"Kalashnikov's", Zvezdny Gorodok

[Inquisitor Gaunt]

The Newcastler was drunk off his tits, by now. Well beyond inebriated, he wasn't quite sure how to take the woman seated across from him, drinking that potato water stuff. He took a cautious stab at the situation, glancing at the lads and seeing if they'd noticed her before giving his response. It seemed she wasn't a hallucination.

"S-Simmy! Or...Simon." His head was swimming. Too much bloody ale, not enough manly stuff like...whiskey. He looked up at the bartender, hollaring for a round of shots of scotch for the contestants, before looking back to Ellie. He squinted, trying desperately to make out her uniform among the other blurs and blobs that were visible. Come to think of it, nothing was really that distinguishable besides what was on the cards. He had a fleeting thought about beer goggles, and he silently prayed to whoever was listening that this Ellie lass wasn't an uggo when he took them off.

Not one to be detered, he went for it anyway, the music changing temp sharply to a more relaxed, indy rock/alternative beat. He drew a breath, making the bare minimum of cognitive thought before speaking again.

"Plesht'meet ya', Ellie" he slurred, again thanking that power that was that they'd decided to play for drinks, instead of nudity. He'd been dealt garbage all night. "Ivya don't mind me ash- uh- az-" he paused, trying to summon the power to use his words like a big boy. "Aaaaaaahs-king. Whakinda lads does agurl like you fly for? D'thenk me rude I jus' got'em gomm- c- COM-MIS-SAHRs sittin' over'er n'they d'likeus talken' t'strange lasses y'know?"

He leaned back, flicking out cards to everyone surrounding him. 2-7 off suit. Garbage again.

---