milliways_bar | (no subject)

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Coyote bursts into Milliways with abandon. Her dress is sparkly. There is mistletoe tucked behind one ear. She's got a glass of champagne.

BRING IT ON, HONEYBUNCH. WHO WANTS KISSES?!

[OOC: And now I am going TO BED. I love you all!]

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HE'D BETTER BE AFRAID ANYWAY.

Coyote sweeps forward and carpes the Dean, as it were.

We hope he doesn't mind being kissed and dipped! Actually wait, we don't care.

Sometimes there's nothing for it but to go with the flow and kiss back.

Dean's pretty good at it, though not always from this position.

"If you drop me, I'll find a way to kill you."

What? He could pull a muscle. Awkward.

Plus it's not like Coyote's a shitty kisser or anything.

Go figure.

"I would never," she says, grinning down at him. Coyote carefully props him back on his feet, not letting go quite yet.

"Happy New Year, Dean."

"Yeah, well."

He tries on a grin of his own, and it even mostly works!

"I'll drink to the New part of that."

Maybe Winchesters'll get lucky this time around.

(But probably not.)

"Good party?"

"I was there."

So, yes.

"Want some champagne? I know it isn't quite your style, but tequila on New Year's Eve seems off somehow."

"Thanks, but no thanks."

Dean's grin gets a little more solid.

"Not exactly lookin' to give myself a screaming hangover in the morning, you know?"

He just wants to stop screaming at night. Different issues.

"Ugh, no joke. Cheap pink wine might be the absolute worst for when it comes back to haunt you."

Pause.

"Figuratively, that is. Alcoholic spirits. Not...you know what I mean."

"Salt and burns for booze are kinda more trouble than they're worth."

He scrubs one hand through his hair.

"Accelerant is a bitch like that."

As if she didn't already know.

"Tell me you never really had to put the unsettled ghost of alcohol to rest."

Please tell her, Dean. Lie if necessary.

"Nah."

Dean says that easily enough, largely because it's true.

"But there was this one time, with the well-preserved hand of a guy's dead son . . . "

"Noooo," Coyote whines, clapping her hands over her ears. "If I buy you a beer, will you promise not to tell me?"

Dean's grin broadens and gets as close to real as it can, these days.

"You bet your ass. Long as the beer's not shitty."

Just so they're on the same page.

"And the company's all right, too."

"I can promise you bad company and good beer."

~Baaaad company, she can't denyyyyy~

"I've had worse."

Did he almost laugh?

Are pigs flying?

Is the end of the world at hand?

Chances are that at least one of these is accurate, here and now.

Huh.

Coyote slaps him on the back and leads the way to the bar.

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