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Ami was surprised to find the bar almost entirely empty. Under the circumstances, she expected most people would be after a stiff drink.

She stopped in front of one of the big picture windows and looked out over the city skyline. Those windows had always been the reason she had wanted to come here. Best view in the city. One nobody else wanted to see tonight.

She watched as dark clouds gathered on the horizon, blotting out the last orangey-red rays of the sunset with frightening speed.

“Looks like one hell of a thunderstorm,” she said, catching the reflection of the young bartender standing behind her.

“You can say that again, miss,” he replied.

Her lips twitched up at the corners. It was always nice to get a “miss” rather than a “ma’am”.

“I want something… frivolous,” she said without turning around. “With an umbrella in it.”

The bartender chuckled. “I have just the thing,” he said.

He returned to the bar, and while he fixed her drink she listened to the clinking of glasses, the rasp of metal caps twisting off bottles, and the gentle rattle of ice being shaken. The sounds competed with the gathering noise beyond the window, the crashes and rumbles which drew ever closer.

“Your drink, miss.”

She turned, and the bartender held out a tray bearing a big curvy glass graced with not one but two umbrellas. The contents were a deep orangey-red, just like the sunset which had so recently been obscured.

“Planter’s punch,” he said. She picked it up and took an appreciative sip.

The bartender made to return to his post, but she stopped him with a quick hand on his arm. “Why don’t you join me?”

He hesitated.

“Come on,” she said. “What’s your boss going to do, fire you? Fix yourself a drink for a change.”

He looked into her eyes, then glanced over her shoulder, out of the window. “Yeah. Why not.”

She watched with a smile as he dashed back to the bar and reached for a single malt on the very top shelf.

“Good taste,” she told him, as he settled down next to her on a big leather sofa in front of the windows.

“Cheers,” he said, raising his glass to hers.

And so, with a cocktail in her hand and a man half her age beside her, Ami watched the end of the world.

 

Prompt: Thunderstorm, Cocktail, Blotting

(On a drunken night out a while ago, I apparently asked people to give me three words, and I’d write a story from them once I was sober. This is one of them.)