And surely you’ll buy your pint cup! [And surely I'll buy mine!]

[didorothy]

[what do all responsible 70's cops do on New Years Eve? No bloody clue, because this is A Division's CID, and they are very hammered. Exempting Sam, of course. They are so hammered, indeed, that they are singing a rousing drunken rendition of Auld Lang Syne]

[seeing that Gene is the Guv and therefore Man of the Minute/Hour/Year/eternity, he's been elected to talk first. which is, of course, turning to Tyler and slapping him on the back. take note, Gene is well on his way to being completely and thoroughly pissed] Oi, Sammy-boy. I didn't hear you singing, you lousy fart.

[Sam's not drunk, because he's the Designated Driver. (He designated himself.)] Probably for the best, Guv. [after briefly considering telling Gene he's had enough, Sam opts to pull away from the group so he can just watch them in amusement]

[Ray is well on his way to being pissed as well, and tips back a pint] He'd probably sing it all wrong anyway. [because Ray apparently can't even be fully friendly on the holiday. oh well, at least he's trying to sound vaguely joking about it]

[The dorktastic Chris, meanwhile, is trying to fix some streamers with one hand while drinking from a pint in his other hand.] C'mon, boss. Can't just stay shut up. 's a holiday. 

Skelton's right. [makes his way (drunkenly) to where Sam tried getting away, finishing off yet another pint of his own and letting out a long belch] Carling, get me another. And if you're a member of this team, you're bloody well singing in the New Year, Gladys.

[Sam responds quite mulishly to (everything) emotional manipulation] Maybe I should apply for a transfer, then. I hear DCI Bell doesn't turn his team into a college fraternity on the night with the highest incidents of violent crime in the year.

Will do, Guv. [Ray completely ignores Sam in favour of getting Gene another pint]

[Chris pulls away from the streamers, looking pleased with himself and drinking some more. Then he turns to Sam.] It'll be all right. We do this every year.

[snorts, taking his glass from Ray] That's right. So either step up or you can join that precious statistic of yours.

[Sam just shakes his head] Not playing, Guv. Threaten all you like, but I’m not drunk enough. And I don’t intend on becoming that hammered, either. Someone has to drive.

[Ray smirks] Boss, if you do apply, tell me when it goes through. I'll throw you a goin' away party. [and with that said, he pulls himself a pint]

[Chris is back to ignoring all the bickering and looking at a bag, which he digs into. A moment later he pulls out a party popper.] Look, look, Ray. [Then he tugs on the string and makes it explode. He finds this exciting]

Look, Dorothy. I'll give you to the count of ten. If I don't hear you killing old women with your singing, you're gonna regret it. We understood?

[Sam takes a drink of his whisky] I'll spare you the embarrassment of stumbling after ‘one.’ One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Well, Guv?

[sniffs, downing his pint, then nods] Right, then. You asked for it. [reaches across the bar, grabs a bottle of bourbon, and nonchalantly opens it up over Sam's head]

[Sam jumps up in horror] You bastard!

(OOC: Threadhopping: expect it. Expect it wild and drunken and ridiculous.)

Comments

[mercwamouth]

Like it matters. You could probably watch them on your awesome-glasses whenever you want.

[didorothy]

It's not the same as catching it on the telly, knowing that this is the first time everyone else has seen it.

[mercwamouth]

You're really a fan of the "little things" aren't you?

[didorothy]

There aren't a lot of 'big things' to come by. The little things are what make it.

[mercwamouth]

Well let's hope Diva's a fan of "little things" too.

[didorothy]

She seems to be. She was so happy when I got her that stuffed animal, ages ago...

[mercwamouth]

Well maybe her fondness of "little things" is what makes her like you so much.

[didorothy]

I try not to analyse my relationships. I tend to find that it's a quick way to sink 'em.

[mercwamouth]

*sigh* Alright, screw subtlety.

I'M SAYING YOU HAVE A SMALL DICK.

[didorothy]

[Sam stares]

Oh. Well, if that's it, then.

[and Sam just leans back and drinks, because after being the prissy princess of CID for so long, insults to one's manliness get boring]

[mercwamouth]

...And your mother dresses you funny!

[didorothy]

And I thought I was the one supposed to be turning five this year.

[mercwamouth]

Yeah! Because you're... uh... a jerk!

[didorothy]

You done now?

[mercwamouth]

...You win this round, copper.

[didorothy]

Making it two-nil, I believe.

[mercwamouth]

Well la-dee-da. Like football, eh? Then you'd better hope I don't score a three-pointer in the last inning.

[didorothy]

I don't plan on giving my inning up to you.

[mercwamouth]

Haha, there are no innings in football.

Loser.

[didorothy]

[Some part of Sam's brain went, "...Really, Deadpool? This is how you're taking back the win?" and some other part grumped about how you can never tell with Americans and their ridiculous ideas of how 'football' is supposed to go. He, of course, vocalises the grumpy part.]

I can never tell with Americans.

[mercwamouth]

Oh you guys'd be so lost without us.

[didorothy]

'Lost' as in 'no one to point us which way to go for the next pointless war'?

[mercwamouth]

Exactly. Where would you guys have your pointless wars if not for us? Canada? Good luck with that.

[didorothy]

I'm sure another nation would provide. It is humanity we're talking about here.

[mercwamouth]

But we've already established the UK as our bitch. The only other country that's done that is Germany and they've stopped having pointless wars.