2025-01-07 - Glitter Rats, Darts, and Brewskeeball

It’s a busy night at Lucky’s. Most of the tables are occupied and the bar is crowded enough so people might need to squeeze in to get a drink if they’re unlucky. Others have already claimed their territory

Elmo is one of the latter, nursing a beer and bobbing his head to whatever’s playing on the jukebox. He watches a game on the TV while periodically checking his phone for a message from Saint. There’s no rush, but he’s keen to see his friend.

Conversations are abuzz about magic and the ball of something people saw on New Year’s Eve. People are showing off their pointy ears and new hair. “Guess we dodged a bullet,” he mutters, glancing down and over at The Freak, who’s curled up on the bar next to a thing of peanuts. “Can you imagine me with purple hair?”

Now that he does, he’s pretty sure he’d rock it.

[TXT to Elmo] Saint: i hope you got your darts shoes on cos we're drinking + dishing

A text from Saint pings in just before she arrives at Lucky's carrying a box roughly the size of a small microwave. It's got something in it that shifts and impacts the side walls of the box lightly, likely several somethings from the sound of it. But it's nothing moving on its own. Just when Saint tips the box too much. "S'cuse you!" She calls after someone who bumps into her, continuing on without even turning around to look at that person.

There's a reason she's the most likely Kerekes to get into some kind of altercation at the bar. Luckily, that doesn't happen (yet) today.

Saint's dressed in jeans and a couple layers of top, white sweater over a white button down over what's probably a t-shirt under a black leather jacket. She's still adjusting to Michigan temperatures, but seems chipper enough about it. (Comes of that college education in New York. She's semi-adjusted from California girl status.) "Elmoooooooo."

Thump! goes the box onto he bar top. It's taped shut, but not excessively so. She drops down to sit beside her friend. She doesn't appear to have any visible changes like some of their fellows do. Just Saint. "Hey, freaky deaky," Saint says, reaching over to give Elmo's familiar a little rubrub between the ears with one manicured fingertip.

[TXT to Saint] Elmo: You're on

Elmo drinks some beer and then glances over at the dart boards. “Hey! Lemme know when you’re done!” Does he know the people playing? In passing, at best. One needs to claim territory on busy nights, though, and he pats the seat he’s on to offer it in trade.

When he turns around, he’s met with a mystery box and a Saint. “Yo! Happy New Year.” His mouth curls up into a smile even as his brow furrows. “What’s this? Is it a gift?” He looks the thing over as The Freak wriggles and squeaks under the attention he’s getting.

As he pokes the side of the box, he looks up at her. "What are you drinking?" Then he waving a hand to get the bartender's attention.

Saint makes herself comfy there next to Elmo. "Sweet. We got next?"

"Happy New Year," she says to Elmo and the Freak. She seems to be saying it to the rat, but she's really saying it to both. She just has to give the rat his due greeting scritches first. "Deano and Sammy say hi, and I'm sure they'll share their cheerios next time we meet. It's a little cold for them outside right now." It's not frigid, but carting your rats around is a whole job. She usually only brings one.

"This," she pat pats the box. "Is an order I made." She slides the box over a little bit, but is careful not to slide it into Elmo's beer. She looks over when Elmo waves down the 'tender and says, "That drink you made me the other night tastes like a key lime pie." She gets a blank look returned, so she opens her phone and pages to a recipe, turning it to show. There's a squint from said bartender, then they shuffle off to make something.

There's a possibility Saint can't tell the bartenders apart cos she's so often in her own headspace. Orrrr someone has a shitty memory! "This is part of operation: mouse house. Inside the box are dozens of small rat and mouse figurines. Tiny, moderately sized, most smaller than a real rat or mouse. Some stickers, and such. "There's 40."

"We better." Elmo's voice is a threatening grumble that doesn't extend past them, though he does glance over his shoulders at the group playing darts now. Just in case.

When he turns back, The Freak is chittering or something and Elmo sighs. "You're fine. I'm not ready to leave you alone in that house." Seems like familiars can get just as cold as regular rats.

While Saint orders her drink - this, by the way, sends Elmo's eyebrow shooting upward - he works on his while giving the box a gentle shake. "Key lime pie?" Tasty, but as a milkshake maybe. Unless that's the drink, a boozy key lime pie milkshake. "Not bad, actually." He offers a little grunt and nods along to her explanation. "You made 40 small rodent figurines? Like a Warhammer army?" How he even knows that... "Can I see?" He tugs at the tape.

"Yeah," Saint says to Elmo regarding her drink. "It's either gonna be delicious or disgusting. I was in here the other night and I had this drink, and at the time, I thought it was amazing, but I was also a little on the," she pauses to gesture with a shaka, but tips it up to represent a bottle instead, head going back a second. "Yanno, so it could just been nasty and my taste buds were burned out by tequila shots."

She leans against the bar, her arms crossed, one leg folded up under her on the bar stool. "Yeah, little buddy," Saint says, having no idea what the familiar chittered, but definitely clued in on the whole Esme of it all. "We don't wanna come back to you doing your impression of a Freaky shaped pancake under a broom."

"No no no. I bought 40 rodent figurines. Some of them are plastic, though, so it doesn't really count. All of them are hand painted." She smiles. "Do look. Some have like... magnets on them so you can stick them to stuff. There's some tiny metal ones to stick on your door hinges, and a pirate mouse sticker that looks like a mouse hole. With a mouse pirate in it." She probably spent at least $50 on bullshit mouse and rat decor for the whole purpose of pranking Esme. And of course they vary in decoration—like of them is a hot pink four inch rat figurine covered in sequins. There's even an ice and a jello mold in there if Elmo wants to get culinary with it.

“Speaking of which, want some?” Elmo is down for shots. He’s been nursing the beer just in case they were coming, and now is as good a time as any to gauge where the night is going.

Regardless, he’s going to peel back the tape and lift the box lid to see what’s inside. “Oh shit, this is amazing.” He lifts one of the magnets to get a closer look, then extends it to The Freak to get his opinion. “It’s not that mean,” he says, since the familiar caught on to his thoughts of using them as a prank.

“Okay, okay. We should make Jello shots with this one. I was thinking of a party, anyway. Esme needs to loosen up and Wesley’s been ghost at home.” He places the figuring back and picks up another, holding it to the bar’s dim light.

"Yes, I do." Want some. Saint agrees easily enough. "But if we do that, lime and salt are a must. Or lime and orange. Citrus of some variety and salt." She turns to watch Elmo dig into the box and the grin becomes gleeful. "It's not mean. Aw, he's so cute. It would be mean if we got twenty live rats, but I don't wanna do that to the rats. This is..." It only takes a second for her to come up with, "Immersion therapy. And it's sparkly. It appeals to Esme's princess thing."

Jello shots? "I happen to excel at making jello shots, my friend, and I have a bottle of chilled vodka in the freezer." She leans in. "What flavors do you want?" She hms, wait. "What about Wes?"

The quick agreement prompts Elmo to raise his hand again and draw some attention. “Tequila. Tequila.” He points first to him, then to Saint. That should get the idea across, right? Do they look like people who would enjoy tequila any other way? It’s probably not their first time, anyway.

When he’s looking back, he’s snorting in agreement. “You’re right, this is way better than that.” Ah, how easy it is to justify a good pranking. So long as there’s something worse you could be doing, it’s fine.

“I like blue flavor. I like when it colors my tongue.” He opens his mouth to go aaaah before shrugging. “I don’t know. Esme barges in like a musical tornado, Wesley gets all insular or whatever…my home life is screwy. What’s it like for you?”

Most of Saint's philosophy on life boils down to so long as there’s something worse you could be doing, it’s fine. She's great at justifications, and this is a good one. There's a reason she and Elmo are friends. "Ok, blue and maybe some of the green too, keep it in the nature family." Sure, the most unnatural shades of blue and green plus alcohol.

"Oh. That doesn't sound—" Saint starts, with a winkle of her nose as Elmo describes his roomies. "That sounds like the flash and the hermit. So what are you like at home? What's the vibe check? I mean I saw you all feeding people and staying moving." She mimes cooking and then reaches for a drink that's put down in front of her as the bartender goes to pour those shots. "And limes and salt!" She calls after them.

"I mean my home life is we have a friend over, it's dramatic, everybody gets called out to be part of it. I'm enabled constantly. And everybody keeps everybody honest or somebody gets Nair in their body wash."

To be fair, the boundaries between natural and unnatural have just broken pretty far down for everyone at the park. “Throw in some yellow, too?” Sounds like a party already.

As for what the vibes are at home, he has to think about it. “Dysfunctional?” His brow furrows and he holds up a hand. “But like a sitcom.” Not all bad, then. “I like feeding people, actually. Didn’t know that about myself until I got here.”

For a moment, it sounds like might open up about himself, but he quickly pivots to echo, “Don’t forget the limes and salt!” With that settled, he turns back to Saint and groans. “Who was the one who started that? It was you, wasn’t it.”

"Easily done, and lemon hides a lot of alcohol," Saint decides, putting it on the mental list. And then she pulls out her phone and makes an actual list. "When do we wanna have this party, and who's hosting it, and where?" Her thumbs go tappy-tappy across the screen, and a nebulous plan begins to take shape in her notes app.

"We need finger foods. Do we want to make them, not it, or order them? I bet I can find a good caterer, or we can just get a bunch of spring rolls and chicken wings from the thai fusion place, and some pizza from the pizza place, and pie from Nora's. Mostly it doesn't suck." Tappy-tappy. Elmo's opinion is clearly being asked for, but if he doesn't have a preference, Saint's capable of pulling it together in under fifteen minutes. She used to be a cheerleader on a ranked team. Those bitches know how to get shit done when it comes to partying or fundraising. Kids and kegs.

"You can feed me anytime you want. I like eating. I'm low carb right now, though. Training my abs back into shape so I can stop screwing around and join the acrobats." Her fingers pause in typing.

"Started what? The Nair? Only because it stinks, not because it melts hair off. Like they don't wax already." She tappy taps some more. "I can't remember anymore who started it." She definitely started it.

The party was nebulous idea that Nicholas started when talking about The Princess Bride, but now Elmo sees something else coming into focus. “Two weeks from now? I want to try and make something. Not everything, though.” That’s way too much pressure. “My place? I’d have to ask Wes. Or maybe the arcade if we trust people not to trash it.” Saying that last bit seems to surprise him.

He watches her make notes with dizzying speed and then sips from his beer, side-eyeing her drink briefly. Shots arrive shortly after, and he gives a flatly enthusiastic cheer. “Let’s do this!”

Looks like that dart game is wrapping up, too.

"Yeah, cool." Saint puts in a note about that too. Two weeks from now. "This a themed bash? Like how extra you wanna go?" Oh, god. Saint in party planning mode is like all the details, which really isn't that much of a surprise considering the lengths she's gone to, in just one box, to troll Esme, and she doesn't even live there with them.

"Your place, good. Makes it easy to decorate without getting permits from the park." Typey-typey into her phone she goes. She glances over. "Oh, that has promise too. Arcade. Then there's games if people suck at conversation." A slow smile finds her lips. "Drunken skeeball." Oh nooo. "Yeeeees." She rises, but first she slides over one shot to Elmo as the plate of citrus arrives. "A shot to start off the game!" With that: she sprinkles some salt on her hand. Lick, drink, suck! She viciously noms the lime slice she has, and shakes her head with a wince. "Oh, man. The first one always burns."

She points. "To the darts!" And then she's heading that-a-way with what's left of her drink. Surely no one will take the box of rats on the bar.

“You need permits to do things at the park?” Elmo has been holding after-hours events in the arcade for a while. Granted, they haven’t been big parties, but there’s been beer involved. “OK, um. Rat-themed? It’s close enough to our anniversary.” He points to himself and The Freak, then realizes how much time has passed and lets out a whistle.

Oh good, a shot! He goes through the motions, licks off the salt, and throws back the shot before biting into the lime. Each step is performed with gusto and experience. “Woo!” He slams the shot glass down and points at Saint. “Dude. Let’s talk, because I’ve got ideas for a Skeeball tournament. And there will be beer.” He just needs an expert organizer to help.

That’s for later, though, because darts await. The Freak can stay back and protect the box.

"Well, I mean, depends on how much room you take over and how partyish it looks. If well all just happened to show up at the arcade at the same time, and people just happen to have snacks, and it doesn't look super premeditated, hey. Who's gonna ask for one?" Saint glances over and grins. "Ask forgiveness after. It's easier."

"Rat themed it is. People can get glitter ears and stuff. Very cute." This is how they're gonna end up with a giant rat piñata suspended from the ceiling. Saint gets involved and suddenly it's extra. "Skeeball tournament?! YES." She cackles the cackle of a party lover about to make a massive party happen, and picks up some darts, sliding three over to Elmo, commandeering a high top table to put her drink down on too. She steps up to the line and says, "Haven't played in forever, so..."

Thunk! Her first dart sticks in the board, a not terribly far from the bullseye, but not in it either. The second one thumps off the board and bounces into the wall and right off it, but does leave a mark. She winces, but lines up a third shot. Into the outer ring! "Well." Nobody screamed, so that's ok.

Saint seems way more into throwing a party than Elmo normally is, but it’s the infectious kind of energy and he’s starting to feel it. “The Freak is gonna love this, honestly. He’s such an attention whore.”

Hearing the cackle in relation to the skee-ball tournament also makes him grin. If Saint likes the idea (hey, she came up with it, too) then others are bound to. “It’s gonna be a wild year,” he claims, as if it hasn’t been already.

After another chug of beer, he stets his glass down on the table and takes the offered darts. Then, he leans against the wall to watch. “Not bad!” When he steps up to take his own shots, he wonders, “Who let this be a thing? Drunk people shouldn’t be throwing sharp shit around.”

Saint laughs at the attention whore thing. "Who isn't?" Ok, maybe Elmo's not, but Saint certainly is!

"We're doing this skeeball thing, whether it's at the party or not. It sounds fantastic. Balls and booze." Maybe they shouldn't call it that though. "I love this concept." She points at the board like she's eyeballing it. Not that the board can emote back. "That's half the fun of darts in bars." A wide grin answers Elmo's question. "Let's see whatcha got," she says, prepared to fetch all of their darts after Elmo has his three throws.

Is this official darts rules? Is it even American darts rules? Who knows!

Elmo raises his hand to confirm that he is not. Yet. He had a taste of performance recently and it may have stirred something in him.

"I need help with logistics. Like, scoring and shit." He figures that will be something Saint is good at, since she seems to be a natural planner. "I guess nobody's gotten killed from it." And could these darts kill? Probably not even close.

He takes the three small missiles and walks them over to take his shots. Flick-flick-flick. One after another, he fires them off at the board, each lodging into the areas surrounding the bullseye. "Shit! So close," he mutters, though there's a twitch at the edge of his mouth as he approaches to remove them.

Saint goes first to collect her darts after Elmo's thrown his, marking down the score with some chalk. Elmo's leading her first round. "Nice. You've done this before." She fetches the dart she threw that missed, sweeping it into her hand and checking to be sure it's retained its tip after a close encounter with the wall.

"I mean I bet you somebody has, somewhere in the world. This one time I was in a pub in London when I got dragged on a business trip, and I'm pretty sure some guy got one in his left cheek, but I heard him use the word slag, and I don't know who he said it to, but it was the wrong one on the right day." She returns to the line to shoot her three shots, trying it Elmo's way, 1-2-3. "Huh." She gets whisper close to the bullseye. The others land a bit more scattered. "Damn, performance anxiety after that first one looked so solid."

"We can get decorations easy. Food is you. So rules for skeeball. And after that it's just a matter of invites and showing up."

“I sure have.” Elmo gives a little flex, but just a little one. You don’t need a set of guns to be good at darts, but it’s fun to show off a little, right?

He watches her toss the darts, brows shooting up when the first one gets so close to the bullseye. “It was a solid shot, though. What kind of business sent you to London?” He realizes he doesn’t know much about Saint from before the park.

He swaps places with her as he thinks about skee ball. “I was thinking teams. And beer. And…rules for each round?” He shrugs. This is something people would probably make their own t-shirts for. It could get cra-zay.

But now it’s dart time, and Elmo shows just how much he’s played by performing nearly identically to last round. Still not as impressive as that one shot from Saint, though.

"Darts are the great equalizer," Saint says, grinning as Elmo's next three shots all land solidly middle board. "It's always fun to show up and show out juuust a little bit. Or a lot." She's not even mad she's losing right now. "Oh, not my business. My parents' business. They're in music production and songwriting, so basically meeting with new talent and stuff. All over the world for that when I was a teenager when we weren't home with a nanny." Saint and her brothers don't usually talk about that. "Once we were old enough to be let loose on the city, we started going with sometimes." Elmo is still slightly in the lead, though that gap is a tiny bit smaller.

"Swear I got a better education there than most classrooms." She points over and goes up to retrieve darts and mark down scores. "Does the loser chug?" A beer, she means. "How drunk is this game?" She shakes her head. "Whatever, I'm in!" She needs no rules to get on the bandwagon. "Hey, if Freaky ever wants a lil play date, Deano and Sammy love rat time."

“Huh.” Elmo figured the Kerekes family was well-off, but he never lerned the specifics of the family business. “That’s dope. Preeeetty fucking dope.” There’s nothing he’s got to put a candle to it. “Best city you’ve ever been?”

He thinks skee-ball for a moment and shrugs. “Probably not too boozy. I don’t want to clean puke off any of the games.” That’s more work than he’d want even if he was on the clock. “Mildly boozy team game, let’s say, with the potential for lasting rivalries to be made.” That gets a wicked grin.

“Okay okay. I need a break from the apartment anyway. Can I bring him by yours?” Since nobody’s thought to build a rat park, yet.”

"Yeah, so we escaped Cali because as much as we love it, what we want isn't there and we love travel anyway. Gelly ended up here, and Dante and I finished in New York and figured what the fuck, let's go get some practical hands on and reunite and all that." Saint huhs. "I... think Venice. It was boring as fuck there, but pretty, great shopping, the people are gorgeous. Older, cos everyone over 18 fuckin' flees to parts more exciting unless they're running the family business." That's a gross oversimplification of Venice, but Saint's that kinda girl.

"Oh ew, point. I don't know how well all these bitches can hold their liquor." She marks down her score and wipes some chalk dust off her fingers. "Yeah, course you can. Anytime, door's open. My brothers are used to rats and there will be no drama about it. Sammy and Deano prepared them for awesomeness."

Elmo feels a blend of emotions suddenly. On the one hand, Saint and her brothers have had an exciting life, and there’s something even he can latch onto there by proxy. On the other, it’s far from his own life, and this is a reminder of how little he’s strayed. “Sure, but I bet the food was good,” he says of Venice, remembering a snippet of some travel documentary on TV.

As he strolls over to retrieve the darts for his next turn, he smirks and finds more familiar ground with alcohol. “Not as well as you, I’d bet.” It’s meant to be a compliment. “It’s a plan, then. One skeeball tournament coming up.” But in the meantime, they have a game to finish, and so Elmo takes his next three shots.

And with that round, Elmo handily holds onto his lead on the score board. "Damn, I mean I'm not gettin sharked over here, but I'm not gonna catch you unless you fuck up big." The competitive Saint has come to this realization, and she eyes the board. She's got designs on that board. "Dude, the food was the best part of the trip. Unless you count unsupervised and legal-in-that-country access to alcohol. Not that that ever stopped us." Saint grins at that, and just like that her competitive side throttles down slightly. She sometimes struggles with emotional regulation, but seems to hold onto it okay when Elmo's around.

"Like. I know it's flour and eggs or whatever. But the pasta in Venice is the best I have ever had. The pizza's shit, but the pasta." She glances over when the jukebox kicks on. Somebody's feeding it currency and songs. Now she's gotta try to throw darts while she's dancing. "What's your favorite place you ever visited? Doesn't have to be about food. I just..." She really likes pasta. "Venice has other charms. Lots of blue-eyed boys with dark hair, for example." She takes up a couple darts in an attempt to catch up Elmo. She might not beat him, but she can try to close the gap! "Brewskeeball it is."

Elmo lifts two fists into the air triumphantly, even after that third one strays a bit farther from the others. He's got this! Unless he fucks up big, like Saint says. "Hey, don't put that into the world." He doesn't need bad juju, even if it's fair game coming from an opponent.

"It's easy to fuck up flour and eggs and whatever." Elmo talks like a chef sometimes, but his meals are mostly kitchen sink varieties, given the constraints of the kitchen. But he knows what he likes to eat. "Favorite place?" He swings his arms a bit as he walks and thinks. "New York City. I haven't traveled much outside of it, though." His mouth dips into a frown, but he doesn't seem super mopey about it.

Saint's grin is wide. She steps up to the line to take her three shots, lining them up while Elmo's still speaking. "I mean I fuck them up all the time," she says, always one to order a pasta dish when there's a tasty one on the menu. Not what Elmo was saying, but that never stopped her quipping about food.

"New York. I love it. The life, the anything up to like anywhere. And if you miss the late train, just wait a little extra to catch the next one, and meanwhile you can get cheese fries at a late night vendor or samosa from the evening before at the 24 hour bodega. If I had to get stuck in any big city, it'd be New York. There's a reason I spent four years there. Only came here when Angelo did."

Finally, she starts throwing those darts, one after the other.

Elmo isn't surprised to know that he and Saint both spent time in New York City. They definitely moved in different circles there, yet even then can likely point to similar things about the place that they enjoy. Like late night food. "I'd kill for a Samosa right now. Isn't that what actual pubs serve?" He looks around; Lucky's has the decor down right, though maybe not the British pub menu.

As he settles into his beer some more, he watches the next three shots, that last one really catching him off guard. He blinks and lowers his glass, then breaks out into a goofy smirk as some people near the jukebox give a little cheer. "Fuck me, that was awesome!" A bulleseye to bring things around again, and an awesome way to end a game. "Nice one, Saint. They'll be singing songs about this one."

Saint throws her hands in the air when she lands a bullseye somehow. "Yesssss." Now, it's only worth 50 points, and so all it does is tie them almost dead even. Elmo still throws a bit better than her each round that she has bought herself at least a chance. But that requires a victory dance, even if it's not a victory.

"I dunno, do actual pubs..." She looks over across Lucky's. "I doubt they gottem but somebody in this park has to have 'em. One second. Lemme phone a friend."

[TXT to Grub Herb] Saint: herb old buddy ol pal where in this park can a girl get four samosa?

She tap-taps away on the phone as she steps aside for Elmo to take some more shots. Probably the last round if he does as well as he has done. She flashes the sign of the horns to the cheerers by the jukebox. "Thank you, countrymen and laaaaadies." She grins widely at Elmo. "Your go, I'll see about snacks." She chuffed to have gotten a bullseye in her life, and goes to pull her darts to clear the board for Elmo. Then moves aside a bit more.

“No way. Way?” Elmo eyes Saint and peeks at her phone, but only to make a show of it, because if she does know someone, that would be so dope. Samosas, yes!

He walks past her while she works to pull out the darts from the board and give the gang by the jukebox a look. “Watch this,” he mutters with a quick quck wink, before taking his spot in front of the board.

Thwack-thwack-boing. Oh, there it goes, the third dart hitting the wall and summersaulting to the dirty floor. “Fuck-fuck-fuckitty.” Elmo bends over to retrieve it with a sigh.

After consulting with the oracle of grub, Saint looks up and says, "Alright, we can either get them as apps from the Adventure Cove. Unofficially, Channi in shipping and logistics." She shoves her phone into her pocket after sending off a quick thanks to the maestro of procurements.

[TXT to Grub Herb] Saint: rad ty ty 🤘

She looks up and watches him throw, just catching it in time to hear the satisfying thocks of darts hitting that cork board before one of them makes a bid for wall. "Didn't bend that one, didya? That looked like a killer toss." She does the maths and says, "Ooh. You're still winning, but by five. Next round takes it."

Elmo peer at the dart, testing the pointy end to see whether it's too damaged to finish the game. It's not; someone here splurged on the good darts. "You're good to go." He rises and picks the two other darts from the board so he can hand over the lot to Saint.

"Probably gotta go with Channi, right? Homemade is the way to go?" He doesn't know about the Adventure Cove food, but even with their discounts, the park food can be pricey. "Finish us off then." He gestures to the board and then reaches for his beer, casting a quick look over to the bar to make sure The Freak and their box of rats are alright.

Saint hefts her darts and eyes the board. She looks at it good and long like its days are numbered. "Alright, alright, alright." She breathes in and goes for a more gentle toss this time, which turns out to be an iffy choice. She hits the board wide, but goes on with the other two in a similar style. "Big yikes." She looks from the board to Elmo and goes to tally up her points, tugging her darts free to clear the board for him.

"Yeah, when you can have homemade, take homemade. Restaurants are find, but Channi probably serves them out of a warmer in the break room." No contest. "You can do better than that, you carry it. You can't, well." She grins and drops her hands to her hips to wait and see how this plays out.

Elmo finishes his beer as the board is cleared for him, then claps his hands together to rub his palms. “Nah, all three hit.” He won’t soon forget his last shot. “But let’s how this goes.”

He steps up with three darts in his hands and eyes the board for a long moment, studying it. Then, he turns to Saint. “No matter who wins, we’re celebrating with samosas.” No friendship is on the line, then, which may be easy enough to say before the end is decided.

He lifts a dart, holds it near the side of his head, then takes his turn.

Saint watches Elmo take home the win with those three very good throws. "Well, damn." She looks from the board to Elmo. "You're just annoyingly good at darts, aren't you?" She waves a hand, "It's fine. You're still invited to the suite for a rat play date." She points at him with a double finger-guns. "You're damn right we are. Let me see if I have Channi's number... I don't, but I know someone who does." Back alley deals for samosa, go!

Saint makes a mental note never to bet against Elmo in darts, though, you bet she does. "Finish your drink, El, we have samosa to eat you have rat statuary to," she makes a sprinkling motion with her hand. "Sneak into your apartment for distribution later."

Elmo swivels on his heels and extends his arms, palms facing up. What is he gonna do? He has no control. He's just annoyingly good at darts. "Seems that way, don't hate." He shuffles over to the board to clear up the darts and rests them on a nearby table for the next players to come along and take a stab at it.

"Don't forget skee ball. Think Channi can cater?" There are so many plans. Step by step, though, starting with the rest of his beers. "Good game," he says, lifting his glass and then downing the rest of it. "I'll do it when she's out in the morning. She gets up so early for the gym."

"If I was hating, I woulda already spilled your beer," Saint says to Elmo, giving him a faux narrowed-eye look. She drops her darts beside Elmo's, and even wipes off the scoreboard for the next team. That little move is probably so her loss doesn't live in chalk on the wall till the next team plays. Saint's a good sport with friends, but she's still Saint.

"I bet if we asked real nice and bribed her with something she'd do it. Channi will take any excuse to feed people." Her smile revives when Elmo talks about when the plan's gonna go down. "I would like video of her reaction if I can't find a reason to be there to watch."

Elmo glances to his empty glass when Saint says that, which has thankfully remained upright during the entire game. "Okay, so you weren't hating." That's something then, and there's a twitch at the edge of his mouth at the thought. it becomes a small smile at not only the thought of a clean win, but also at some of the fun to come.

"We can find something for her." If Channi is looking for excuses to feed people, then it sounds like an easy job. As for Esme's reaction to the box o' rats, he snorts a quick laugh. "Yeah, I'll get that to you." He hopes it's not too mean, though. He hopes Esme can laugh about it, too.

"Well, one more shot for the road?" It's with a look to The Freak, who has curled atop the bar to sleep, that he says this.

Saint nods in agreement with that. "One more for the road. Let's hit the shots." She walks over to lean against the bar, hip resting on a stool. She doesn't reach over to touch Freak while he's sleeping, but she does smile. "He's so cute." She looks over to Elmo and gestures to the bartender for a couple shots. She doesn't specify, so what arrives'll probably be a straight pour in under thirty seconds.

"Here's to friends and pranks, booze and good times. And, of course, our favorite: escalation." Her blue eyes dance with the amusement of witnessing Esme's reaction to the glitter rats in particular. And to see if the ice princess'll fight back.