(2018-09-03) Cowboy Dubstep
A rowdy night at Johnny Slim's ends in tragedy.

<FS3> Maddie rolls Sleight Of Hand + Reaction: Good Success. (8 2 2 7 6 3 2 5 2 6 4)

There she is. Sherriff Short-shorts, all cowgirl from the heels of her calfskin boots up to the shiny badge upon her floppy hat. It's crowded. More so than it should be on a monday — but hey. Labor Day. /And/ it's square dancing night. There's another bartender to make up for it, red-haired and freckled and a little chubby. Tobacco smoke rises from the ends of cigarettes — people are smoking in here. It's early yet, but most are off work and the Last Chance is getting rowdy a bit earlier than normal.

Maddie twirls a cup around in the air and catches it again, showing off a little Coyote Ugly flare before she dips it under the tap and fills it to the brim with frothy ale. She slides it down the damp bar where it lands in the hairy hand of some brutish local. Warren Zevon's 'Carmelita' sets the mood; relaxed but with a little kick. Everyone's behaving themselves, the sun's still shining, and no one has a black eye. Yet!

The smell of smoke was a smack to the senses as soon as the door to Johnny's is pushed open. Luke's come alone tonight, but he's dressed down enough to blend in with the crowd - he's just a jeans and a t-shirt kind of guy as it is, so the outfit wasn't that hard to throw together. The bar's crowded, but he nudges into an empty stool just in time to catch the little flare from Maddie, the man grinning and giving his head a little shake as he tugs a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket. It's a hard pack, Marlboro's, the top slightly dented from the time in his jeans, a Bic lighter shoved in between the plastic and the pack.
"'ey, Sheriff!" he lifts a hand after the cigarette's lit and hanging in the corner of his mouth, the other side of his lips upturned in a light smirk. "Get me a draft when you got a second, will you? Please?" Man has his manners, it seems.

She's flitting back and forth from person to tap, tap to person, and Maddie can't do much but smile at Luke when he greets her. It's more than most customers get when it's this busy, though, and soon — seemingly from nowhere — an ice cold bottle of Stella Artois slides to a stop before him. Which is, admittedly, not what he ordered. A few moments later, and there's Maddie, leaning against the bar, her white shirt tied up into a knot right below the curve of her chest. For the tips, of course. "No glasses tonight, amigo, there's a DJ coming in an hour or two. You'd be surprised how /violent/ square dancing can get." She gestures towards a dusty corner near the bar, set up with speakers and a turn table. "Thought you'd prefer that over a solo cup." She taps her finger against the side of the bottle. "On the house."

Luke's content in the moment to watch - not just her, really, but the people around him; bars were always full of interesting individuals. It just so happened that his attention was directed elsewhere when he felt the cold kiss of condensation against his hand, the sudden appearance of the Stella giving way to brows raised in a curious fashion. But it's followed by Maddie's lean, and she gets a broad grin, his cigarette plucked from his lips and laid in an ashtray. The smoke is blown to the side with a tilt of his head, away from her, before he leans up against the bar to better hear her. "What kind of DJ plays country music?" he laughs, the Stella regarded with a shrug, the bottle lifted easily to his lips for an appreciative sip after its tipped her way. "I do appreciate it. Is this for the ice cream earlier?" and despite what she said, he was already fishing into his wallet, a five weaved between his fingers and offered to her. "At least let me tip you. You going to be working the whole night?"

Maddie helps herself to Luke's cigarette once it's set down, red-painted fingertips plucking it up by the butt. She steals a few puffs before tucking it back into the little slot on the side of the tray. "A country DJ." Smoke filters from her lips in a thin cloud. "You should stick around. You've been outta Calaveras too long. It's remixed, kind of like… Cowboy dubstep." She scrunches her nose at the 'genre', and shakes her head. "I'm not a big fan, myself." She glances to the side and then disappears for a moment to handle a few orders before returning. "Maybe I'm just trying to get you drunk?" A click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth when she sees the money. She takes it from him without protest. "I don't turn down tips. And no. Just 'til the DJ's here. I gotta go take care of something later."

There's no protest when she steals his cigarette from the tray; there's nothing more than amusement in his gaze. Well, until she mentions the cowboy dubstep, and then his face scrunches up with distaste. "What happened to music?" he laments dramatically, though there's a deep laugh that punctuates the words, and he picks up the cigarette again when she disappears. By the time she comes back, the butt is crushed in the tray and he's lighting up another, offering it from across the bar after he's taken a single puff and she's taken the money he's offered. "You're gonna need to pass me something harder if you're trying to get me drunk, Sheriff. One Stella's not even going to give me a nice buzz," he grins at her, his head tipping in a curious fashion when she mentions she's leaving when the DJ gets here. "You mean you're going to leave me to suffer through Cowboy dubstep alone? What're you going to take care of, did your 'friend' forget his bag again?"

"It got /remixed/." Maddie places the cigarette in the center of her lips, holding it there hands-free and dragging on it slow and long. A twin jetstream of smoke spills out from either corner of her lips as she peers down at where Luke has perched himself. "Well, we've got it all," she chirps back to him, smiling behind her cloud of tobacco exhaust. Her mood is chipper and pleasant, mirthful even — until that comment about her 'friend'. A little spicy Latina temper flicks to life behind her eyes, and she quirks up a well-plucked eyebrow. "… What's that supposed to mean, ese?"

Everett has arrived.

Johnny Slim's is busy tonight, with loud music blasting and a copious amount of cigarette smoke in the air. It looks like there'll be a DJ setting up in the next couple of hours, though while the equipment is out, the DJ has yet to present him or herself. The bar is crowded, but that's where Luke is, chatting with Maddie who is behind the counter.

"What're they going to do when they've remixed all the music? Unmix it?" Luke chuckles, putting his hand around his beer while Maddie smokes his cigarette. "I think I'm good with the beer for now. But maybe some whisky, later, if I'm feeling up to it." His own mood is pleasant - he's being a little goofy, playful even, up and until he notices some fiery temper coming to life in Maddie's eyes. His brows spike upwards and he leans back a little, holding up a hand in a surrender sort of motion. "I was just messing with you, Maddie, it wasn't supposed to mean anything," he promises, taking a sip of the beer, and watching her from over the bottle. When he sets it back down on the bartop, he shrugs his shoulders. "I was just wondering if you had a date. And if it wasn't, I was gonna convince you to stick around for at least a little while and ease me into this cowboy dubstep stuff." And with that, he flashes her a broad grin, trying to denote that he wasn't meaning any offense.

There's a faint twitch of Maddie's nose as she gazes at Luke. She's skeptical; but that latina temper is evening out. She's satisfied with the little display of surrender, and she takes another long drag on her cigarette, plucking it from her lips to tap out the ash into the tray. "It's not a date," she says, calmly, left shoulder wiggling a little in something of a shrug. "I just have to take care of something. That's all." There's an apologetic look in her eye for snapping at him, but she doesn't verbalize it at all. "After a few whiskeys anything with a beat sounds good, no?" She glances to the side, catching the eye of some fat cowboy trying to get her attention. She drops the half-smoked cigarette into the tray, and once again she disappears behind the crowd of people lining the bar to dole out booze and liqour.

There might be a batting of eyelashes over big blue eyes as he grins at her, a puppy-dog face to ease that fiery temper of hers. And when she relaxes, he does too, bringing the beer bottle up to his lips to pour a few more gulps into his mouth. "Well, good," he remarks, setting the bottle aside. "That just means I won't be stepping on anybody's toes if I get you to stay awhile. Assuming your thing isn't time sensitive?" There's a shrug, his attention drifting to the fat cowboy trying to flag Maddie down, and he catches the cigarette that's set in the tray to take a few pulls of smoke into his lungs before he goes back to nursing his beer.

Delilah has arrived.

<FS3> Delilah rolls Resources: Great Success. (8 3 7 5 3 4 5 6 7 6 6 1 7 6 6)

As the sun sets, the Last Chance rises; neon beer signs illuminate the backwoods tavern, hay is scattered on the floor to soak up spilled drinks, and cowboy hats litter the crowd of bustling locals. The jukebox changes songs, and that ever-familiar rollicking guitar intro springs to life — and so do the cheers of the crowd. The Boss. Springsteen. 'Born To Run' blasts through the crowd, and half of them sing along as if it were the town anthem of Calaveras. The scent of tobacco smoke lingers in the air. It's a fucking party, now.

Two bartenders are on the job; Maddie, and a chubby red-head with cowgirl pigtails. Both are dressed in typical country style: too-short daisy dukes, white tees tied into crop tops, loose red flannels, and cowboy hats of their very own. Maddie sighs, tending to an influx of orders as she continues her conversation with Luke, using him as a little reprieve from the job now and then. "It's not something I can put off," she sighs. Though, his insistence does seem to inspire some twinkle-eyed idea. A smile of mischief crosses her lips, and she steals the cigarette again, finishing it off and poking it out in the tray. "You could come with. If you're up for a little danger and adventure. You were in the army, no? Maybe you will like it." She's all mystery as she looks at him, but soon she's disappearing again, slinging out solo cup after solo cup of pissy budweiser.

Luke was at the crowded bar, nursing a beer and watching the people around him while Maddie flits to take care of customers. Though the music seems to have gotten in to even him, his sneakered foot tapping in rhythm against the leg of the barstool, fingers tap-tap-tapping along the glass of his beer bottle. Fortunately he didn't have enough beers in him yet to sing along. "Yeah?" he glances back to Maddie when she reappears in front of him, head tilting slightly from one side to another. "And miss out on all the cowboy dubstep?" he feigns heartache, pressing the empty beer bottle to his chest and then chuckling as he sets it back on the counter. "Fine. But only because I like adventure," he remarks to her. "You're nothing but trouble, Sheriff, I guarantee it. Will you get me a whisky? Little bit of liquid courage for what's to come," he's already pulling out some money from his wallet, sliding it onto the bartop.

So, even though Everett had acted all cocky and stuff BEFORE it was game time, for the past fifteen minutes he's been pestering Delilah about whether she's sure she's gonna be able to get them in to the club and whether she's sure it's gonna work and if there wasn't something else she wanted to do. But no, she wanted to go line-dancing, and Everett was gonna come with her, and when this little lady puts her mind to something, well you better reckon it's fixing to happen. And so, here comes Everett, t-shirt, jeans and Jordans, following after li'l ol' Delilah, who's managed to find herself some properly redneck couture, which she manages to make hotter than necessary. Which, as he follows her past the bouncer and into the club, Everett appears to be having difficulty not staring at. However, the smoke and bustle of the bar does drag his eyes away from her backside and around the room as he waonders aloud, "Where are we s'posed to sit?"

Vincent has arrived.

This is what a dance after a football game will get you. Another dance, but with a football player. Delilah is dressed like a typical college student on date night. If they are going to a redneck bar like Slims. The jean skirt is fashionably faded, Rock Revival brand with blinged out pockets and bold stitching around them and the hem. Over the skirt is a soft shirt with a checkered pattern over it, the more dominant color being blue to match her skirt. The shirt tails are left tied around her, leaving her midriff bare, showing off a navel ring of a tiny diamond. The boots on her feet are stylish, Fatbaby brand with a few rhinestones decorating them. She walks in with Everett and places a finger to her lips in the classic shhh sign. "Just walk in like you've done it before. C'mon." Mischief in her expression, she gets them past the bouncer without even having to flirt! "We can sit at the bar or a table. Or we can dance and stand?"

"You must watch yourself around me," Maddie warns, agreeing to Luke's label of 'trouble', a humored smile upon her lips contrasting with the utter seriousness behind her dusky eyes. She snatches up the money, and then she's gone again.

'Born To Run' comes to an end, and for a moment, it's silent. Then, the sound of a record scratching, and a rising, electronic beat. The DJ's taken the stand, and the hooting, hollering crowd at the bar thins, freeing up some stools as they get ready for some particularly liqoured-up square dancing. Not like there's any other kind. If one were to name the genre of music now pouring out from the speaker system at Johnny Slim's? It'd be 'cowboy dubstep', probably. First up: A heavy remix of 'Cotton Eye Joe'. Limbs are flailing, beers are spilling, and it'll probably only be a few more hours until a punch is thrown.

"I don't think it's going to make much of a difference if I do," retorts Luke to Maddie, his brows wagging comically in her direction in spite of the seriousness behind her eyes. And then she's off again, and Luke lights another cigarette, relaxing into the bar as he takes a deep inhale to fill his lungs with a fresh round of smoke. The momentary silence has his attention swinging to the DJ booth, staring as the beat begins to thump and Luke witnesses the true death of country music. He groans inwardly, staring down the bar to make eyes with Maddie, his very look screaming 'please save me from this horror.'

It's about that time of day for guys like Vincent to start coming out of their holes. Unfortunately for everyone at the Last Chance, this is where he's deciding to stop in tonight. But with a folded piece of paper in his left hand and a bit of haste in each of his steps, it seems like he's got more on his to-do list tonight than just getting fucked up.

It takes Vince a good minute or so to get past the bouncer- but once he did and he was inside, he's on his tip-toes to peek over the heads of a few taller folks before making a line straight for the bar. He's bumping into a few people on his way there, quietly muttering half-assed, "Sorry.. Yeah yeah, sorry." He even bumps into Everett, giving the man a once over and seeming to not recognize that it's Delilah that's with him. "Sorry bud." he offers to Everett in a tone more than a little insincere tone, before he's turning on his heels with a squeek of his shoes to lean against the bar a seat away from Luke. He glances back and forth as the music comes on and his face twists in a fashion that reads, 'should I have come here?'. Afterwards, he simply waits to grab a bartenders attention as he looks over to Luke, "Yo, you know a cheap drink that'll help me ignore all this…" There's a pause, and Vince looks around to spot out a speaker, "Noise?"

Well. It must be true what they say, white people only need a drum and some guitar to dance. As the music starts up, the expression of confusion tinged with traces of horror that alights on Everett's face is probably pretty epic. He gawks at the DJ booth, and then all the people moving to the floor, before turning to stare at Delilah. Oh, wait. /That's/ why he's here. Swallowing and trying to smooth his expression out a little, Everett shrugs. "Hey, I'm the rookie here. You lead, I follow," he says, even going as far as to offer her a smile. And then he's bumped in to by some jackass in a hurry. "Hey, watch it, man!" he calls, his brow furrowing. He stares hard after the man … but, it's /really/ hard to convince an 18 year old that something is more important than a hot girl who's willingly agreed to go on a date with them. So, instead, he just adjusts his shirt a little and scoffs. "Jackass," he comments under his breath, before turning and trying to focus on Delilah again.

The old song makes way for an even older song and Delilah nudges Everett, "970 plays really good music. I've not been to The Boardroom yet, but I'll go there in a little more than a week." Her voice drops, "When I am actually 21." The music is addictive and just absolutely demands dancing. Or at least a tapping of the foot, or a bobbing of the head. Lila does the boot tapping thing as she reaches for Everett's arm, a glance after Vincent after he bumps into the football player. "Don't mind him, he's not so bad." The defense of the other guy is brief, but it is defense. She tugs his arm a little. "C'mon, I want to dance to this one. It's pretty simple, see what they are doing?" Leg crossover, step, step, step. Opposite leg, same. Then forward several. "Just.. don't get ran over, we take dancing seriously." The smile she wears holds a touch of whimsy and she tugs him out into the fray without further warning. Her voice rises though. "If you fall? Let me go, I don't want to go down with you!" A grin and off they gooo.

Her feet don't stop moving; those calfskin cowboy booties slide with effortless grace over the rubber floor of the inside of the bar, and she flits back and forth with all the tireless ease of a seasoned pro. As Maddie passes by Luke's seat, however, she drops off a little present: a plastic bag of unopened earplugs, bright orange in color. She's about to move on, but luckily, the next patron that catches her eye is right beside him. She takes up a lean against the edge of the counter, weight upon her forearms, and she flashes Vincent that classic bartender's smile: half put on, half genuine. There's a pause from her, though — her eyes wander. They dance from tattoo to tattoo, taking particular note of the ones that seem starkly prison-related. She quirks her lips to the side, and makes a mental note for later. "… What can I get ya, stranger?"

Luke swivels in his stool when Vincent comes up beside him, a low chuckle escaping him. "Not unless you're planning on pouring a shot of whisky down your ears to try and drown it out," he jokes, taking another puff of his cigarette before dropping it into the tray. There's a glance aside as Maddie comes flitting this way, the little baggie regarded with a curious squint, before there's a deep chuckle and a grin thrown her way. "Thanks," he drawls out to her, though the earplugs are tucked into his pocket. "Maybe later. It can't get much worse than this, can it?" He's praying it can't. And as Maddie goes to get Vincent's order, he shifts on his stool from a buzz in his pocket, making a face as he pulls out his phone to look down at the screen.

Even with the collective noise of the booming music and everyone in the club partying going crazy to Cotton Eye Joe, the last bit of Everret's holler in his direction has Vincent peering back over his shoulder- though eventually the crowd shifts and blocks off his view. Noisily sucking his teeth, Vincent stares in the direction for a second before he lets out a huff with flared nostrils and he sweeps his gaze back around to the feminine voice addressing him.

Maddie doesn't even have to squint hard to recognize where Vince's ink came from. In part due to quality, and in part due to imagery that you only ever get when you're behind bars. "Yeah uh… Before I start filling myself with poison, I was wondering if like…" There's a sniffle and a pause, Vincent looks aside for a moment or two before he glances back to Maddie, "You guys don't got any positions that need filling, do you?" he asks her, with a tilt of his head and a slight squint. "I'm tryin' to stop being poor, y'know?" he offers to her with a brief shadow of a smile on his lips before he looks back over to Luke. That shadow on his lips becomes a full grin and Vincent shrugs, "Honestly? That sounds way better than what's going in my ears right now." he says. "You're lucky though. You got earbuds and shit."

Everett watches the dancers for several seconds, nodding a little. While this may not be his type of music or dancing, there's still a rhythm and an order of progression to the moves. It's honestly not that different from footwork drills, if he thinks about it. Well, maybe it is, but it's easier if he tells himself it isn't. So, as Delilah drags him out to the floor, he manages to fall in time with the congregation. Now, Everett doesn't look /good/ while he's dancing. Honestly, he's just barely managing to stay in-line with the other folks. But, at least he grants Delilah's wish and isn't the cause of any undesirable mishaps with gravity.

Delilah does love dancing and she throws herself into it with gusto, her boots kicking up and keeping her arm linked with Everett's, she manages to look at least like she knows what she is doing. While conversation is hard to do out there, she does give him a smile of encouragement as the song seems to be ending soon. "We'll get a beer after this!" The words are a little louder than she meant, trying to get heard over the music and a sheepish look is given to Everett. Oops.

A slow smile creeps its way along the pink shapes of Maddie's lips at Vincent's question. "Mm… You are looking for money, ese?" she asks, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth. She gives another subtle glance to the knife tattoo by his eye, and then she nods. "I'll ask the boss." The boss of Johnny Slim's, presumably. /Presumably/. She strums her fingers against the bar, manicured nails clicking out some empty rhythm. She glances over her shoulder at the liqour selection, then, before looking back. "Sure you don't want anything?" She checks in with Luke, too, while she's here. "You alright? Is it whiskey time yet?" She glances between the two men — who couldn't be any different, really. "Making friends?" She smiles, lopsided.

While the dance floor is nothing but good times, there seems to be some trouble brewing by the back tables. A few curse words can be heard by those nearby, but it doesn't reach over the music. Two large redneck men, both in cowboy hats and rawhide leathers, seem to be in some kind of a squabble. It's not physical yet, and it doesn't draw too much attention, but they're both strapped and practicing their right to open carry. Welcome to Johnny's.

The Cotton Eye Joe remix is, well… Long as fuck, and it still blasts over the sound system, though it's coming to its racist yet undeniably toe-tapping climax.

Luke looks back up from his phone and over to Vincent, the man regarded with a quick glance. Unlike Maddie, he pays no real attention to the tapestry of prison tattoos scattered upon the man's skin. "If she can't find you something, come by the vet clinic downtown," he offers plainly. "I need someone that can lift heavy shit and clean cages. Dirty work but it's the honest kind. And I pay well over minimum," he lifts his shoulders into a shrug, snuffing out his cigarette as he goes sliding off his stool. Maddie's question is answered with a shake of his head, indicating the phone with a quick wave. "Gotta take a call outside," he shrugs. Whatever text he got earlier has shifted his mood, but he flashes her a small grin that doesn't quite meet his eyes. "Come get me if I take too long and you're ready for that adventure?" he suggests to the woman, then gives a faint nod to Vincent. "Serious offer though. Name's Luke, Luke Wright. I'm pretty easy to find," and then he turns to brave the sea of rednecks to head outside.

Towards the end of the song, Everett's finally gotten into the rhythm of the thing and is able to actually go through the motions- if not fluidly, then at least adequately. He was so focused on the dancing, though, that he was missing out on the best part, so when Delilah overtly shouts about the beers, he seems a little more surprised than he ought to. He grins at her, nodding as they continue to dance. "Sounds good!" he answers back, being equally loud so maybe she won't feel embarassed or out of place. He follows with, "Are we having fun yet?"

It's taking a while, but Vincent is beginning to get the feel of the place. Or at least, he's looking a bit more comfortable than when he first walked in. All it really took was just watching some of the girls partying, and coming to terms with the sort of music he'll be subject to. Still, given how much the current song is overstaying its welcome, Vince is still a little on edge. And the situation in the back really isn't helping.

Maddie's voice snags his attention again, however. "You think I'd wanna work otherwise?" he asks her rhetorically, giving her a lopsided grin with a bit of wrinkling at the corner of his mouth. "Yeah, I'm lookin' to make some cash." he adds, a bit less like a smartass. Vincent's making occasional checks over his shoulder towards the back table, eyes thinning into a squint each time he looks back in the direction of the two rednecks. There's an anxious shifting in place before he ends up taking a seat and looks back to Maddie, and then over to Luke. "…Get me a rum and cola. Cheapest rum you got." he says as he fits out his wallet, opening it up close to his chest and fishing out some crumpled up bills to pay with. Then there's another look over to Luke at the mans own offer. He scans him up and down for a minute or two and then nods, "Yeah, that doesn't sound too bad. I'll stop by and peep things out later." he says with a thumbs up as the man stands and heads off. There's a pause when Luke's gone and he sighs, "Should've bummed a cig off of him." he murmurs.

"You're doing great!" Delilah tells Everett, her eyes flashing the approval there. The music is loud and the dancing is fun, but all good things gotta come to an end. As they make their rounds and get back away from the table that looks as if the people are going to come to fists soon, so she tugs his arm again and heads for the bar, taking them out of the action for now. "Let's get a beer." This time she says it quieter, but tiptoes to be closer to his ear when she does, and she leads them to where a seat just was vacated, sliding right in Luke's place, leaning her forearms on the bar so she can leave room for Everett beside or behind her. "What do you want to drink? I can buy."

Maddie tilts her head at Luke's job offer to the tatted-up stranger, but she doesn't comment on it. "Just another hour or two, I think," she chirps back, giving him a sly smile and a brisk nod. She watches him depart, but then she's back on Vincent. "Leave your number before you leave. I'll get you cash." That's delivered with the utmost confidence, and it doesn't take long for her to pour out a rum & coke — in a solo cup, of course. No glass when the party's this rough. "We have packs behind the bar, twelve bucks," she tells him, before offering out a cigarette of her own. "I'm Maddie, by the by. Mucho gusto, eh?" She glances to the side. The pigtailed redhead seems to have everything handled right now, so she just lounges by Vincent. When Delilah and Everett come up to replace Luke, Maddie gives them a skeptical look and a slight, curled smile of amusement. Everett especially. Her recognition is obvious, but she couldn't give any less of a shit.

People started drinking early due to the long weekend, and the atmosphere at the Last Chance is getting rowdy faster than usual. It's barely ten o'clock, and yet it feels like midnight. There's a circle of people around the mechanical bull, watching some barely dressed cowgirl cling on for dear life. At the bar, it's shoulder to shoulder, even with the crowded dance floor. No stools are left unoccupied, and if one empties, there's sure to be a shouting match over it. Speaking of shouting matches, the one in the back (with the two gunslingers) has just gotten physical. The taller man shoves the fatter one into the wall, but there's no retaliation. The fight's growing, but no one seems to care. The song shifts, and it's not much different from the last. Some kind of electronic remix of a Conway Twitty song. The locals seem to love it.

Everett just grins with appreciation and basks in the glow that is Delilah having fun, until she's leading him away from the dance floor. He leans down closer so that he can hear her and so she doesn't have to tip as far on her toes, sliding his arm partways around her, ostensibly for balance support. However, he doesn't retract it after he nods and they head to the bar, allowing him to slide in beside her as she hops up onto the stool, his hand resting low on her back. "Aw, come on, now, shorty. You gotta let me at least /kinda/ pretend I'm the one taking you on the date," he says, winking at her and reaching for his wallet. "So let me get the drinks. At least the first round, aight?"

As the altercation in the back grows, Everett's eyebrows quirk upwards for a second and he looks around, having heard the kerfuffle begin. However, with the Stetsons and booted patrons of the evening blocking his view, he's unable to see exactly what's going on. So, instead he leans in closer to Delilah to share, "Seems like it's really poppin' in here, tonight. Is it like this all the time?"

Drumming his fingers across the bar counter, Vincent sniffles a bit and pinches his sleeve-less hoodie to pull over to wipe his nose. There's a grunt, and clearing of his throat, and a glance to the side as Delilah sits down nearby. Vincent's brows furrow as he focuses on her for a moment or two and then he sits up a bit, "Shit, that you Lila?" Vincent asks just loud enough to be heard. Even if he's a little quiet in comparison to the rest of the sound in the joint. There's a moment silent recognition and he nods to himself, "Lookin' good." he adds to her, and then a slight glare over to Everett before he looks back around to Maddie.

Vincent takes the piece of folded paper he walked in with and puts it onto the counter, sliding it over towards her. "Way ahead of you." he offers to her with a lopsided smirk and a nod, but when he hears the price of the pack of smokes he lets out a hiss from behind shut teeth. He's still happily taking the one she offers though, putting it between his lips and getting out his lighter to start puffing. "Twelve bucks? I'm said I'm trying to MAKE money. I prefer my cancer-sticks a bit cheaper." When Maddie introduces herself, Vincent gives her an upwards nod, "I'm Vincent. Come up with a cool nickname on your own." There's a moment where he tilts his head at the 'Mucho gusto', before he gives an unsure look, "Yyyeah. Yeah, you too." He clearly has no idea what she just said. Taking his drink in hand and slowly sipping back on it with a relieved sigh once his lips part the rim of his cup. All the while he's still mad-dogging Everett. Or at least it looks like he is. Vincent stares so much, it's hard to tell when he's giving someone a nasty look or not. Especially with the way he looks. "This your boyfriend Lila?" he asks, looking over to Delilah with a cocked brow and a lopsided grin- trying to put the fight that's getting worse in the back out of mind.

Delilah doesn't really seem to mind supporting his balance as they talk and once they're at the bar, she looks at the different drinks on draw and scrunches up her nose, Hm, what to drink? THe offer had been made, but as Everett returns it, she cheeses a smile at him, "Then you pay. But you choose what we drink. I like vodka but that's mostly because it works great in water bottles and I can hide it from my folks." The bartender gets a look, mostly the outfit and she gives Maddie a thumbs up of approval. "Maybe I should apply here." Yeah, just cause of the outfit! Leaning in a little to her date, she gives a bit of a shrug. "Mostly I go to 970, but I like it here. It seems really busy tonight!"

Leaning forward a little, she turns to look at Vincent and laughs lightly. "I didn't expect to meet up with you again so soon. Serendipity and all of that, right?" The compliment is taken and turned over in her head before she winks back over. "Likewise." Just her natural flirty self, but she remains at Everett's side. While debating a drink, the question registers and she looks blank a moment before realizing he meant Everett. "Boyfriend? Nah, we're friends. But this is a date." She grins at Everett. "We just met at the football game the other day."

"When you're drunk and desperate and down a lonely country road, you'll pay anything for a pack'a smokes," Maddie says to Vincent with a breezy smile, though she seems to be in agreement with him. "I just sell them." There's a little slit of her lashes at his confusion in regards to her spanish, but it's not offense; just amusement. Amusement that fades into a blank look of her own confusion at Delilah's approval of her work uniform. She glances down at her own body — clearly not a fan of the 'slutty cowgirl' get-up she's been forced into. She eyeballs that thumbs up for a bit, before offering out a loose and lazy shrug of her narrow shoulders. "If you think you can handle it, chica." There's a lot of skepticism in those words. She leans into the bar herself, long and skinny arms of golden and sunkissed tan folding over one another. Her hand swishes by the pocket of her daisy dukes, and seconds later there's a lit cigarette burning between a duo of fingers. She puffs on it, casually.

Maddie's gaze drags between Vincent, the 30-something with prison tattoos, and Delilah, the peppy and baby-faced college co-ed. She scrunches up her nose, and a little smile curls beneath it. "How about a round of shots, on the house? You're all locals, right?" She taps her fingers against the bar and straightens up her slinky form, a hand dipping down to snatch out four shot glasses, all pinched together. She doles them out to Vincent, Delilah, and Everett respectively. "White or brown liquor?" she wonders.

There it goes. The first punch of the night, the fat cowboy finally having had it up to /HERE/ with the taller one. Pow. Right in the jaw. The shouting intensifies, and the two are beginning to draw a crowd… Not to stop them. But to watch.

Everett gives Vincent an upnod when the man stares at him. He then smiles easily as the not-glare continues, introducing himself. "You can call me E, and you should take a picture. It'll last longer," he tells the man with a wink. He then slides his hand from Delilah's back further over to her side in the universal male declaration of: MINE. "'ey, if they on the house, I don't care what they is," he tells Maddie, grinning. Also because his player hasn't a clue about the differences.

Coming out along with Vincent's chuckle are a few small clouds of smoke. "You don't gotta lie to me to make me feel nice." says Vincent before he's taking another puff off his cigarette. There's a glance over to Everett, scanning him up and down thoughtfully with half-lidded eyes, "Can't believe you two downgraded from a football game to a club. Should've just had your date then and there." he says, looking back and forth between the two with an amused smirk. He relieves his cigarette from its spot between his lips for a moment, downing some more of his drink before putting it right back. "Well whenever you end up getting bored of Lil E here, you know who to go to." he says, giving a playful sticking of his tongue out at Everett before he holds out a fist to dap. "What's up, I'm Vince. Call me V if we're doin' the first letter thing." Strange for someone who totally wasn't glaring, but it's friendly enough.

When there are offers of shots, Vincent snaps his head over with a smirk on his face. "And after I already paid for a drink. Tsk." he looks more amused than upset, snickering before he gives Maddie a thumbs up, "Yeah." he says when asking if they're all local. "Back after a looong vacation." he says, his lips briefly pursed afterwards. "I'll do brown. Get me something that'll burn my throat and I'll love you forever." he says to Maddie with a brief rise and fall of his brows, and then he's looking over his shoulder to catch the fat-boy and the tall-boy begin to throw hands. "Damn. They're really goin' at it, huh?"

"Anything but Lord Calvert." Delilah smoothly slips in with another nose crinkle. Of course she watches the other woman, the way she so casually moves and makes it look smooth. The Spanish mixed with English here and there. An exhale of a sigh. "I should have taken Spanish instead of French in high school. I knew it." Shooting a grin to Maddie before allowing herself to tune in to that possessive gesture from Everett. "The football game was Saturday." She laughs a little at the invitation, taking it about as serious as it was likely intended and with an eyeroll, she directs her focus on the shot glasses. The fight starts up and she glances back, wincing at the punch, "We can go after the shot, Everett. Can't have you getting in trouble or anything since your college and all hinges on your football." She leans in to shoulder bump him. Well it would be a shoulder check, but his arm is around her, so she more just leans into him a moment.

"A forced vacation, si?" A little glimmer from Maddie's eyes as they tick to the side, once again taking note of that crude bleeding knife tattoo. "And yet you picked up no spanish." A tease. "Forever? Oof. That's not really the kind of girl I am. Sounds suffocating." A playful crinkle of her nose, and then she rolls her shoulders and pushes away from the bar. She disappears for a moment, but when she returns, there's a freshly opened bottle of mid-shelf whiskey in her grip. She twirls it about in a show of bartender dexterity, flipping it up and then catching it upside down. She drizzles it over the row of glasses until they're full, and then flicks it upright again. A smile for Delilah, then. "This close to Meh-hee-ko, and this far from Paris? I'd say so." The mood is causal, friendly. Locals making friends with eachother. Sharing a round of shots. But in an instant, the mood goes dark.



Two other kinds of shots crack out from the back tables, and the Last Chance is immediately thrown into chaos. People scream, run, duck under tables — but there's no more gunfire. Just panic. The area in the back clears out. People storm for the exits. And in their dust, is the body of the taller cowboy, bleeding out on the floor. Oddly enough… The music has stopped too. The DJ, apparently, caught the second bullet, and he bleeds out on a stopped, skipping record. All that's left is silence, death, and the acrid smell of gunsmoke. Maddie is tense, halfway ducked behind the bar, her breath slow and steady, one hand on… something strapped along the underside of the counter. "Fucking dios fucking mio." In a heartbeat, everything has changed.

Without releasing Delilah, Everett reaches across with his other arm and fistbumps Vincent. He was just getting ready to reach for a drink when the crack of gunshots ring out behind him. Having grown up in the Willows, he's not unfamiliar with the sound. "Get down!" he shouts and, with the arm that was hooked around Delilah's waist, he attempts to pull her from the stool and place her directly in front of himself, wrapping both arms around her and tucking his head down instinctively to try and protect her. They can run in a second, best to make sure there aren't more shots coming, first!

There's a moment where Vincent stares down into his cup for a moment, his lips pushed up a bit as he swirls around his drink before he gives a bob of his head and he looks up towards Maddie, "Si." he says, giving her another one of his grins with a nudge of his brows upwards in her direction and a tilt of his head that's sort reads 'You were saying?', when she makes her remark about no spanish. There's a chuckle when she comments on the kind of girl she isn't. "Fair 'nuff." he says with another long sip of his rum and cola that he finished fairly quickly- holding the back of his hand up to his mouth to cover a quiet burp before setting the cup further onto Maddie's end of the barcounter.

For a while Vincent is just sitting there and watching the fight in the back- unfortunately missing the show Maddie put on with her twirling. It does however let him notice something being raised. Then there's two loud cracks, and for the two unlucky bastards who got it, it all goes dark.

Vincent's immediate response was to turn around towards the counter and lean forwards, bringing one arm around to shield his head, and another to latch onto the bar counter to keep himself from being swept aside from the immediate wave of fleeing club-goers. There's a few grunts here and there as he earns a few rough bumps, and once almost everyone else aside from those left at the counter have bolted out, Vince is looking back with some sweat dripping from his forehead to spot the two bodies.

"Sunnuva bitch…" he lets out in a quick sigh, breathing fairly heavily- which he begins to try and calm down, swallowing hard on some air as he looks around again. Vincents eyes linger on the shot DJ, and his lips purse, "Damn… Coulda been us." Way to lighten the mood, Vince. With a look back to the others, he points towards the exit- though stays in place for now, "We should uh— We should bounce before some uniforms show up."

The conversation was fun, the bartender was like no one Delilah had ever met in her world at the top of Calaveras. The world of country clubs and maids and cooks. It was refreshing getting to know her and she gives the woman a wry smile that holds a touch of self deprecation. "I had no intention of visiting Mexico for my college graduation gift. I did intend on going to Paris though."

That thought is interrupted by the unmistakable sound of gunfire. Her eyes round and she slowly starts to turn. Maybe not so slow, but it feels like slow motion before she's swooped down and ducked down in front of a much larger body than her own petite frame. She stills, her entire body trembling with immediate reaction and she shoves the heel of her hand in her mouth to keep from crying out in her panic, not wanting to attract attention. The sudden silence just before the crowd starts running was eerie, but somehow above the din she can hear Vincent about vacating the premises. They were under age, they should go. She pushes against the brick wall that is Everett. "We have to go! We have to get out of here. Now!"

Slowly, Maddie rises from behind the bar, a cold breath exhaling from her lips. Her eyes are calm and familiar as she stares at the bodies, a sickened look of distaste flicking across her expression. "Fucking cowboys," she mutters to herself. She glances between Delilah and Everett, seeming to be in agreement. "Cops catch you in here, it's no bueno for either of us." She looks to Vincent, then to the rest of the remnant crowd of shocked lingerers. "BAR'S CLOSED," she shouts. "ADIOS! Goodbye!" She huffs out a grumpy breath, eyes glaring /daggers/ at those who try to stay and gawk.

She runs her hand down her face, not anywhere near as distraught as she should be. Really, she's just kind of annoyed. "We are going to have to put up a no gun sign, now. It's legal to carry in bars if there isn't one." She leans forward, and takes her shot of whiskey in one fel swoop. She wipes her lips after. "This hasn't happened since the 80's, according to the boss. Shit. Fuck — The DJ?" She sets the glass back down as she notices the second body, and immediately pours another. "Closing time," she murmurs into the small glass of liquor.

Sirens blare in the distance.

Grabbing Delilah's hand in his, Everett does what he does best: he picks his way through the crowd on his way to the door. And, while he does so, he clears room for Delilah to follow after him as he pulls her along. "C'mon, let's go. Can you run in those boots or you want me to carry you?" he asks, only slowing down enough that she can keep up with him. Unless she needs to be carried, in which case he'll swing her up into his arms so he can try and get them as far from the bar as humanly possible before he's out of breath.

Vincent grits his teeth, having managed to calm himself down from the sudden surge of adrenaline the short lived shooting got coursing through him. There's a look over towards Everret and Delilah- watching the two as Everett is getting Lila out of the club before Vincent looks back over to Maddie, nodding at her as she makes her intentions to close shop known. Looking back and forth quickly, Vincent is counting how many lingering heads that are still around amidst all the chaos, his squinting eyes seeming to try and read the situation for a moment or two before he turns a bit towards the downed cowboy. He's eyeing the body thoughtfully for a good few seconds, staring, before he pushes off from the counter and begins to head over towards the downed man- whatever his intentions may be, it's all around a pretty bad idea.

The sirens sort of spur Delilah on and when Everett takes off, tugging her behind, she goes. But she makes the mistake of looking towards the DJ and that proves to be a big mistake. Her feet refuse to move and she turns white as a sheet, the blood running from her face. Much like the DJ's, but hers stays in her body! She wavers.. and sways, until Everett swoops in and picks her up. But the dead guys are who she watches all the way out the door and by the time they get to freedom, she's likely vomited a couple of times and looks a little green around the gills. "I have to go home," she manages to say before she looks like she's going to be sick all over again.

"Eyyy, eyyy, mi amigo, what are you doing?" Maddie's eyebrows shoot up and she stares at Vincent like he's gone absolutely insane, that latina temper ready to flare. "You want a free gun, come talk to me, eh? Get your DNA as far away from that body as possible, or the cash I said I could get you's gonna disappear and you're going /straight/ back on vacation!" She purses her lips into a tight line, and long, slender legs carry her around to the other side of the bar — she looks a bit ridiculous, dressed up in near porn-level cowgirl attire in the middle of a crime scene. She takes off that stupid cowboy hat and tosses it onto the counter. "Get out! Everybody get out, okay! Vamanos! Out, out! I'll shoot you all myself, come on! Dios mio! Jesus fucking christ!"

Everett winces the first time Delilah throws up. However, after scooping her up, he tries to bury her face in his neck so she isn't looking at stuff. … and probably gets more puke on his shirt, if not down it. Or tears. Or whatever other bodily fluids Delilah happens to expel on him. He bears it, though, with a soldier's attitude, carrying the poor girl for several blocks until she seems ready to walk on her own again. He'll stick with her until she either gets a ride back to her place or by walking her all the way there if needs be. He then has to return to his school somehow, most likely a long jog after Lila gets an Uber or Lyft. He doesn't seem upset about it, though, probably happy to be alive and having had a change to hold a girl like Delilah for so long. … even under the worst circumstances.

Vincent stops dead in his tracks as soon as Maddie addresses him again. He looks over his shoulder, peering at her for a second or two before he looks back and shakes his head, "Dunno what you're talking about." he says, with some idle glances to whoever may have been in ear shot of that, "Was just gonna make sure he ain't bleeding." he says- though now that he's going in the opposite direction from either of the shot people, he strolls up to briefly stand besides Maddie, "Try not to get shot before you ring me up, Chisa." he says, mispronouncing the spanish just a bit before he's turning and heading out to jog over to and make his way out of the club. He makes his way out, briefly passing by Everett and Delilah with a side glance over to the two, "You two can hitch a ride in my truck if you need outta here." he says, after extending the offer to them. Whether they take it up or not is entirely on them though- as he continues to speed walk over to his black, scratched and beat up 1990 Nissan Hardbody parked a ways down the street and gets in after that, ready to go either with company or alone.

"It's /chica/," Maddie shouts after Vincent, grumping over to the bar to sit down as the sirens of the cop cars draw near to the window; illuminating the now empty Last Chance in flashing reds and blues. She sighs, and lights up a cigarette. "Goddamn fucking gringo cowboys," she murmurs to herself, heel of her palm rubbing into her forehead.

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