Wine, Women, and bad singing

[Morgan Bellanar]

Morgan's laughter died down at the unexpected voice. It did sound familiar from somewhere but she had difficulty placing it.

So the drunken brunette blinked, turned, and leaned into the table, jamming her stomach into it, to look at Star. She scrutinized him very seriously (for a drunk) before gasping out in realization and a lack of air. Leaning back and rubbing her sore stomach she pointed at him, "Ooooh yeah. One of dah traceur-trainees, heh-heh. Waz you dah one dat that went into the branch instead of over it? Oh, no-no-no, that dood was blonde." She held one finger up and nodded her head at the recollection. "Oh, wait, yozz dah one that never finished the course, right? Did yoz get lost? Can't remembers yer name either, heh."

Drunk logic plus the poor memory of a Beast will result in strange conclusions.

[Star]

"Dude."

Whatever was coming next, was swallowed by the finishing of the drink. A wave at a waitress prompted another.

"Dude, that fence was like," a palm flattened and jacked up, shoulder height, "Like, this tall. Like, super tall."

True story.

Eyes flickered over the cleared seat. Sure, why not. File under: Sacramento Still Full Of Women. Really, it was getting weird. It always happens when you're Not Looking, right? The empty glass thumped down on the table. Harder than intended. Whoops.

"And, yeah. That was me, I mean, the quitter. Not the, what, you said someone ran into...," words trailed off into a snicker. Okay, that was funny. "Yeah, that wasn't me. Know your limits, right? Who was that? Was it the tall blonde guy?"

Because Miach.

"Oh, but, hey, right. I'm Jack. And, like, no big deal. I totally, you know, forgot your name, too."

Had they even exchanged names? Who cares.

"Whats in the case?"

Maybe he was hungry. Definitely thirsty. Definitely gonna double dip pretzels in cheese. Wait. Ask the most important question.

"Like, how many drinks behind am I?"

[Trickster]

Lynn snickered just a bit.

"Well. I'm Lynn. That's Morgan" She waved over at her friend.

"This," she patted the case in her lap. "is a fiddle, or a violin depending on my mood."

She glanced down at the table, thought back a bit and tried to count. "Aaaannnnddd . . . . are we counting drinks from before we got here? Cause I think that last house special should count for three."

[Morgan Bellanar]

Morgan laughed at Jack's description of the fence, "Sup Jack. And it would'a been easy I've clambered over much taller...Fallen off taller too, but nada worry," She folder her arms and grinned proudly at her "achievements." But drunk Morgan had difficulty focusing. So she quickly went from proud to giggly at the question about Miach's epic fail, "Huh? Oh, yada-yes, the bush was all 'thwack in yer face" to the rrrreally tall dood with blonde heh-hair. " she raised one arm up above her head in the "yay high" fashion as far as she could reach for emphasis.

Oh, they were counting drink now. Morgan lowered her arm and started trying to use her fingers to count. It was kinda hard, "Uh, no ideal idea on heh-how many we had. But that last one afore we left the other place HAS to count as minimum of three or, uh, many? Yeah, it prob-ably counts as many."

[Star]

"Really? Both?"

Pencil neck craned, as he looked over the table at the case. Shhhh. Calm down, no one's trying to see down anyone's blouse. Was the case... magic? Or could she just change...

"Oh. You mean, like." Wow. "Like, whatever you put in there. Right?"

Well that was totally less interesting.

"I saw Dueling Banjos with a fiddle, once, I think. Are you any good?" Which pretty much exhausted his knowledge of fiddles or violins.

"Haaaaaaaaa!" The laugh came out hard, and fast. Tree branch? Smacking Miach? Oh. Em. Gee. How did he miss that? "Man. That's wrong. My bad. Sorry. I fell off a train, but, like, I wasn't flowing."

Because Date Night.

"So you're," greenish blue eyes found Lynn again, "A Fiddlist? Violinist? And you're," now Morgan, "A Traceur? And it's karaoke night? Solid. How do you two know each other?"

A hand flung out near a waitress, making a circular motion at the table. Another round, por favor. It's Story Time. Then maybe Singing Time. Then probably Call A Cab Time.

[Trickster]

Lynn leaned forwards, frowning a bit. "No, see a fiddle and a violin . . . they're . . " basically
the same thing. And nobody cares. Lynn trailed off and just waved it all away with a flip of the hand.
Instead she settled back in her chair and frowned across the table at Morgan. "Well, we know each other because
we run with the same crowd. Morgan was coaching me on a workout and we ended up at a friends place later that day."

[Morgan Bellanar]

Morgan ate some more pretzels and had some water, nodding her head to Jack's question of her being a traceur.

As Lynn related the tale of they're meeting, Morgan nodded her head more vigorously. Her mouth started moving before her brain though, "Oh yup-yup-yup-yup traceur-courier and Lynn's training uh, PT buddy I guess, heh. Eh-heh-heh," she turned to Lynn with a small blush not from the alcohol,"Though things got awkward-intersting at the friends. Oh, and very much I need to thank you for letting me get into your pants." She said as she pointed at Lynn with no hints of anything but appreciation. After a beat she kept going, "Twould have been awkward going home with my badly damaged trousers. And I absolutely machine wash-and-dried them before return. Do remember that." She gave Lynn a thumbs up.

After a pause she looked at Jack, "What about you dood? Yoz ken, er know-know our jobs, what tis yerzzz?"

[Star]

"But, like, one of them, you can spill your drink on."

True story. That's the difference, because there's totally a difference. Most states? No State Fiddle contest, including Cali -- but not everyone comes from Cali. It's like a cheese carving contest, but with a lot more drinking. It's amazing how much a real illegal still is worth. Moonshine contests are a thing, too.

Eyebrows raised and he nodded.

Working out. Friend's house. Pants. It's all good. Sounds like a Foam Party. If anyone could ever remember a Foam Party. He had asked if it was a date, right? Some witty riposte was cut off by the waitress appearing, and he helped her put the drinks on the table. Witty riposte? Sure. Something something, in your pants something, why did you slap me, something. Filed under Played That Game Before.

"Man, a courier? That's legit. Like, genius. With the whole flowing thing? That's so much cooler than a bicycle." Seriously, bicycles suck. "But, oh, wait, before I forget, you should hang-dry pants. Not machine dry. Just sayin'."

A pause was taken for a long drink.

"Oh, uh. My job? Uh. I'm kind of a photographer, but, like, I just started. So it's mostly dog shows and tree plantings. This city, wow, it's got a ridonkulous amount of dogs being showed and trees being planted. Like, maybe that's because I'm on the eff en gee beat, but, whatever. Doesn't mean it isn't true." Legit low glam job.

Dude, who ate all the pretzels?

"Oh, hey, you're a courier? You hear anything about that thing? The party that people are talking about? Couriers hear things, right? I mean, taxi drivers hear things, and, you konw, you're totally like a taxi driver but with packages instead of people. I think."

[Trickster]

Lynn looked dubiously at the pink and fruity something that had been set before her. She had been trying to stay
sober enough to get home on her own. Didn't look like that was going to happen. Instead she shrugged and took a
sip, grinning at the taste. Coco would love this, what ever it was.

"What thing with what people? You'll have to be a bit more specific. There's lots of people around and they've all
got things." She grinned suggestively across the table. "Some of them do things with their things, some of them
save their things, some of them even have fun with the things. And other people's things."

[Morgan Bellanar]

"Oh yes. I've heard things," she sniffed, "I've heard things. Good things, bad things, strange-funny-boring, the useful and the useless. Ssssso many things I have heard. Thing is such a versim-no, verto-no, velcro-nah...mah, the word for things that are good at doing lots of things, heh." It seems they were having fun with nouns.

The street's rumor mill was something Morgan did tap into on occasion. Word of mouth was a good way to get certain kinds of jobs. Though she doubted a dog photographer would be interested in that. The mention of dogs caused Morgan to let out a "harumph" as she grumpily blabbed out: "And I've heard waaaay too many fucking dogs barking-n-chasing me. Way, way, way too many."

She blinked and the angry look left her face as she noticed something. When did Lynn get a pretty drink? How come she didn't have a pretty drink,
"Why didn't I gets pretty drinks too, like you? Heh-heh, I made a rhyme," she look down at her half empty (or was it half full?) water, "Huh. Nope, that ain't a pretty drink, no it is not."