dropped.

"I'm down in Flowergate. I'd be happy to help, though I hope you won't need it." He also kind of did, because he didn't have many patients yet and the bills had to be paid. "And no thanks, I should focus on finishing this one. I'm not a heavy drinker, I'm afraid." He didn't like the feeling in his stomach of drinking too much beer either. "The fish and chips is good," he quickly repeated, before the man could start about him not liking the beer again.

"Flowergate, is it?" Llew asked. "I don't go there often. But I could, I guess. I'm glad you enjoyed your meal sir. It's on the house. There won't be no charge. My apologies, sir. I hope you'll try us again sometime and I promise a better time. Not saying I'm forcing you to go now, of course. Feel free to stay as long as you like. And I'll be happy to refill your drink or not. Depending on what you want. "

Tristan grabbed that chance of escape with both hands. He wasn't sure what the man was apologizing for, but he feared that the mood might soon change again, and so he downed his drink. "Thank you sir. You are very generous indeed. I must insist on a tip at least. The food is excellent." He got up.