"Don't be surprised if I do," Emyli joked. The truth was, she'd never thought about carrying a gun or any other kind of weapon. For someone who so willingly and blindly trusted strangers, this wasn't exactly the smartest of actions, she realized. Especially since her encounter with Eileen. Stupid twat. If the bitch had just put out like a normal slut, then they both could have walked away happy; Emyli could have walked away period. Thinking about Eileen made her feel paranoid and bitter all at the same time and she started to pour herself a shot of whatever was closest. She was interrupted by the door of the bar opening -- tonight, every time someone came in or left, her eyes jumped up to see who was in the frame. She was sure that Eileen was going to come see her here. Maybe she ought to invest in a gun or something... just in case.
As long as she'd worked with Aiden, Emyli had only flirted with him per the norm; he'd never seemed to show interest beyond just talking to her. That suited her just fine too. She had no qualms about sleeping with someone she worked with (hell, she was sure she'd done it at some point or another), but most of the time, her attentions were turned on the patrons. Aiden, sexy as he was, was not paying her bills with tips. He wasn't her intended target with her show with the lime, but she didn't mind any attention that came from his way either. She shrugged at his comment. "Depends on who you ask. Ice cream is about the best thing to slip and fall in." God, now she wanted some ice cream. Did they have any in the back? Surely, they did for the bitches ordering mudslides. She could whip up a sundae in no time at all... once she tracked down the ice cream.
She watched Aiden grab a second bottle of tequila, half of it disappearing swiftly. She laughed and shook her head, looking back at the mass of bodies that was hipsters and hicks crashing into each other, fists first. For the hell of it, Emyli tossed the piss-water beer into the crowd, giggling as it bounced off of a hick's head and splashed a hipster with beer. The hick in question didn't know where the can came from, but saw that it was anything but Natural Light and decided that the closest kid was the offender. He knocked the kid down into the bar, held his head down and screamed something about how he needed to man the fuck up. The show was rowdy and hilarious, if you asked Emyli. She was laughing so hard that she was having to hold onto her side in case she pulled a stitch or two. Her eyes watered from the mixture of joy and pain and she decided to finish pouring herself another shot. She'd barely downed the shot when someone decided to throw a chair. Their aim was a little off and it missed the intended flannel-clad man and came crashing over the bar. The legs of the chair knocked three or four bottles of whiskey down onto the floor, most of them shattering on contact. They narrowly missed knocking into Emyli's shoulder.
"HEY!" She shouted. "That is fucking enough!" Too bad no one was listening.