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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"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.

Damn bitch, that slap almost made him fall over. He righted himself, and threw a dark scowl back at her.

Dean very nearly snarled, but then seemed to sober slightly. His green eyes completely focused on the board, and he threw a hard dart right to the center. It went in so deep that it caused a hairline crack in the board.

"You were saying?" he snorted at her.

"That wasn't so hard, was it?" Sarah said, her voice suddenly terribly sweet. Sarah tossed her last dart, which settled in, neatly, next to his. "Can't beat results." And then she had to make a grab for his arm to keep from toppling.

That last shot had fucked her up but good and was hitting like a hammer.

Dean stared at her for a moment, and then shook his head again. Damn, still seeing double. He did try to anchor her and keep from her pulling him down when she grabbed his arm.

"Right results. Time for a break."

"Dead bottle," Sarah agreed, her fingers tightening around his arm as she squinted at the board. "You broke the board, jackass. S'nice job." She blinked a few times. "Fuck. That stuff is the shit. Christ, I haven't been this fucked up since..."

She tried to calculate.

"...been awhile." Sarah squinted against the bright lights and overwhelming noise. "You wanna get the motherfucking shit out of Dodge?" All of it was slurred. All of it.

Dean snorted, "It sucked anyway. I just improved it." He wavered on his feet, trying not to stumble himself. "Been a few months for me. Usually don't get the good stuff."

He peered around blearily, and slowly nodded because anymore and he'd feel his brain rattle out the way his head was pounding.

"Hell yeah, place is boring and tapped out."

"Too busy running to guzzle," Sarah admitted, nudging them towards the door. "S'paid. Tab is. Pretty sure if we can...find the do-o-o-r--" Sarah was pretty sure that wasn't his hand on her ass. Not unless he had sharp claws.

She almost abandoned him right there, but kept them both upright while grabbing a sleek-furred alien by it's long jointed fingers and promptly broke them. She stared at the creature for a long moment and the snarled in a low, meaningful voice.

"Not. Yours. Jackbag." She squeezed to get the message home and was rewarded by a high pitched apology. Sarah had broken two of the fuzz balls's fingers cleanly, but he had deserved it. She didn't need any more harassment tonight.

Sarah snagged Dean by the shirt.

"Door," she said helpfully, "this way."

Dean just cracked up, snorting and laughing loudly. Stupid alien getting all grabsy. "Douche doesn't know how to treat women."

He eyed her hand on his shirt, and went willingly along, his steps unsteady.

"Yes, ma'am."

It was quieter outside, which was a marked relief and Sarah (who still had her drinking buddy by the shirt) let out a sigh that said how grateful she was to be out of there. She squinted slightly and neatly shoved him up against the side of the bar near the door.

"Where the fuck are you staying?" she asked, giving him the wasted and need a place to crash, motherfucker look. Her hand was on his chest just because she was afraid if she took it away she'd wobble off like a dying spinning top, but she still projected fierce and don't fuck with me like it was her suit of invisible armor. "And is it closer than ten blocks?"

sammy's sideways slam

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