WHO: Sam and Tabby NPCs: N/A WHEN: After this, but a few hours after so very early morning on November 7th. Like one or two AM WHERE: Chicago streets. WHAT: Upset about Election results, Sam needed air. Tabitha came along with her philosophy that alcohol fixes all. This is drunk Sam. SO FUN. NOTES: If you need anything edited or changed Mel tell me.
So no Sam didn't normally get in this state. He drank, yes, but rarely was it ever to the point of excess. No, Sam was far too responsible for that. He had important things to do. Tonight, however, was a giant effin' exception to the rule.
He'd been in the campaign office for weeks, hating every minute of it, trying to keep an eye on Creed. The bad guys weren't supposed to win this one, but they had. He'd really meant to get some air, but Tabitha had a small philosophy that alcohol fixed all. So they'd gotten drinks.
And Sam was actually enjoying not thinking and just... kept drinking.
Now, in the spectrum of drunk Sam was somewhere between table dancing and pass out, and was now leaning just a bit on his girlfriend as they left to go back home. He was not stumbling, but walking in a straight line seemed boring at the moment.
"Ah'm hungry. Where's open?" Yes, where. "Ya know what'd be great right now?" He asked her, words slurred just a little bit (and yes southern accent even thicker than normal. Good luck, in understanding him Tabby), and as if he hadn't just been asking about food. "Goin' for a fly. That'd be awesome, but it's a bad idea, 'cause- because- uh" He frowned a bit before he clicked his fingers as if he just thought of it. "'Cause if Ah crashed, Ah'd bring down a building, and that'd be bad because of the people. Then, that crazy bastard would try and make it illegal for us t'drink." He cleared his throat and dropped a kiss on the top of her head. "That would be not fun."