(2019-01-15) Underwear Snow
Snow drifts are the WORST.

Tuesday afternoons are never exactly /wild times/ for the bar-going crowd, but at the Alibi, there at least a few regulars who love to scoot into their unofficially assigned stools just after the toll of noon, when Sammy finally stumbles his way down stairs. Since then, the small crowd has settled either at the bar, corner tables or around the pool table in the back. In his foam pit, George the mechanical bull still has on his Santa hat, driving home the idea that like many people in places like this, Sammy lacks the motivation to trudge through the pit to remove it.

For now, the sounds of the jukebox play at a dull thump as the bar owner reclines behind the bar, flipping lazily from one channel to the next, least people catch him watching the Oxygen channel.

There are some things you just can't come back from.

Pregnant women aren't usually the kind who come to bars on Tuesday afternoons, but Belle is just wild enough to throw caution to the wind. She pushes her way in, shifts her gaze around the bar idly for a few moments before she walks up to the bar. There is a brief shift of her dark eyes to the television, eyebrows raised when she sees what's on. She takes a seat, shrugs out of her coat, setting it on the stool next to her. "If you've got some grapefruit soda back there.." She asks, pulling money from her pocket to set it down. "You the regular 'tender here, or..?" She says to Sammy, resting her elbow on the bar so she can lean her chin against her palm.

As the woman sits and speaks, Sammy's gaze shifts lazily from the television, which he /finally/ puts nascar back on for the old timers. "Sweetheart, I have never even /heard/ of grapefruit soda." So that's a no, but he does turn in his rolling chair to eye the cooler for a moment before he lifts a sprit and shrugs, "We have /soda/, and ginger ale, and grenadine?" Those are things non-drinking girls like, right? To his credit, he does manage to look apologetic at the loss. "I'm not, no. Katya's needy and demands time off sometimes. I get stuck behind the bar during those times. You looking for something particular?"

Belle levels a look at Sammy when he calls her Sweetheart, letting out a slow sigh when he says no the grapefruit soda. "Fuck." She mutters, narrowing her eyes as she considers her options. "You mean /pop/, right?" She teases, gesturing idly to herself. "Ginger ale with a splash of grenadine, then?" She pushes the twenty dollar bill forward, she's probably going to need more than one. "I'm looking for the owner, actually. Got a few questions for them." She stays leaned against the bar, giving another look to the television, did she just see Oprah? "Don't know anyone named Katya, but from my experiences at Eternity, all women are needy. Even me sometimes."

"Pop, coke…sure." Sammy smirks, but he actually has the skills to fill her request. There's a reason he pays his bartender though. "She's good people." He speaks of his employee before sliding the drink gently over towards the woman. "And yes, they are. But all men are children so what you gonna do?" Again, a chuckle. "I'm the owner, Sammy. And what in the world could you possibly want with me?" That causes his eyes to lid a little as he slides back to sit, this time on a stool across from her. Maybe this question thing happens more than people think?

"Can tell where someone is from based on what they call that shit." Belle takes the drink and takes a tentative sip, a slight quirk of her brow shows that it's working for her. "I'll take your word for it, but I don't go into bars often enough to find out personally. I work at Eternity and when I could drink.. I'd drink there." She crosses her legs and offers a brief, but genuine, smile to Sammy. "Nice to meet you, Sammy. I'm Belle Walters." She doesn't offer her hand, instead she shifts a bit on the stool and lowers the pitch of her voice so she's not easily overheard. "You been getting any visits here? Like the threatening kind of visits asking for a piece of your profits in return for protection and shit?"

Sammy listens, but her words follow over his features without much reaction. Finally, though, he shrugs, "No." His answer is simple, but soft. "I don't play with that stuff. People know it, plus my bars not exactly raking in the cash in the first place. There's not much money to be had in it. People leave me alone, I leave people alone." There's a vast difference in the club and the bar, in short. "I'm assuming you guys /are/ having trouble with it."

Belle sighs, taking a drink from her glass, setting it down before she nods. "Yeah. We got a Princess who doesn't seem to understand what no means. It's getting out of hand. My husband is off, doing things, and it's falling on me to take care of it. He's the talker, I'm the one who plants a pipe bomb under someones car." She inhales through her nose, gazing down at the bar for a few beats. "Problem is, you can't do that with this one, she's got too much help, too many goons and it's not like I can draft the dancers into this shit." She looks a little deflated, picking up her glass again, drinking half of the contents before setting it down. "I was hoping to find some others with the same problem, that's all." She turns her attention back to the television.

"Can never go wrong with a good pipebomb," Sammy replies lightly, his eyes lifting to watch a couple arguing in the back. It ends quickly enough, with the woman storming away to the bathroom. His nose wrinkles, but he moves on. "I also, do not do princesses. So, you have my condolences there. I moved here to avoid getting involved in that stuff. That said there's plenty of shady folks in Ash that'll do just about anything for a buck. Ask around enough, you'll find one. No one's untouchable." She gets a sigh before his face tilts, "It does suck. I'm sorry about that, but you should probably tell you man to get his happy ass back to town before you burn his shit to the ground. It worked for Carry Underwood." He thinks. He's never been a country guy. "She's the one with the song about beating up homies truck, right?" Sammy doesn't know.

"You're not wrong. Put it in the right place, no more problem to worry about, right?" Belle shakes her head slightly, dismissing his words with a calm gesture. "I get that you don't want to get involved, and I don't blame you, if I could find another way to get this shit straightened out? I'd be all over it." She cuts a look at Sammy and smirks. "Those people in Ash who will do anything for a buck? They're also stoned off their ass, susceptible to bribes, and generally more trouble than they're worth." She looks amused for a brief moment, a slight uptick on the corner of her lips that is gone almost immediately. "Lew will come back when he comes back, though I have given some thought to torching the place. Can't try to push your way into something that's gone, right?"

"I don't really, no. I like my quiet life in my quiet hole in the wall." Again, that half-lidded gaze finds her before he shrugs, "As for stoned, some of them. Some people in Ash are there to stay off the radar." Again, a chuckle, "either way, you're not wrong. Hard to try and sale protection to a pile of ashes, but supposedly a good strip club is never a thing to waste…or something. I've never been big on the scene. I got that out of my system in college." He smirks, but it's good natured.

"If I could manage to get quiet, I'd do it too." Belle returns the gaze, not blinking for a few moments before she shrugs. "Yeah? For someone who is trying to stay out of trouble, it sounds like you got your fingers on the pulse of it." She is teasing, as good natured as she gets, before she taps the glass. "Another, please?" She folds her hands and watches Sammy for a few moments. "I don't like strip clubs, and I'm not a big fan of strippers. I got saddled with this gig by way of a wedding ring. Since I've been there, this Princess woman has tried pushing in, and a few nights ago — some jacked up rich asshole tried to buy it outright with an outrageously lowball offer and a smirk on his face." She gazes around the bar, making a face at the hat on the bull. "So why aren't you pulling in business here, or problems? Are you actively discouraging the latter?"

Sammy pushes up to make with the fixings of her second drink, and thus far, there's little in the way of attention paid to the twenty resting there. It's flavored ginger ale, after all. "Yeah well, when I took over the place, there were some nasty folks who liked it, but I'm an intolerant asshole, and after I finished patching bullet holes and painting over blood stains, I made it abundantly clear I wouldn't be doing it again. So, they go to another bar across town and I tend to the locals who don't think that building a meth lab in your bathtub is the same thing as helping their kids with chemistry." He chuckles before fixing himself a drink, which is /not/ ginger ale and syrup, but bourbon and bourbon. "It keeps it peaceful and since I don't exactly have a line stretching into the parking lot it keeps most of the business sharks off my doorstep." Beat. "I do hope you shot the rich asshole in the foot though."

Belle listens, and a rare smile makes its way to her lips, staying there. "So basically what I'm hearing is, be an intolerant asshole and make it clear that it will stick until people either go away or..get sent away?" She sighs and runs a hand down over her torso, her expression twisting into something impatient and angry. "Tits keep us busy enough, maybe we should have gotten into the naked man business. The Bone Yard doesn't seem to have this fucking problem." She just stares at Sammy for a few beats before she shakes her head. "Had a bar full of people there, but I did have someone trail him home on the off chance he starts giving me problems. I know where he lives now." She shrugs and gestures vaguely. "New subject, I think. You from around here, yeah?"

Sammy chuckles again, nodding gently at the information as it rolls on, he even arches a brow at the running of her hand before his eyes lift back. He's almost thankful for the change of topic, "No not even a little." Is his response, along with a much deeper laugh, "I moved here at the start of October. I'm really depending on the spring and summer being better than the winter, or I may not be here for another one." So, not a fan of the cold, it seems. "What about you?"

Belle takes a deep breath, nodding at Sammy. "Hey, fall wasn't so bad, and I hear the summers here are nice and warm. I'm a California transplant myself." She glances outside where the snow is swirling heavily. "I knew it was going to be a shit show, but I never thought it would be /this/ bad." She snags the drink with slender fingers and lifts it to her lips. Sip. "Hey, if I burn down the place, and you need another bartender or..bouncer. Let me know. The second would be more after I have the baby, obviously."

Sammy laughs, "If you burn the place down, you got it." He too takes a drink, but her words at least confirm his assumptions. "You have to leave the tot at home though. I'm fairly sure this is not exactly a place for small humans?though I have been wrong about lots of things, so what do I know?" Lots of things. "As for fall not being too bad, I wouldn't know. That month was wasted filling bullet holes," and painting over blood stains! "Sometimes I wonder though, why didn't I pick Hawaii?"

"I mean, if I burn the place down and I get the insurance money, I might pick Hawaii." Belle mentions, rolling her eyes when Sammy tells her that babies don't belong in a bar. "They don't belong in strip joints either, even in utero." She glances around the place, it doesn't seem that bad, maybe she's missed something. "How many fucking bullet holes have you filled in here? Was it really that bad?" Belle is sitting at the bar nursing a virgin drink while Sammy sits across from her, behind the bar, drinking bourbon. Belle doesn't seem to be fazed by the mention of said bullet holes, just amused. "Yeah well, try cleaning blood off of a stage. Nothing like a dancer getting her period in the middle of an act, better yet when the next woman comes on, doesn't realize it and she slips and falls. Ahh, titty club life."

Sammy just…..blinks. Not once. Not twice. Three times, Sammy blinks before he finally lifts his glass to his lips. He drains it, just like man who's pretending he didn't hear what he just heard. He also stands to refill his glass, doing so draped in perfect denial.

He didn't care for strippers before but Belle's made positive that he'll never look at one right again. "Hopefully you buy stock in bleach," this is said helpfully…really. "I wasn't drunk enough for that, by the way. Now I'm going to have dreams about shark attacks timed to Cardi B."

Door opens. In through comes on bundled up Royal Kelly. The blonde just came just from across the street, but she clearly had to hop a couple snow drifts, cos she has snow up to the knees of her jeans, a pair of cowboy boots on her feet look old, and the wooden heels thump her steps all the way up to the bar. "Dang. I think I got snow in my panties. Sammy, you don't… have exterior cameras, right?" Probably she shouldn't have asked, because if he does, that's gonna go on the Christmas reel. Flail and overcorrect, and butter side down in the plowed snow at the side of the road. She misses most of the talk of fluids and stages, but she does hear something about a titty club. She glances around to be sure she didn't miss some strippers, and notices the mechanical bull is still wearing a santa hat.

Royal pulls off her scarf, unzips her coat, and makes with the un-bundling. Underneath all the layers she wears a long sleeve fuzzy sweater with a wide neck and some jeans that look like they were made for some hippy line dancing in a honky tonk. Means fitted and distressed and boot cut. A wide leather belt rides low on her hips. Sure enough, there's a little snow clinging to that too. Roy definitely hears Sammy's response to Belle, and it's just weird enough to distract her into standing there with her coat, having no idea where to put it.

"I don't clean." Belle states firmly, shaking her head back and forth. "We have a guy who does that, and I wouldn't be surprised if he licks the stage when we're gone before he bleaches it. He's a little strange." She turns when Royal walks in, gives her a brief once over to make sure she doesn't have a place where a gun could be hidden, before she turns back to her ginger ale and grenadine. "Nobody is ever drunk enough to deal with female bodily fluids. It's why nobody talks about it." She makes a decision and sighs. "Do you have food here? Someone is hungry."

Sammy just twitches, but happily takes the change in topics. He turns to look back below the bar for a moment before he chuckles. "Pretzels, peanuts, cashews and cherries." His brow arches toward Belle before finally he glances back to the stunned Royal, "Right, that's the weirdest conversation you've walked into in this bar." He seems doubtful at best. "You wanna hand that to me, I'll put it back here." He even reaches for the coat. "Also, I /will have cameras ad of tomorrow." She just made damn sure of that.

"Oh." Royal opens her mouth, closes her mouth, then steps up over to the bar to hand her coat and scarf over it to Sammy. "Um." She slides a leg up over a stool and hops up onto it, leaned up against the bar, arms crossing loosely once she's divested of her winter-wear. "I mean, no it ain't." Hello, there's the accent. "But I just winded myself climbing mount snow plow, so maybe I'm a little off. Figured I'd come over here, burn it out with a little bourbon." She pulls a tiny, tiny mason jar out of her pocket, and thumps it onto the counter. It's a golden, viscous liquid with chunks of fresh lemon and fresh ginger cut up in it. "Maybe a lot of bourbon." She mms and nods at the no cameras thing. Good. "You face one of 'em my way, hear? I'll get mine in soon." She glances over at Belle, and smiles to greet other woman, as per bar rules and polite society. She looks a little distracted, though, so Royal doesn't yet introduce herself.

"Cherries. I'll take cherries." Belle remarks, glancing toward the outside of the bar, smirking slightly. "That's gross, I'm sure you can get panty shots for free." She wiggles her fingers at Royal, nodding briefly. "Belle. Nice to meet you, maybe. How did you get snow in your panties?"

"Uh, fell in the snow a couple times," Royal murmurs, recovering from the onslaught of visual imagery finally. She just does what any good Southerner does in the face of a lot of disjointed conversation spinnin' her head; she orders up a drink and moves on right along until the bourbon takes over. "My place is across the way, and the plows like to block in my drive sometimes, since it's been empty for so long." Hers would be the fixer-upper across the road, desperately in need of some refurbishing, which it's getting, just not on the outside, at least till spring.

Belle rests her elbow on the bar, obviously comfortable there, her chin cradled on her palm. She levels a look at Royal, glancing down at her shoes before her dark eyes move back up to her face. "Call the city, kick up a little bit of a fuss. If you sound pretty on the phone, bonus, because the cops around here seem to be a sucker for a pretty face." She gestures to her own then, smirking slightly. "Not me, my driveway is always blocked off. I do live on a ranch though."

Royal can't help but smile at Belle's suggestion. "I'm afraid last time I called, I was a little bit hungover and pretty stinkin' mad, and I may have burned that bridge a couple times. This is why nobody should let me touch my phone when I wake up with a headache after my power flickered and took the space heaters with it." The blonde tips forward a little, crossing her legs, and puts an elbow down on the bar to prop her head with her hand. "How's ranch life out here in the snow?"

Belle winces, chuckling toward Royal with a tilt of her brows. "I live in a one room shop, and since it's meant to be used during the warmer seasons, it doesn't have insulation." She folds her arms over her chest. "So, my husband is trying to build it out, add some of that insulation, and it's been..a process." She rubs a hand over her stomach, her features softening. "We're building a nursery. But..he's been out of town for the last few days, so it's just been me…doing the things."

"I'm not very handy when it comes to that, but I'm learning. I was doing my repairs slowly until I came across some help." Royal thumbs toward the door. "The floors were pretty sturdy, but that was kinda it. Just finished refinishing all of them, patching, painting the interior, installing central heat and a rewire. I blew my savings and then some." She doesn't sound terribly upset about this though. "When are you due?"

Belle nods at Royal. "Neither am I, I just kind of fumble around, make attempts to help. Hit my thumb with a hammer and then I give up." She chuckles softly and she quirks a brow. "I don't think Lew wants help, he really likes this stuff. I watch him light up as he starts building things." She wrinkles her nose and looks disgusted for a brief moment. "Me? I'd rather move into the cheap motel until it's done." She glances down at her abdomen and sighs. "July."

"I just hired a bunch of guys who dig fixing shit and set them loose on the house, and so far they seem to be taking instruction well. Nothing's burned down or fallen over, which is a definite plus." Royal shakes her head. "Just wish it wasn't happening in the middle of winter. Things would go a lot more smoothly with temperatures approaching survivable." She tips her head and runs her fingers through her hair. "Whew. Long wait in the cold. Maybe you should move into the motel anyway, cranky up the heat and pretend it's a chalet."

"I think we should do that, but Lew won't hear of it." Belle shrugs and has a fond smile on her face, reaching up to brush a little hair away from her dark eyes. "He's doing a good job, and I think it's important to show I have some faith in him. He keeps the bedroom warm, at least." She nods at Royal and giggles softly. "I pretend the shop is a chalet most days. He brought in a big old king sized bed, and it's my most favorite thing in the whole world. Sometimes I don't even know he came to bed."

"Sure." Royal agrees, "But you're making a person. That's pretty intensive work. I would lose my damn mind if I was baking a baby and had cold toes at night." Seems the blonde has some pretty set ideas about what is and is not acceptable in the realm of winter discomfort. "There is something to be said for a man who keeps you warm at night, I will agree. Makes up for a whole heap of other things that might lead to a messy domestic situation."

Belle glances down at her stomach again and she winces, gazing over at Royal. "I forget most of the time that this is going on, honestly." She gestures to her small bump and shrugs a shoulder. "Lew is a good man, and he's trying hard. I just wish he had tried a little harder during the fall. Or made better plans." She leans against the bar, taking another drink from her glass. "At least he makes me breakfast in bed every morning. Never fails. Grits, sausage and eggs, all mashed up in a bowl for me."

"My family is huge. I can spot a mama at 500 paces no matter how small her baby bump is." Royal smiles at that, a little wistftul for a moment. "I do miss all the noise and clatter sometimes." She mms. "Sometimes not, though. Still, congratulations on startin' your family out. With a man you love even if he ain't so great with detailed plans." There's a laugh from the blonde at that. "Well, breakfast in bed. Here's to that." She lifts a drink Sammy left for her before he disappeared off into the back. "That does sound nice."

Belle slips to her feet, chuckling softly. "Speaking of men who I love, he's gonna call soon. He's gonna wanna talk, and I'm gonna want to curl up in bed while that's going on because ..that's what I do." She pulls her coat on and starts to get bundled. "It was nice meeting you. If you..like.." She winces, her nose wrinkling briefly. "..I mean, I work at a bar, but it's also a strip club. Feel free to stop by sometime. Free drink in it for you."

Royal turns as Belle rises, her hands coming to rest on the bar's edge after she puts down her glass. "Well, I can't say as I've been to a strip club in some time, but ya never forget how to fold a bill." She smiles. "All right. I'm Royal, by the by. Didn't say and my mama would be ashamed of me for missin' out on that. I run the massage place across the street. Therapeutic." She offers over a hand before Belle leaves. "Whereabouts is your place located?"

"Therapeutic?" Belle looks intrigued for a moment, absently reaching out to take Royal's hand, shaking it gently. "We're just down the road. Here.." She pulls a card from her back pocket and hands it over to Royal. It's a handwritten card that says Belle with a number underneath. "Call before you come, sometimes shit gets a little sideways there." She rolls her eyes and purses her lips. "Maybe you'll get to meet Lew sometime."

"Yeah, I work rehab with a lot of folks injured on the job, responders, vets and the like. It's a little more targeted. I do relaxation as well, but will eventually offer physical therapy too. Still in school for it at night." She shakes Belle's hand, then releases her, grip firm but not overly so. "Oh, okay." Roy takes the card. "All right. I will." A little sideways sends Roy's eyebrows up, but she smiles a little wider. "Might be nice. I will, thanks. You be safe out there. It's probably gonna get real cold tonight."

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