trans_9 | 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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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?"

"Yeah motel's over this way. Only a few blocks," Yes, even on a paradise planet, Dean and Sam managed to find a cheap motel with a kitschy tropical theme that compared with some of the ones around parts of America. He tried to support her as best he could, even though he was wavering and stumbling himself.

"Better walk faster, amigo de tragos," Sarah muttered and wrapped an insanely muscular arm around him for surprisingly solid support. "We're gonna get so much more wasted by the time we get there."

She scowled, which prompted about five people to get out of their way, lest her expression peel flesh from bone.

"What are you looking at, fishface?" she snapped. The humanoid, who did look very much like a walking fish, scurried to get away. Sarah was pleased and lurched into Dean.

"We're pretty shitfaced now, not sure how to top it," Dean pointed out with a drunken belch to accentuate his point. He didn't bother excusing himself, figuring neither of them cared much.

He gave a cold hard stare to another person who looked like he wanted some trouble before he backed away again.

"Too many freaking people out," he muttered.

"Nah," Sarah said, amused as they weaved in and out of the crowd. She passed a cheapass hotel that looked like its open sign had as much booze in it as they did. "This is mildly shitfaced. Massively shitfaced comes with three, fuck," she sidestepped vomit, "kinds of blackouts attached. Two out of those three mean you windup naked somewhere unfamiliar. The third? That lands you behind the local police force's bars. We're good. Neither of us have passed out yet."

She flashed a grin.

"I guess these fuckers didn't feel like staying put," she observed dryly. "Gues motel rooms are still boring."

sammy's sideways slam

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