Who: Lina & Emma What: A Bad Mom's night to celebrate Emma's engagement - complete with gambling and mechanical bull riding When: Sometime in September Where: A 'classy' dive bar for 'classy' ladies Rating/Warnings: Not awful, some language Status: Complete!
Putting her alcohol tolerance to a test? A potentially dangerous idea, but over the years she had polished the method of figuring out her limit - once she started talking in the incoherent language of gibberish and the cops were called for damaging public property, it was time to be cut off. It’d been well over a year now since Lina had tested the waters of hard liquor, and the freshly engaged Emma Swan had been on the same boat. Their bodies were used to incubate another human life form and subjected to very awkward and uncomfortable bodily changes (as well as restrictions in what they could and could not do). It was a fuckton of adjustments they’d gone through, and having a night outside the confines of motherhood would keep these mothers sane.
Plus, this was a celebration. It started at a Happy Hour gig, somewhere respectable with clean glassware and a laminated menu for good eats, varying from pipin’ hot and spicy wings to something more artery-blocking, like bacon-slathered cheese fries. From there, the adventure forward led them to an impromptu pub crawl in the downtown area - Lina knew the area from her less-than-glamorous days of trouble, and was contemplating their next stop while nursing beer in a glass bottle. You weren’t technically supposed to walk around with glass, but who the hell was going to stop her?
The tiny sorceress passed an unladylike burp from her mouth before nudging Emma with an elbow. “How ballsy do you feel tonight, Mrs. Soon-to-be-Cassidy?” Alright, she was a little bit beyond tipsy but she was still coherent and standing, dressed in skinny-jeans and a cold shoulder top.
A night out was probably just what the doctor ordered. Probably not the alcohol consumption but Emma was due some time to kick back and enjoy herself, just like Lina was. They’d made tiny humans, they deserved some celebratory drinks now. And she was ready to properly celebrate her engagement with Lina before the other woman’s pending nuptials.
“That depends on your idea of ballsy.” Emma was just a little over the happy drunk phase, mostly slipping into the tipsy giggly drunk phase before she’d get to the ‘very bad choices’ drunk phase. That was still a while to go though. But she’d heard plenty of stories about Neal and Lina and their adventures, and she wasn’t sure just how well her fiance would take her calling him tonight to bail her out of jail.
“I might need a few more drinks before my inhibitions completely fall away.” And that wasn’t a complaint at all, she was really enjoying just being out and having some fun, just that she definitely needed a couple more to totally throw caution to the wind.
No jail time. That only happened once, technically, after she set that park on fire but - well, anyway, the circumstances surrounding that particular incident were wonky. Lina squinted, and pointed towards a small brick establishment squished behind two taller ones. Blinking neon lights, cracked windows, motorcycles crowding the front; the owners could definitely do more in regards to cleaning up the outside, but it didn’t seem like they were lacking business with the amount of noise (it was hard to tell if it stemmed from happy drunks or angry drunks) coming from it.
“That’s the recreational watering hole for some old friends,” she said, and by recreational she meant that the shady operations were limited and it was more of a neutral ground to expel rowdiness. And by old friends, she meant acquaintances that would help a lady out with a couple rumors in regards to people of interest when the situation striked. Flat-out violence in between rival groups was prohibited - all the bartenders knew their way with a gun and carried a shotgun for safe measures most days. “I haven’t been in forever. It’s usually a lot of gambling and bets with their version of ‘competitive sports.’ And there’s a mechanical bull.”
Emma had no problems with Lina’s past professions, or even the antics that had stemmed out from, or Neal’s involvement. She didn’t have a spotless past herself, and she wasn’t one to judge at all. And maybe it was just the baby at home and the teenager, but Emma had been feeling like maybe she was old in that she was getting ready to tell Lina, no, that was a bad idea, they shouldn’t.
But then. Then the magical words were spoken.
“Mechanical bull?” So, it wasn’t like Emma was some wild thrill seeker, not really. But she knew a thing or two about these sorts of bars from when she drove the country in her parents beat up sedan. And mechanical bull was a lure that Emma had never grown out of. “Why are we still outside?”
In contrast, Lina was some wild thrill seeker. Sometimes. Typically those adventures involved tracking down thieving scum to steal from them, because was there really a problem with giving crooks a taste of their own medicine? They’d be punished, she’d get stuff - the logic was twisted but the rules of the world weren’t always fair, alright? Nowadays it was washing spit up from her hair and the scent of diaper cream on her fingers. Not saying she didn’t enjoy caring for her little shitter (a tiny female replica of her grumpy Englishman!), but a nugget of what was once considered normal for her - even if it was just lounging around an old spot - could be nice every now and again.
So long as it didn’t lead to anything too catastrophic in the scheme of things. Little Miss ‘Blows Shit Up’ exercised caution, believe or not.
That glass bottle was disposed of in a public trashcan. “Atta girl,” the redhead grinned, teeth like impish fangs in the moonlight and ruby eyes glinting with mischief. “It’ll be fun. We can go back to our lives of domesticity afterwards.”
It was a brisk walk from where they stood to their destination; the place was dimly lit and the old jukebox in the corner boomed with some old school rock n’ roll. Really, the entire structure of the inside seemed to be built around the sandbag arena of what was a very tattered-looking mechanical bull - there were other things that kept patrons occupied like gambling tables and games of pool, darts and even life-size Jenga, but it seemed like the animal figure of steel and leather was the crowning jewel.
Not to mention this place was cleaner than most places she’d been. No shattered glass on the floor, the furniture seemed fairly intact, and there were very few bullet holes in the wall if you made the time to count. Heads only turned when the olive-skinned man tending to the drink slinging of the night (wearing a tacky cowboy hat, no less) seemed to recognize at least one of the ladies stepping in. “Little Tits!” A pause. “Either with a boobjob or extra padding. Where did those come from? Who’s your friend?”
That shade of redness in her cheeks was either from embarrassment, boiling rage, or more likely - both. “From motherhood, you moron, and that’s a comment that gets me a free beer.” An inferno wasn’t summoned from the ether and swirling into her palm, so it must have meant that despite the uncalled for comment, Lina was on decent terms with the barkeep. “This is Emma. And before you ask, she’s taken. As in, recently engaged. Don’t get weird.”
‘Don’t get weird’ really seemed like a foreboding warning for Emma’s introduction to Lina’s once-upon-a-time watering hole. But it wasn’t like she hadn’t worked in places not too unsimilar -it was just that they were a little more secretive about the drugs or weapons or whatever they were pushing; it’d be a basic biker bar, not a gang biker bar or… whatever this was. But Emma could roll with it.
Clearly they knew Lina rather well.
“Definitely don’t get weird.” Because they didn’t need Lina hospitalising a bunch of people with fire injuries on their first night out. “And I’ll take a beer too.” Might as well start as the locals did, right?
That look on the bartender’s face was a pout, by the way, but he supposed he could spare some complimentary beer for the two women for nostalgia’s sake. Don’t expect anything topshelf; it was something cheap on draft and the glasses were slid in their direction, and the width of the foam on top was perfect. “Congrats to the both of ya. First round’s on me, and you know the rules - play nice or get out.”
Lina’s response was a lackadaisical salute. “He’s still definitely weird,” she deadpanned to her friend. Before she started guzzling down what was probably going to taste like cat piss, she blinked at the writing on the board behind him. Tallies and top winners for various ‘friendly’ competitions, the main one on who could last the longest on this place’s most prized item: the bull.
Big Bertha was the reigning champ.
“Hey, Em.” Uh-oh. “How long do you think you can last on that thing?” Lina wouldn’t do well. First of all, the bull was too high up up for her. Yes, she’d tried. Once. They had to pick her up and put her on it and she lasted for fifteen seconds. It was embarrassing.
But Emma here? Maybe she could outlast whoever the hell this Big Bertha. Maybe the sorceress could start a betting pool.
Maybe they could walk out of here with a fuckload of cash.
The beer wasn’t great, but at this point it wasn’t like Emma really minded about taste. She didn’t drink beer for the taste after all. The place wasn’t too horrific, and while Lina’s friends might be weird at least they knew her and were far less likely to go groping the pair of them. Emma wasn’t up for drunken magic happening on her first night out on the town.
“Hmm?” At Lina’s questioning, and the somewhat sly tone, Emma glanced over at the bull, working out if it was the same as the ones she’d previous rode, or if that one would take some getting used to. It looked to be pretty much the same though -similar size and width, she could probably get a handle on it well enough. “Um, last time? I got to level seven for twelve seconds.” A lot of it had to do with Emma actually being a horse rider in the first place. The rest had to do with a competitive nature and proving herself.
Her younger years were riddled with Emma doing stupid shit to prove a point. Bull riding went in that one.
“Why do you ask, Lina?” Even if she had an idea on why Lina was asking.
Why does she ask, hm? Emma’s response was promising, Lina’s look was utterly diabolical - ten times worse with those crimson devil eyes - and she gulped the sorry excuse for draft beer like it was tap water. “Thinking of ways in which we can make a buc or two,” came her nonchalant answer, gears turning in her head. It took her a whole set of three seconds to come to a decision and with a swift motion, she hoisted herself up from the barstool to sit her happy ass on the bartop.
“Let’s play a game,” she ultimately suggested to her friend. Seeing someone use his bar as a chair caught the bartender’s attention, and he wandered over with arms crossed just to hear what kind of plan of brewing between the two of them. “We pool some bets - these guys will go for it like wildfire - and you challenge their champ to the respectable sport of mechanical bull-riding. You win, we split the profits, and we have a treat yo self day.”
It was then that the barkeep’s eyes looked like they could pop out of their very sockets. “You want to challenge Big Bertha?” That question was more directed towards the blonde of the two. “You? No offense, I’m sure you can -”
“Watch what you say to her.”
“- pack a punch,” he said, making a huffy sound in regards to his rude interruption. “But you’re a little scrawny for Big Bertha.”
To demonstrate exactly who Big Bertha was, it was all about following the trajectory of his pointed finger. Among men of not very clean reputations, rugged looking with rough edges, missing teeth and fake gold ones, cigars hanging from their mouths like it was an extension of their very body sat a towering figure of She-Hulk proportions. An amazoness in her own right with thunder-thighs and bulky arms that could crush a rowdy gang.
Big Bertha.
Lina opened her mouth a little, but, uh. Nothing really came out?
So, Big Bertha really lived up to her name, and yes, that was moderately intimidating for all of a few seconds until Emma realised that they were calling into question her abilities. She was far enough along the ‘tipsy’ stage to be indignant about that. Sure, she wasn’t built like an amazonian, and she didn’t have that whole ‘crush a melon between her thighs’ thing going on, but damnit, scrawny?
“Make the bets, I can take her.” On the bull at least. She could probably take her in other ways if she was allowed to cheat and use magic, but that would be about as far as that went. And she wasn’t sure if she was trying to prove a point, or just because she needed some liquid courage at this point, but Emma decided that almost draining her bottle was the best way to make a point.
At least she didn’t choke on it.
Alright, the sorceress had to actually snort a laugh, the back of her hand pressed against her mouth to stifle it a little - she hadn’t expected Emma to want to go through with it after having set her sights on the opponent in question, but Lina was glad she did. “Yes, ma’aaaaaaaaaam,” she grinned wolfishly, deciding to take a stand on the bar’s surface to make her grand announcement to the rest of the pub. First, her fingers were inserted in her mouth for a loud, ear-shattering whistle until all heads turned to the source of the noise. “Attention, attention! A challenger’s appeared!”
The crowd went wild. Wolf-whistles and hollers and claps, and among the throng emerged the towering, defending champion of the mechanical bull. Big Bertha squared her shoulders, chest puffed out with a majestic sort of pride and dignity.
“Bertha accepts your challenge!” called out a scrappy old man, gaps where his teeth were missing, but he served as a mouthpiece for the silent and noble woman. “Bertha wipes her ass with little people like you!”
Gross. “That’s offensive,” Lina spat sourly. “And I’m not the one doing the challenging, she is.” There went the finger pointing towards the savior of fairytales herself. “Taking bets now, Emma Swan versus Big Bertha! All or nothing!”
The bartender grimaced while everyone was all cheer, and the patrons of this fine, fine establishment began digging into their pockets for their wallets. It was the sound of paper that was music to her ears - hard crash, lots of it. In the spirit if things she took a wad of her own out, and the man began pooling the flow of moolah. “I’ll be the one taking the money, then, and get off the counter.”
Oh, fine. A hop off the bar and to the floor which resulted in a slight wobble thanks to the somewhat intoxicated thrall she was under. “Okay,” she began, turning to Emma. Eye of the Tiger was playing in the background from the jukebox as if on cue. “You got this, Em. All you gotta do is go a second over she does and that’s it.”
Bertha would be the one up first, rolling her sleeves up to her elbows almost menacingly as her fanbase seemed to speak in tongues when it came to encouragement.
At this point, Emma had to drain what was left of her beer, because clearly her competitive nature was back in full flow and getting the better of her. She’d just popped out a baby, she wasn’t in her usual form, what the hell had she been thinking? Clearly, Lina’s influence was not only terrible for Neal, but for Emma as well.
“Right, one second more, that’s totally fine, I can do that.” And sure, she could magically glue herself to the bull but fuck, her stupid ethical dignity wouldn’t let her do that, would it? Considering the number of people betting, and Emma was pretty sure they weren’t throwing a bunch of money behind the scrawny blond chick so… “This money better be worth it, Lina.” What money wasn’t worth it? But hey, they both had weddings coming up, and babies were not cheap -nor were teenagers. So fuck it, right?
Tying her hair up into a ponytail, Emma tried to psyche herself up for it. “If I bruise any delicate areas, you’re icing them for me.”
“Aren’t the delicate areas Neal’s thing?” Lina quipped, teeth exposed as she grinned with clearly no good intentions but, yeah, she’d insist it was worth it! Emma could do it; she had guns for arms and an oomph of magic to maybe, sorta, probably cheat with if she felt necessary because - well, look, a lot of cash was at stake here, alright?
For objective purposes there was a timer hung above the mechanical bull ring with large and red digital numbering for all to view. And the numbers began going up the moment Bertha mounted the thing like a stallion ready for war - one hand on handle and the other one up in the air as it moved. Slow at first, building up momentum until the wild and abrupt jerks began.
Bertha was very stubborn on that thing, too. Lina had to definitely admire (kinda fear too) that?
The more the digits racked up, the more nervous the sorceress got. Five minutes and seventeen seconds was the final count before the house of a woman was flung off, landing on the sandbag cushion surrounding it. Her supporters were rowdy, clanking beers and drinking shots in her honor, and her name had been made into a fuckin’ mantra.
Lina’s eyes blinked to Emma. “Five minutes, eighteen seconds. Golden number. You’re up, Em. Think about how awesome of a story we can tell the kids when they’re older if you win this.”
She hadn’t actually mentioned to Lina that she hadn’t done this for years. Quite literally. She’d done it a few times through Florida, because there was a bit of money in it, since she was slight and had a skinny thing going on a lot of her life, no one actually considered she’d done some actual riding, or that she could haul hay bales as well as anyone. Emma wasn’t a pushover.
But the competitive nature in her likely just got her into a whole load of trouble in this place, although the fact that they Lina and her reputation at least made her feel a little better about the outcome -they wouldn’t fuck with Lina and all her furious energy. The woman came back from the dead, that was something Emma respected.
So she could ride the bull, make a point of staying the hell on -five minutes and eighteen seconds, she just needed a little longer than that. A second longer, that was it. Hair out of her face, Emma climbed in, wiping her hands on her jeans before mounting and getting her grip quick. She was pretty glad that while she didn’t have tree trunks for thighs, she was more than adequate at clenching, because okay, vulgar bartender or not, yes she could ride very, very well, thank you.
The starting out motions were a good way to get her balance too, working with the motions of the bull and keeping her torso loose enough to work with the waves of movement, arm poised for balance while she maintained her center of gravity for each shift on the circling. When it started to get jerky and bucking, Emma used her heels on the side, her boots and knees adding a bit more grip as her arms flexed on the grip at the saddle. Her ponytail did little to really keep her hair from her face, but it was mostly just whipping at the back of her head instead.
When the back of the bull started to bump up at the back was when Emma knew she was coming loose, just a little longer she just needed to grip and---
A swing to the side and then the bull bucked from the back and Emma jerked, losing her grip to roll and end up tossed into the cushioned padding to the side, her pony coming loose to the point she just pulled it out as she clambered to her feet to get a look at the clock.
Five minutes and twenty two seconds.
Ha.
Good thing Lina had wedged herself in front of the crowd before their heights blocked her damn vision, because she was there to cheer Emma on (also record on her phone, because no shit). The patrons were being decent sports about showing some support, but no one else really thought she’d be able to beat the reigning champion, did they? Not until the seconds racked up to minutes, the blonde stubbornly latched on the robot cattle, and then -
Let’s just say the sound she made was distinctly not human. A high-pitched squeal of sorts that could make windows crack, maybe, but who caaaaaaaared.
“Pay up, assholes!” came Lina’s outcry, grinning as she bounded over to the new reigning champ for a celebratory high-five. “I got that epic moment on video, hell yeah - and I knew Neal was a lucky guy but damn, Em. Just. Damn.”
Meanwhile, while Big Bertha looked like she had swallowed a sour catfish and her face scrunched up a La Grumpy Cat, she wasn’t a disrespectful loser - like the honorable opponent she was, she went to give Emma a very strong, tight handshake. Symbolic of handing over the title and all that. Even if she could take both ladies and pick her teeth with their little bones, but she wouldn’t do that.
Maybe.
Oh God, her thighs, but there was enough adrenaline and bluster at winning that Emma could push it back for now, ride the adrenaline, ignore the burn in her muscles and manage to walk just fine while Lina celebrated. It was enough to get a laugh out of Emma as she pulled herself together again, definitely needing another drink.
“Teach a girl to ride a bull and she doesn’t forget.” Even if she thought she maybe had forgot long ago. It was quite the rush.
The handshake was probably just that side of too tight, but Emma could go with it, she just smiled through the squeeze, like it didn’t affect her at all even if she’d be checking her fingers later. “Good challenge.” Because Emma didn’t need to be an insufferable winner either, even if she was overjoyed inside. “Let us buy you a drink.”
Between the winnings and the endorphin high, Emma had no problem getting Big Bertha a drink so that she could proceed to celebrate her probably slightly bruised ass off.