(2019-01-22) If you can't find the one being hustled in the pool room, it's you.
Claire and Sam shoot some pool. Layla watches her man lose.
Players:
claire..layla..sam..

Fiesta Bowling

Utilitarian carpeting throughout in a deep red color with fluorescent lighting as well. The snack bar is at the left end and serves lots of fried foods and burgers as well as soda and beer by the pitcher. No glass bottles.
Centrally located is the shoe and lane rental where bowling lanes are rented in advance. Above the shoe shelving is a sign with price per game and shoe rental. A large can of Lysol is on the counter, an invitation for spraying the shoes before using them.

Each lane is numbered 1-16 and there are a number of balls on shelving behind each. At each lane there is a monitor and a keyboard to type in names for the automated bowling.

At the opposite end there is a pro shop and nearby it is a small arcade framed out and boasting old games from the 80s and 90s. Restrooms are located beside the arcade.

Signs up on the walls advertise black-out bowling on Friday nights, where black lights are the only lights on, making for an interesting night.

<TXT> To Sam - This may be outside your wheelhouse, but I think it's important. Do you bowl and/or shoot pool?

<TXT> From Sam to Claire - In the sense that I'm quite capable of doing both of those activities, yes. Am I good? No.

<TXT> To Sam - Good is overrated in most things. Come shoot some pool, Sam. There's no coffee here, but there is a guy with an AMAZING beard. Like Santa's. Or Gandalf's.

<TXT> To Sam - Or if Santa and Gandalf had a baby and the baby came out with a beard and just kept growing it all his life…

<TXT> From Sam to Claire - Can you ride the beard? Wait. That sounds worse than perhaps I meant…

<TXT> To Sam - I mean, probably I could? But I have that real purty cowboy…

<TXT> From Sam to Claire - Tell him he should work on a beard. That would be great. Ok. I'm coming your way.


It's Tuesday. It's like the middle of the afternoon. The bowling alley is faaaar from packed and - despite the fact that there's no pool table in the description - there's definitely a pool table over by that arcade. A couple of them, in fact. And that's where Claire and Gandalf are. He's gotta be at least sixty, and the beard was no lie; it's down to his waist, and it flows like a frothy waterfall of silky amazingness. Right now, as sixty-year-old dudes do when cute twenty-somethings pay attention to them, he's doing trick-shots that Claire sets up for him. "This one," she says certainly. "This last one. Is going to be your undoing, my friend."

He gives an awesome belly-laugh and lines up his shot - clickclickclack-snug, the ball goes right in the pocket, and he straightens up with the pool cue, grinning a gap-toothed grin. "And that, little lady, is how we do it in Memphis." (Listen, Claire has a type, and that type is obviously hicks. Of all ages.)

Sam doesn't fit that mould very well, but she did text him and how could he refuse the offer to come to a nearly empty bowling alley in the middle of the day to experience the expanse of a stranger's beard? He pushes through the main doors and squints, giving his eyes some time to adjust to the questionable lighting that these places always seem to have. It's not all that hard to spot Claire and Dumbledoor and he makes his way toward the table they're playing at while he works his way out of his scarf and hat and gloves and jacket. "Hello, Claire." He calls when he's within a reasonable distance, a friendly smile for the stranger as well.

Listen. Sam coulda been like 'naw, don't wanna' and then suffered an afternoon of persistent 'but i rly think u should' texts… but I digress.

Gandalf sticks a big, calloused hand out to Sam as soon as he's in range, saying, "Love your books, brother. If I go grab one from my pad, will you sign it for me?" While he looks way down on Sam, 'cause the old guy's 6'6" minimum. (Again. Claire has a type. Don't judge.) And holds a pool cue. Which could so easily be interpreted as threatening were it not for the fact that the guy just gives off a sort of jovial vibe, like the kind of biker-dude that probably dresses up as Santa every year.

While this greeting is going on, after she chimes in a happy, "Hi, Sam!" Claire is trying to remember how to rack pool balls, looking up at the wall where someone has left a taped image that's gotta be older than she is by now. "Pauly's a big, big fan."

"I'll pretty much sign anything." Sam replies with an agreeable grin toward the huge man, but he accepts the hand and shakes it firmly. Coming off a couple years of near constant publicity, Sam has totally dispelled the idea that his fans fit any specific look or background. Still, for whatever reason, every time he meets someone who has heard of him in this small mountain city he's a little bit surprised. He recovers his hand from the man. "I'm glad you enjoy the books - Pauly, was it? Glad you enjoy them. And hopefully you'll be pleased to know that the next installment is being written right here in Calaveras." He shifts and turns to the wall where the pool cues are resting and picks one up, giving it a couple lifts to test the weight and then shrugs. Good enough. He turns his attention back to Claire - "I'm a bit afraid to ask how it was I came up in the conversation, honestly."

This guy is just all over the board, 'cause when he checks his watch? It's an iWatch, and he uses his beefy thumb to scroll through a message while he says, "Awesome, man. Can't fucking wait. I'mma go grab a copy, but my old lady's all over me." WHICH HAPPENS WHEN YOU SPEND ALL DAY SHOOTING POOL WITH GIRLS A THIRD YOUR AGE, GUY. "So, if I don't make it back, I'mma text and just pick it up later." He means Claire. Not Sam. Throwing a couple thumbs-up, he's out quick.

Leaving Claire to remark around a grin while she watches this bearded monster hustle out the door, stuffing himself into a coat as he goes, "She must have him on a short leash. He was practically giddy when I said you were coming down here." Sam's comment has her making the innocent-eyelashes his way. "Don't you talk about books with bearded giants in bowling alleys in the middle of a Tuesday afternoon, Sam? Because, if not, you should really get out more." She kinda has the balls racked right, but - "Why does the nine go next to the one?"

"Don't leave her waiting. That's bad news, man. I'm around here for awhile, so we'll get your things signed." Sam says to the departing man, still grinning and shakes his head while he hurries out of the building.

"It's always nice to meet new people." He agrees with Claire's assessment about how to spend a Tuesday afternoon, eyes falling to the balls that she has racked on the table. "And really, he seemed very nice. I wouldn't be surprised to run into him facing down a Balrog one of these days on the outskirts of the city." He looks back up toward Claire and blinks once at her question, not entirely sure if she's actually asking him or just thinking out loud. "I just know the 8 goes in the middle. That should give you a good idea of my pool level."

"I got my picture taken with Santa this year downtown. His beard was considerably less epic. How long would it take you to grow a beard to your waist?" Claire hmmms over this thoughtfully while she lifts the little triangle thing caaaarefully away from the balls. Then beams when none of them roll away, like this is a serious accomplishment. "That's all right. I didn't actually even know about the eight-ball." She has a cue around here somewhere, and goes to fetch it, then uses it to point to the poster taped to the wall, yellowed with age but there for people just like these two: "Someone was obviously tired of explaining things to us billiard neophytes. You have to break."

"How long would it take me specifically, or in a more general sense?" Sam asks, twisting a bit of chalk onto the end of his cue and circling around to the front of the table when he's told he gets to break. "I don't think I'd ever manage it. I get a consistent scruff that comes in just enough to make me deal with it on a daily basis, but whenever I do leave it for a few weeks it doesn't seem to keep up the pace. Certainly not compared to some people I know who go camping for a week and return looking like they've been living in the mountains for the last year." He leans over the table, settles the end of the cue along his thumb and pulls it back a couple times before finally driving it forward. The cue ball cracks the pile and the balls scatter around the table. No art to it, but it's a decent enough break.

Eyeing the people at the other table, who are actually good at pool (why else would they be here on a mid-Tuesday?), Claire muses, "Someone should invent a beard-growing tonic. What's that stuff for hair-loss?" She points generally to her forehead area, but is never going to come up with the product name, so just goes on to add, "Except for beards. Another million-dollar idea." When the balls break with relative neatness, she steps toward the table, eyeing Sam skeptically. "If you're about to hustle me…" And pretends she has the first clue about lining up a shot. Let's see…

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (4 2 8 8 2 5)

AND SHE NAILS IT. She's shocked.

"I'd actually quite enjoy that, but … no. I can drive the ball in a straight line, but the lighter touches and angles? You're going to have to get Pauly back if you want that show." Sam says with a quiet laugh, watching while Claire leans in an makes a pretty solid shot. "Wait - are you going to hustle me? We didn't bet anything on this while I was distracted by the beard, did we?" Sam and Claire are tucked away at a pool table, having just started into a game. The place is quiet because it's a Tuesday afternoon, and who goes to the bowling alley on a Tuesday afternoon? He leans over and picks out a shot, teeth pushing into his bottom lip while he pulls back and attempts the shot …

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Good Success. (8 8 1 1)

… "Two reasonable shots? I might quit while I'm ahead." Sam says, watching the ball drop.

There is little to no reason for Layla to show up at a bowling alley, any day of the week, but something has brought her to the Fiest Bowl anyways. As soon as she's inside the warmth of the building she unbuttons her coat, looking around slowly before she begins to make her way towards the pool table that Sam and Claire are at.

Very seriously, Claire notes, "I was getting pro-tips from the world's most amazing pool-wizard. But I still don't get this whole 'backspin' thing. Still." She shrugs, watching Sam's shot wind up at least as good as hers was, and lifts an eyebrow. "So, if I win. I think you should grow the epic beard. If you win, uh, I'll grow the epic beard?" A thoughtful chin-rub follows, trailing into a whole pretend stroking of her non-existent beard; and apparently they're playing some version of pool where people don't get to take a follow-up shot. Because neophytes. So that makes it her turn, and she's doing that when she catches a Layla-glimpse from over yonder. "Tuesday bowling must be all the rage."

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (6 8 7 4 5 3)

OMFG. "That beard is going to be awesome."

"I'm telling you, I'd have about as much luck growing a proper beard as you would. I think after a month I'd just have an awkward looking face muff. It wouldn't be great for anyone." Sam follows Claire's gaze to spot the approaching form of Layla and he grins at her timing. "What do you think, Layla? Can you picture me with a beard?" When she's close enough he leans in for a brief kiss, before he watches Claire's second ball drop and leans over to take his own shot.

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Success. (4 1 7 6)

… his face twists while he watches the ball slide slowly, slowly - oh, yes. It drops.

"A beard?" Layla wonders, returning the kiss before she shakes her head, "No, afraid that I can't." There is only a second of thought to this before she answers, glancing at Claire with a smile of greeting as well before she moves to shed her jacket and drape it over a chair somewhere. "Why are you even thinking about growing a beard anyways?" Pool is not her thing, so she just pulls up a seat to stay out of their way, watching the game with the impassivity of someone who doesn't know how to tell who is winning.

That's okay. Pool's not Claire's thing, either. Despite how she's playing right now. She haaaaaangs on to the edge of the table when that ball teeters, not so much as daring to breathe - and then it sinks, and she twists up her face. "So just give it a month. You'll fit in with the locals, neckbeards are very en vogue around here." Specifically here, this bowling alley, where a good percentage of the few people skulking around are, in fact, neckbeards. As is her cheery custom, she greets, "Hi Layla! Do you bowl?" Like it would come as a big surprise to her. But it's also her turn again, and she circles the table like she has some sort of clue here…
<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (8 8 5 8 2 2)

"Not a beard fan, Layla? 'Cauuuuuuse…" Tic-roll-plunk. Claire's on fire, guys.

"I'm not actually planning to grow a beard, even though Claire seems to have decided that everyone should have one." Sam says with a laugh, shaking his head while he watches Claire drop another ball effortlessly. "Before I arrived Claire was playing with an older man with a very impressive beard. Like - I guess it would have been weird to take a picture. But, I should have almost taken picture." He glances over toward Claire, thinking maybe she had taken a picture. "I was explaining that even if I don't shave it doesn't really grow out like that. Pretty sure I don't have the genes for an impressive beard." He takes up his own cue and lines up another shot, trying to keep up with Claire's continued success.

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Success. (6 6 7 1)

… again it's not entirely pretty, but the ball finds a pocket.

"Oh…beards." Layla tilts her head faintly at the thought, then she shakes her head, "It reminds me of the men at home, at least the observant, fundamentalist ones. So, I can't say that I am or am not a fan of them." She hedges the answer just a little, but by tone she is probably just not a fan. When Sam mentions the fabulousness of the previous opponents beard she laughs, "Someone like that is probably used to the compliments of their beard."

It would be badass if Claire could snap a pool cue over her thigh right now, but she can't, so she just points the chalky end at Sam and says, "Do you know what we do around here to people who welsh on a bet, Mister Ryce?" Scary is not her forte, so let's just say she looks moderately stern, which slips immediately when she fishes for her phone. "Why would it be weird to take a picture?" She totally hands Layla the phone, with the selfie of Claire and a massive old guy with a flowing white beard, waist-length (though that's out of frame). And since it's her turn…

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (7 5 4 3 8 6)

…she makes another uncannily good shot and looks up from the table at Sam…'s chin. "Mhm."

"I could likely be convinced to buy shots and cupcakes instead of growing a beard. I think you'd benefit more from that than my disappointing facial hair." Sam says, laughing when Claire hands over the phone to Layla with the photo on it. "Turns out the guy was a big fan of my books too. I'll have to sign some things for him." He circles the table, considering his next shot and looking over toward Layla. "I take it you don't play?" He asks her, gesturing toward the table. "It has been awhile for me. Last time? I think was likely in Cleveland. Nothing says living your best life like a pool hall in Cleveland." He says, before finding his shot and giving it a try.

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Success. (8 4 5 1)

… and manages once again to sink a ball!

"I don't bowl, or play pool." Layla, she of the no American fun. But she does at least seem to be amused by the picture of the man in the selfie, "That is a very impressive beard." She agrees, carefully setting Claire's phone down on the table when she moves off to take her shot. "I've heard nothing but terrible things about this Cleveland, like…the streets are all falling apart, and there is a stench in summer." She probably had a client from there once. "You should take the cupcakes and shots deal, Claire."

"It really is," an impressive beard. "He says his hair used to be black before it turned all white, which I think would be equally impressive, just on the other end of the spectrum." Claire lifts her eyes from the ball that Sam just got into a pocket, just checking where her phone landed, and then looks between Sam and Layla. "Where's your sense of adventure, guys. You can have cupcakes and shots," she lines hers up while she says this, "any day of the week." She shakes her head. Sighs. Shoots.

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (7 4 7 3 1 5)

"Takes real brass."

"It's a fair point. Maybe we should make cupcakes and shots something we do more often. I mean, we could do it any day o the week, but we don't." Sam says, grinning while he watches Claire continue to drop balls into pockets without any trouble at all. "Clearly your mentor taught you a great deal in the time he was here. You should likely join a league." He taps his cue on the edge of the table while he scans the increasingly difficult shot options that he has, making an agreeable sound to Layla's comment. "It's likely a bit unfair to Cleveland, but it really isn't a nice city. I guess they can't all be nice - just if you're thinking about future locations to do business in, I'd avoid it." He leans down to line up his shot - "Then again, maybe it's a prime location? Anyone visiting there would be looking for some way to make it less, um, Cleveland."

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Success. (4 7 1 2)

… can do this all day. All. Day.

"I can have many things any day of the week….that doesn't change the fact I like some better than other options." Layla offers to Claire, although honestly she doesn't really have a horse in this race. Other than whatever tragedy might end up trying to be grown on Sam's face and her having to witness it. "Claire….what would you say is the very worst city you have ever been to?" There is an amused smile offered to Sam, shaking her head, "Poor Cleveland."

Claire shares helpfully, "Those cupcakes are super-cheap. If you're just going for calories-for-cost." She starts to figure out what she's going to sink LIKE A BOSS next, smiling an innocent smile about everything she learned from SantaGandalf before he left, but stops to give Layla's question about cities a moment of real thought. "I passed through a lot of economically depressed little towns in Oklahoma over the summer. It would be hard to pick the worst one, to be honest. They were all just sort of… sad and dusty-seeming." Which makes her frown - then shake it off. She's doing something here. "I've never been to Cleveland, though."

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (2 1 8 3 7 1)

"But I bet I could fit in all right if I tried." While the ball drops in.

Sam's lips twist into a bit of a frown at Claire's depiction of the towns she'd been too, nodding his head. "Cleveland isn't great, but it's also not quite that bad. It's not the worst place I've been, either. But, it ranks high among 'big' cities I've been to. I've never had the urge to race back there." He looks to the ceiling when Claire drops another shot and runs a hand across his face, scowling at the difficulty of his remaining balls. He lets out a slow breath. "Have you been anywhere you'd like to avoid, Layla?" He wonders while he leans over and tries to drop his next ball.

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Success. (1 7 3 3)

… which he does. Clinging on. And running out of balls likely …

"Not really…there are some places that are dusty and hot, and full of bustling people, but I wouldn't say that I would avoid them." Layla replies after a few moments of thought, "A few small towns in Tunisia that I'd probably not really want to go back to, but just because they have nothing there." She shakes her head a bit, almost looking apologetic about the question, "I've tended towards big, rich cities for my travels. Very narrow-minded of me, I'm afraid. Never been to Cleveland or anywhere in Oklahoma."

"Like Dallas." Dusty, hot, full of bustling people. Claire's interest is piqued about this whole Tunisia thing, but there are a whopping three balls left on the table right now: one hers, one Sam's, and the eight. This has to end. "If I make this," while she's lining it up. "And you make yours. And I make the eight. Do I still win?" They should probably have been playing by the real rules, huh?

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Success. (6 3 2 4 7 6)

Good christ. "Because I feel like I should win if that happens."

"Don't we all win just from enjoying the company and the game?" Sam asks with his lips tugging into a grin when he watches Claire leave just the two balls on the table. Likely best they played this way, because she would have just sunk everything before he'd even had a shot. "It makes sense that you were in large, rich cities. Likely not nearly as much business in dusty towns in Tunsia. Though, that's somewhere I wouldn't mind ending up one of these days. Along with a few dozen other destinations. I love the big, famous places. But, it's fun when I get sent to some little city I've never hard of before too. Even the little places always have something worth seeing or a restaurant worth going to." He takes a deep breath and leans down for his shot, knowing he needs it to have any chance at victory.

<FS3> Sam rolls Athletics: Failure. (5 1 5 1)

… but it thumps into the wall beside the pocket and bounces back out, looking lonely there with just the 8 ball for company. "Well, shit."

"If you get restless, I know people in those places…" Layla offers, smiling at Sam before she leans forward, watching the last few shots, or in Sam's case, attempted shot, of the game. Then she shakes her head very faintly, tongue clicking very lightly against the backs of her teeth, "It appears that you will have to grow that beard now, yes?" She isn't really asking Sam, instead her eyes shift towards the victor, making certain that things didn't actually shift to shots and cupcakes.

Claire clicks her heels together giddily when Sam misses, and she's all head-bobbing happily while they're talking about going to Tunisia or other awesome places. She's too nice to actually gloat out loud, just in her head, and hums her way around the table, taking a little circuit to decide how best to approach this last ball. This black one. This eight ball. "You can not grow the beard if you really don't want to. But I'll probably tell Pauly that you backed out." With a glance thrown toward the door, but the bearded monster is nowhere in sight (yet).

<FS3> Claire rolls Athletics: Good Success. (7 3 6 5 1 8)

And there it is. She straightens up, looking at the ball dropping in with quiet but obvious satisfaction. Layla, "Beards are sort of sexy though, right?"

"Hey Sam - come play pool! I've never played before! I don't even know how to rack the balls!" Sam says in a voice that's perhaps supposed to sound like Claire? It's excited at least. That's Claire-like. He grins, shaking his head and leaning over to sink his last ball just to clear the table. "Good game, Claire. I'll have to think about the beard. Maybe if I'm talking to Pauly I'll find out about how much maintenance he has to put into that beauty. It's not just a matter of growing. It's a real commitment." He puts up his pool cue and walks the few steps to where Layla is seated, settling one of his hands comfortably on her shoulder.

"Not at all." Layla shakes her head, smiling almost apologetically at Claire, "They are scratchy, and if they aren't well groomed they can smell strange." She moves a hand to indicate a beard, "Drool, and sweat." She's entirely making this up as she goes along so that Sam can feel better about welching on a bet.

Reaching up to polish her halo and then set it straight, Claire notes, "I never said those things. I said that I don't know why the nine goes next to the one, which is weird, if you think about it. And I always forget the eight goes in the middle." Which isn't technically admitting she just hustled Sam, but that hair is split awful fine. She's nice enough to clean up everything afterward, putting away the cues with a triumphant bounce to her steps all the while. "Not even a little bit?" she asks after Layla. "Like, just a scruffy little goatee, even?" She sighs dreamily and then concludes, "I guess different strokes for different folks. When Pauly comes back, though, you had better be prepared to marvel. That beard is his pride and joy."

"I mean, if I had a beard I'd make sure it didn't smell strange." Sam says, laughing. He's aware that Layla is trying to find reasons to nix the idea, but he's pretty good when it comes to grooming. "Sometimes when I travel I don't shave while I'm on the road. I'll sure to send pictures if that happens. Though, I'm not supposed to be traveling any time soon." He watches while Claire tidies up and asks when she's done - "Speaking of traveling, word is that you're not planning to leave when the circus goes out of town?" Circus. Film crew. Whichever.

"Not even a scruffy little goatee." Layla shakes her head at that, then she smiles at Sam, a hand lifting up to pet his cheek before she drops it, "Next time you travel if you want to send pictures you are welcome to." She agrees, then she glances over towards Claire when Sam asks her the question about her not leaving, expression curious.

Claire suggests, "You probably just have to shampoo it really well?" And Claire pantomimes a lathery-scrub over her chin, then shrugs helplessly while she collects the phone from wherever Layla left it. "I guess you'll find out, huh?" With a sparkly beam at beardless Sam. "I like the scruff." As if Layla needed to be told. Before she gets to go off on a tangent about said scruff, she hmms? "Oh, the film got shelved. They're not even going to finish it. And I got fired… last Tuesday, I guess? But I did get a job the other day, at the paper here. So it would be weird to leave now." She entertains herself, anyway, laughing at the backward-logic. "Sometimes, the stars align and everything falls into place?" She includes Layla-and-Sam in that, smiling between the pair while she dawdles.

"Oh. Oh. I didn't realize." Any of that, really. He gets his fair share of cat photos from Claire, but seems a bit surprised she didn't mention the whole getting fired thing. "I'm sorry to hear that. About the film - though I did see the report that came out about the director. I guess that was why it got cancelled. But, it's good to hear that you've found something else so quickly. And writing for the paper? That's more in line with where you wanted to be regardless. Congratulations."

Not having known any about of it Layla just smiles right along with everything, adding in her own, "Congratulations on your job at the paper." But she doesn't have a whole lot more to add, a hand reaching up to curl briefly around Sam's hand on her shoulder, "What sort of writing for the paper are you going to do?"

Sam's sorry about that, but Claire? "I'm not." That is truly all she's going to say about it, though, and presses right on with patented cheer. "Thank you. I'm really looking forward to it. Officially, I start on Monday, so I guess we'll see what exactly I'll be doing? The editor who hired me warned me that it will be a lot of late-night city council meetings, Kiwanis and Rotary club meetings, and then whatever else comes across his desk. But I'm holding on to the whole 'it's a bird, it's a plane' possibility." She trails off, looking thoughtfully toward the door. "Maybe I'll write an informative piece about beard maintenance." Hmmm. "I should go. You guys should play. You know. For practice."

"Hey, writing is writing. It's never all that long before they don't have enough senior staff to cover everything and you get tagged for something a bit more exciting than which highways the service clubs are cleaning this week." Sam says, not bothering more to ask about the demise of the film. He can take a hint. "Thanks for the invite, Claire. If you run into Pauly again we can work out a time to get his books signed. I'll see you soon." He laughs at the last comment and squeezes Layla's shoulder again. "I'm not sure I can handle two defeats in one day."

"That still sounds very interesting, and I'm sure that you will move up in the types of stories you are writing." Layla has full faith in Claire's ability to dominate the newspaper through sheer force of personality. Eventually. When there is a suggestion to play, though, she shakes her head, "I'm afraid that I'll just have to pass on that, and instead suggest something else to take up the rest of the afternoon."

"Thanks." Claire truly means it for all their 'you'll do great' comments; the word is short, but she really puts oomph behind the utterance. Then she's gathering up all her things to brave the weather, lingering a last look at the other table, where they're finishing up a game (that's probably being played by the REAL rules). Balls… holes… big-long-sticks… she shakes her head, looking back to Sam and Layla when they both bow out of the suggested game. "The innuendo practically writes itself, you guys." Then throws up her hands and flounces out, leaving them to figure it out.

In an hour, she'll forward along Pauly's "WIFE IS SO MAD @ ME SRY TELL ROBIN BROOKS RLY SRY :( :( :( :( :(" text.

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