trans_9 | sammy's sideways slam

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sammy's sideways slam

Down in some seedier district deep mainland was an eyesore of neon flashing lights and reedy, trilling alien music that was, once you got used to it, pretty damn good. It was called Sammy's Sideways Slam and, according to ever local with a half functioning liver (or alien organ equivalent), it served the best, most potent, insanely awesome drinks on the entire planet. It was also a place were drunk fights went unnoticed, the barkeep knocked heads together on a routine basis, and his wife (Seela'leen and See for short) sang bawdy drinking songs in a voice that simply couldn't fit in her tiny three foot eight body. Perched up on a counter, the green skinned, emerald eyed woman leaned back, her shock of white and cinnamon striped hair curing over her shoulders, and let another song rip as the band slammed into the appropriate song.

Hooting, the rowdy audience cracked glasses together and sang along.

Sammy's was swinging.

[[OOC: One seedy bar, open location down in the mainland. Tag the main, tag your friend. Get wasted, play Sabbac, poker, by smokes off the Gino the bartender, hit on Seela'leen, whatever. I'll even NPC for you if you want. I'm late with this post. So late. But whatever. Rogues? Arha's looking for you. If you be Rogue, tag into the convo like it is a party, darlings. She wants her pile of pilots. if you want a separate tag, go'in do it. ]]

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Sarah's laugh was a short bark and she downed another shot before slamming her next move home. It, too, hit and lit dead center. She'd played this game before and in worse circumstances. The burn of alcohol reminded her of the time Carlos had taken her out, told her to drink and not stop until she could barely see straight and then had her practice tossing knives until she puked. He kept that up until she could hit dead on fully tanked.

His reasoning was sound.

If she was compromised, drugged, or just fucked up from injury, she had to compensate. And she'd understood. She watched her drinking buddy carefully, a slight tug of a smile starting to twitch the corners of her lips. He was a good con-man, making a show. Fuck, she ought to know.

She'd played that game, too. Sarah leaned in towards Dean.

"You need a little more tilt to the left, hombre, and a little more drunken swagger," she murmured, he words for him alone. "Alien babe at two o'clock has her eye on your dick," her eyes drifted over the crowd, "...so does the fat man at four."

Damn, she is good, he didn't think his tells were that obvious. Or she knew her way around a good con too. Definitely smacked of a fellow hunter.

Well, he could still fake it for the others, but he quietly admitted back, no evidence of a slur now, "I noticed. And there's a pair of guys, one lean, one tall and built like a brick shithouse at 3 o'clock who are heavily betting on you. Also guessing your cup size."

He then threw a dart that was a lot closer to the mark, nearly kissing the bullseye. But he made it look like it was a lucky shot.

"They can guess all night," Sarah said dryly, tossing her dart in for another bullseye. She poured another shot and slammed it back, her eyes on her admirers. The look that settled there had both men flinch and step back as she flipped her dart around. It would have been so very satisfying to toss two at each of them.

She might have lost some of her good aim just for that.

"The only handful they're getting," she added, "is a helping of their own hotdogs and a fist full of credits." She was already thinking of ways to take them down if shit went down. But she'd already assessed the way out and the various patrons she might need to tackle. Someone would definitely get nut-kicked, well, big and beefy over there had his nuts elsewhere. She didn't even want to think about what the fuck was up with that shit.

Dean snorted quietly at that, and his next shot was not much off the mark. He likewise knocked back another shot. His liver hasn't had this good a workout in months.

He likewise gave a glare to the fat guy, and a wink to the alien chick. Since well, she was kind of hot. Maybe not enough for one night stand. Who knows where that pussy's been, if she even got the same equipment for that matter.

Fat guy kept staring and licked his lips. Sarah held up a finger, downed another shot, and snapped the space between her and the fat guy. She leaned close and her lips moved just enough for a sentence.

Fat guy?

Fat guy suddenly sat, hard, on the floor and looked frightened to death. His skin flushed in bright orange spots as he tried to scramble away. Sarah wandered back, stood the proper distance, and threw her shot like she didn't give a motherfuck where it went.

Dead center.

She wasn't pulling anything except her liquor down her gullet.

Dean gave a sharp laugh at that. He knew he liked her for a reason.

"Damn, nicely done," He's not even gonna bother asking what she said to the son of a bitch.

He threw his, and this time? Full out bullseye. He still feigned the drunkeness for the betting crowd, but his green eyes were clear and sharp.

"It's a well cultivated talent," Sarah said, snorting at the bullseye. She was still up on him by a significant number of points and when she tossed, just to make the crowd squirm, it was a hair short of a bullseye. She folded her arms and leaned back against the table for a moment, then reached for another shot of liquor.

"Damn useful one," he admitted, and had another shot. A lot of points yeah. Funny how his next shot was a bullseye again.

"Keep slamming them home," Sarah advised, tossing back another shot before popping off another bullseye. She wondered if she could do it blindfolded--that would be new. But then, there were too many bodies present for fooling around. Sarah flipped her remaining dart around.

"We doing a real game next?" she asked.

"Hell yeah," Dean agreed quietly to that. Time to take the gloves off.

"Good," she said. "Because if you can't play with proper spirit, you might as well let that jackfuck over there have at you."

Dean made a face and threw his next dart with such force and aim that it was lodged deep into the bullseye. "Lady, don't even fucking kid with that bullshit. Not anybody's bitch. Sooner send Blubbo your phone number or shit."

That made Sarah laugh. It was loud and rusty, but it was definitely a laugh. Good to know. Good to know. Her lips pressed together and she snorted as she tossed her last dart, which predictable hit dead center.

"Two shots," she said, "then game-on."

Sarah downed her fist shot, then her second.

"You send Blubbo my number and he'll wind up with new holes in unexpected places." She passed the bottle.

Dean smirked at that, "Hell half tempted to do so just for the floor show."

He downed his shots in quick succession. Definitely getting there to the point the morning after was gonna hurt like a motherfucker, but damn if this wasn't interesting to get there.

"Too bad I don't have a gun," Sarah lamented sourly. "I might have to make do with a fork." She peered at the dart board and moved to retrieve both sets of darts. She slapped his set down on the table and flashed something that might have been a grin--it was too sharp to tell.

"Your shot, fucker," she said and leaned her hip into the edge of the table.

"Tell me about, feeling fucking naked with these crappy rules.* Hell they even noticed the knife he was hiding. At least they didn't search his baby and the armory there.

"Hey, you could do some damage with a fork. Eyes make a good target."

Dean grabbed the dart, and let it fly. No screwing around this time, and it was a bullseye.

"I know a few other places to take a fork to," she said, her eyebrows arched. She let her dart fly almost before his score flashed up on the monitor. Hers? Was a bullseye, too. "I miss my knife," she growled. "And I am about five seconds from taking that asshole over there down and strangling him with his own dick." Never mind that, unless he was an alien with-- She didn't want to think about that.

The dude built like a linebacker on too much juice was now making severely rude gestures. She debated going over there and doing something about it, but took another shot of liquor instead.

His next shot wobbled but just kissed the bullseye this time. Dean frowned briefly at that, and casually glanced around the bar. He snorted at the guy.

"You want some backup, or just somebody to cover, just say the word. Douchebag looks like he's gotta it coming either way."

"Nah, son of a bitch gets blue balled," Sarah said, and tossed straight and true. Maybe a little wobble. But it buried itself into the board deep enough that someone wolf whistled. "With the way he's acting at the moment," she slammed back another shot, "he's gonna walk out of this bar with some dog-faced whore who bites giving head."

She probably wasn't too far off the mark when it came to guessing scenarios. That one was more likely to happen than not.

"I think that's punishment enough," she said and had to lean more than her hip into the table this time around. The mass quantities of liquor were hitting like a bitch, now. Her lips curled into a slight smile. She could still focus through it.

Dean's bowlegged gait was more pronounced as he downed another shot. He blinked and shook his head. This time not having to fake the drunkeness as much. He gave a reflexive wince and then shrugged.

"So what? One less asshole in the gene pool."

He threw his next one which went wide, hit a beam and then ricocheted back onto the board. Still this was one was in one of the wider surrounding rings.

"Shit."

"Am I gonna have to hold you up so you can shoot straight?" Sarah asked, though her voice had slipped into a slurring growl. "Considering you hit the board after that shitfest, well done."

She leaned back, squinted, and shot. It hit just outside of the bullseye, but almost up in it. And she took another shot glass of liquor, knocked it back and might have weaved a little. The betting was hitting an all time high now--so was the noise which was making her head pound.

Or that could have been the booze.

Dean cracks a decidedly sloppy grin at that, and his words were more than a little slurred.

"I'm jes' fine, and hey, even after a few drinks, I'm still awesome."

He spilled a few drops of liquor, but used his finger to touch the beads of liquid from the surface and suck them up into his mouth. Whether he turned it anything suggestive... aw hell, it's Dean and he's drunk, of course it was suggestive.

He knocked back the next shot, and shook his head again like a dog before making his wavering wave to the board.

He then fired another dart at the board, and while it wasn't a bullseye, it was definitely in the neighborhood. Even if it was in the slums side of the neighborhood that is.

Sarah snorted into her shot and almost choked when she tried to laugh. Men. She peered at the shot, shook her head and let hers fly as soon as she'd downed what was left of her shot glass.

Also, not a bullseye, but, to her credit, nearly ontop of her last throw.

"Mhn, awesome. Throw better, fuckface," Sarah said, slurring as neatly as possible. Some guy tried to 'steady' her and got his toes stamped on. Sarah grinned.

Got a nice laugh to her, Dean grinned more, even if it was pretty drunken grin now.

He inhaled, chest puffed out, and then exhaled slowly as he knocked back one more shot.

Then Dean let his next dart fly. Still pretty close to the bullseye, even though he was starting to see double.

"See? Still...still good. Even wit' two boards."

"You liver thanks you for the donation," Sarah said, brushing into him as she aimed and threw a very lucky, statistically what the fuck bullseye. "Mmm, you're good all right. But I'm better. C'mon, throw a bullseye. Don't be a fucker."

Sarah slapped him upside the head to give him something to focus on.

And she knocked back her last shot, which totally killed the bottle.

sammy's sideways slam

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