Brigid Kilvane cast a critical eye about the tap room. The panelling was buffed to a warm amber hue. The bar rail and fixtures gleamed as brightly as they had when new. Aye, she nodded, this would do.
Tonight, Kilvane's Fine Food & Spirits would welcome its first patrons in the five years since aged Seamus Kilvane had gone on to his final reward. Brigid missed her da, but not as much as one might expect, since the stubborn old bastard didn't have the decency to leave his beloved pub behind.
"Not long at all now Da. I trust ye WILL be behavin' yer sorry ectoplasmic self!"
In a show of poltergeist humor, a round dozen wineglasses disintegrated one by one in a dazzling shower of glass.
"Just like ye to take it out on the crockery ya vaporous ole bastard. Alright then! ONE shot of the cruel and that is IT. Ye canna be actin' like this with the payin' folk about."
She slammed two shot glasses down, filling them with liquid ambrosia from a dusty bottle that was older than herself. As she tossed it back, the liquid in the other glass drained slowly away. Aye, she thought, it bid fair to be a long night ahead indeed.