Harry's Hangover

January 28, 2015: It's a drinking contest between Lady Luck and a Bamf. (Language)

Harry's Hideaway, Westchester

It sure is a good thing places like this exist in the area. Where else are all of the weirdos going to get trashed?



  • Curly the Bamf
  • Two other random Bamfers

Mood Music:

A time must eventually come around where wrongs are made right. Where reputations are put on the line. Where the winners are separated from the losers. This time is now, at Harry's Hideaway. Another ultimate showdown.

Between an albino woman and a Bamf.

A table has already been selected, practically in the middle of the joint rather than Domino's usual habit of going for a corner. Situated across from her is Curly the Bamf. Between the two sits a whole collection of shotglasses and two bottles of whiskey.

There's also a Nightcrawler sitting to the side, acting as the judge for this particular showdown.

"Alright, you little runt," Dom tells the Bamf. "One run, first to go down loses the box. You win, I won't bother you about it again. I win, I -will- get it back." It's the only 'civilized' way they're going to end this, once and for all.


Longshot saunters in, having finally returned to X-Men environs after his recent guest run as "Jason Dash" on the long-running soap opera "Into the Fire". His eye-patched neurosurgeon had turned out to be a robot and was written off the show currently after sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Ratings had been good, though, so he might come back next year. Longshot was glad to make it only a short run anyway - he didn't like getting tied down to one boss.

Been there, done that, lead the rebellion.

He sees the showdown at the table and grins crookedly, grabbing a chair and spinning it until he's straddling it in reverse and sliding across the wooden floor, somehow ending up just right next to it, "I feel like I missed a previous episode, but I'm loving it!" he says.


The time, the place, all agreed upon in advance- once the correct bamf had been identified, that is. They -all- look the same (except for one poor soul who isn't quite 'like the others'), and pretty much act the same. While identity had been protected by Kurt, 'Curly' the bamf is rather well known now by the albino merc. And there's no hiding.

Nor would the little bamf want to when drinking is concerned.

So, in the 'here and now', the little fuzzy-chibi version of Kurt is crouched on the opposite end of the table, glowing yellow eyes narrowed as he watches Domino and listening to every word. Little chubby arms cross in front of it's chest, and the small, spade-tipped tail swings back and forth.

"Bamf." It's a definitive sound, anyway. 'Curly' points to the alcohol, and sounds as if he repeats her words. "Bamf… bamfbamfbamfbamf…" and points in turn to himself, then Domino.

Kurt exhales, his back and shoulders covered with the 'other' four, two popping their heads from the sides, and two perched upon either shoulder. "Then we are in agreement, ja? Domino, you have assured us that you have no special healing, und… you," Featureless yellow eyes turn to his 'mini-me', "You promised there would be no stand-ins from your brothers."

"Bamf.." the sound comes from 'Curly' as it nods its head in agreement, flashing little sharp fangs in a broad smile. Just to add weight, it makes an 'x' across its heart.

Longshot's entrance gains a wave with a smile, "This is serious business. A… showdown at the O-K Corral. Two enter, only one will be standing."


Remy LeBeau awakens to the sounds of a female voice, the chitters of a Bamf and general familiarity. He spent the night at Harry's Hideaway, passed out in a booth and was allowed to just sprawl there with his trenchcoat tucked over his head making for a cover and a pillow. His own stench of alcohol mingled sleep breath is not something pleasant to stir to, the half-empty bottle in front of him lifted up and put in his mouth only to be spit back out, discarded cigarette butt. Yum.

"Who be dat, Kurt?" A hoarse croak. Remy is back! Well, he is now back in the vicinity of Westchester and why he didn't go to the Mansion last night? Who knew. From down south on back to Gotham and now here - the destination he was supposed to have been in the first place.


Domino continues to stare back at Curly as the terms, or conditions..or whatever are laid out. For a few seconds nothing more is said between the two. Then she turns to look at Kurt, asking "What the hell did he just say?"

To Longshot, she suggests "I'd prefer to think of it as more 'Thunderdome.' Two man enter, one man leave. This guy seems to take issue with that approach," she says while hooking a thumb over to Kurt. He's kind of protective of those little teleporting furballs.

To Kurt's question she dips her head once in confirmation. "No healing tricks. Just some good old constitution." Then another voice calls out from a booth. Cripes, and here she thought that was some homeless guy! ..Actually maybe he still is, but the thick accented guy seems to know Kurt. Though, hey. Teleporter! He obviously gets around.

"Alright, I don't have all day here," she declares while pouring out the first line of shots. "Uh..bamf up, or whatever."

First shot down.


Longshot drums a four-fingered hand on the back of the chair, eyes filcking back and forth between the two competitors. That one of them is a tiny blue person doesn't exactly register much to Longshot - people back home from in all different shapes and sizes (although the basic form is "Scabby Yellow Superfatty").

He waves over a waitress, throwing her a wink and earning a blush and a giggle. He always gets the blush and a giggle. "Madeline, still ravishing! How have you not been swept away to a life of luxury? Ah, well, my gain, it seems! I'll have one of those lovely umbrella drinks you got me last time. I trust your judgment," he says.

He returns his gaze to the contest, blonde bangs falling in his eyes.


Remy? Is that Gambit that's lying—

"Mein freund!" For a moment, Kurt forgets where he is with the genuine happiness in seeing the newly arrived home once again. "Welcome home—"


"Oh, sorry…" Kurt is chided by not only the one bamf that has 'everything' at stake, but the two others that aren't quite as interested at the return as they are in the drinking contest. Though, they do that quietly.

"He repeated what you said, Domino. He understands the terms."

Longshot is watched from the corner of his eye, and with the waking of his friend, and the addition of an unknown, Kurt's voice raises, "This is a drinking contest. No one may aid either with their talents. This is to be a fair fight." For a box of gold worth millions.

That Mystique wanted.

That Domino found.

That Curly stole.

'Curly' the bamf rolls forward, leaning on diminuative three-fingered hands, its tail whipping out to wrap around the first glass with glowing yellow eyes still narrowed and fixed upon his opponent. With a flourish, it downs it while rolling back on chubby legs and smacks its lips loudly before an appreciative "bamf" is let out.

First glass matched.


"Ah, *ulp* hold that thought, mon ami." Remy shoots up and past Longshot on out the door. He looked a little green on his way. No doubt his bender is swinging back around on him full force.


"Okay..wait," Domino pauses while setting the empty shot aside. To one side..three fingered hands. To her front..three fingered hands. To her -other- side..FOUR fingered hands. "I know I'm not that wasted yet. Are fingers going out of style around here?" She even makes a point of looking down at her own hands, verifying that they're all as they should be.

Then Curly's smacking his lips. -Loudly.- Dom's attention drifts right back to the indigo furball, narrowing her own eyes in turn. "Oh, you wanna go? Alright, let's go."

Round two, done and gone.

(I swear to God I'm gonna cut that tail right off of his stumpy little ass before this is over.)

In one corner, luck, high tolerance, and a darn-near unbreakable willpower. In the other corner..it's a Bamf. Tiny demonlings do indeed get drunk, after a time. It's a road they've traveled together more than once, already.

"Yeah, cheers," she grunts at Curly while reaching for shot three, adding in a lower tone "you little blue shit."

Nope, nothing missed here! Just round three, done.


Longshot gets his frou-frou drink from the waitress, taking a sip from a teensy little straw. "Everyone where I come from is like this. You guys are the weird ones," he says, waggling his thick digits in her direction, 'Don't worry, tough, I can do more things with our fingers than an average guy could do with ten," he says.

"So, what caused this dispute anyway? A hunt for an ancient artifact? Somebody stole somebody else's significant other? Did she step on your toadstool house?" he asks. They sound snarky, but his tone and bright eyes show he's not kidding in the least. He understands the world almost entirely through fiction. 'Real life' is usually where he gets lost - epic states and strange circumstances seem normal to him.


'Curly' leans forward again after his tail *thumps* the empty glass upside down on the table, beady featureless yellow eyes still locked on Domino's blue. "Bamf," is hissed. "Bamfbamf… bamfbamfbamf..". A little hand reaches for one shot, then the next, while his tail makes a grab for a third. One, two, three in succession, and for a moment, the little blue fuzzy imp pauses as the heat reaches his stomach. "Bamf.." is whispered, but in another couple of seconds, it puts the glasses down in succession, turned over. One, two, and the one wrapped in its tail is done with a flourish, stacked upon the others. "Bamf."

Kurt leans back, causing the two bamfs on his back to shift to the side. One teleports onto the table, leaving behind a distinct smell of sulfur… raw eggs. It doesn't seem to bother it, or Kurt, however. "Curly stole something of Domino's, und she wants it back. I am unsure who suggested the drinking contest, however, as both do rather enjoy such things." A light shrug is given, single-shouldered.

The snark from Longshot gains the mutant a look from the bamf in question who uses his three-fingers to great effect to flip 'the bird'. "Bamf."

"That wasn't.." very nice.

"Bamf… bamfbamf."


"Oh, you think you're one of the big boys now, huh."

Fourth shot taken. Fourth shot down.

(I probably should have found a designated driver for tonight.)

Dom's reaching for the fifth shot when suddenly a(nother) Bamf appears on the table, causing her to recoil and shield her nose from the stench. "HEY, interference! He's immune!" she announces while jabbing a ghostly finger at Curly.

Greeeat, another 'other dimensional' guy. As if things aren't weird enough around here. She's tempted to tell Longshot to take a hike back to his own reality when the question is asked. 'Artifact' is close. When he says 'significant other' the albino woman is quick to make a face, looking back at Curly. "What - no! That's just wrong! He took-" uhmmm… "-some collectibles from me. Because they were shiny."

She glares back at Curly.

"And they were -my- shiny."

Then Curly flips Longshot off, causing her to snort in amusement. "For once we can agree on something. C'mon, Mister Tribble. Head in the game."

Time for number five.


Longshot isn't a mutant, but he can't read minds, especially not Bamf minds, so he's completely oblivious. He's kind of that way anyway sometimes, so that's all right. "Collectibles. I have collectibles! Action figures! Boom! Pow!" he says, making shadowboxing motions which are probably undermined a bit by the little purple umbrella he's tucked behind his ear, sticking out of his blonde hair.

"Well, this is better than bloodshed! I once saw a man harpooned through the guts over borrowing someone's glitter jacket! Fashion's no joke when ratings are on the line!" he says.


Can all-yellow eyes get bloodshot rims? What color would that be if one is blue? Green? Purple?

Curly actually hisses at his 'brother' and takes another shot with his tail, downs it, and whips the glass at the other bamf's head. "Bamf!" Targeted bamf takes a step backwards and disappears by falling off the edge of the table. In the next second, it's back on Kurt's back, glowing yellow orbs peering out from behind 'Bamf Prime'.

Number Five.

'Curly' gives a long look as to where his brother was before he returns his attention on Domino. A slow, sharp-toothed grin slowly builds, and he dips his head. "Bamf."

Reaching out, though slowly, Curly takes number six in his little three-fingered hand.

Kurt's attention moves towards Longshot, his head shaking, "Don't tell them that, please." Too late, however, when one bamf teleports off of Kurt's shoulder and sits right in front of Trickshot, spearing one of the fruits in the drink with a found plastic 'cutlass'. Popping the morsel into it's mouth, a fuzzy blue face looks intrigued, and in the next second, "Bamf?"


Mmh… Yeah, when it comes to drinking Domino's done her fair part to brutally murder her own liver. Still, everything in moderation. She reaches up to lightly rub at her forehead before the emptied fifth glass is rolled around in her fingertips then allowed to roll across the back of her hand. It gets partway down her forearm before she catches it and -thunks- it back to the table between the two.

They didn't exactly set this challenge to pace themselves. Time is money! She can feel the burn, alright. Still, well within familiar territory. It's like any other potential Wednesday.

Then Curly hucks the glass at the other Bamf, causing Dom to start -laughing.- "Alright, that's a point to you."

Then she turns to give Longshot -such- a look. 'Action figures.' Complete with obligatory onomatopoeia. "Really? You're like a big damn kid, arencha."

The umbrella in his hair isn't helping. Not even a little. It wasn't when it was in his drink. It isn't when it's behind his ear.

Then talk about some guy getting harpooned is mentioned, pointing his way around shot number six. "Now -there's- something I can get on board with." Though again, with this 'ratings' thing… "What the hell kinda show is this and why have I not heard of it before?"

Then -another- Bamf bamfs. Before she can take the sixth shot she puts it back down. In its place is a matte black throwing knife, getting viciously speared into the top of the table with little more than a blur of motion from her arm. It misses the little critter's tail.


"You're lucky my aim's starting to falter, but teleport -one more time- and I'll dump enough lead into the air that I can't -possibly- miss."

Number six is reclaimed, downed, and returned. She's glaring at the critter through most of it.


Longshot considers, "I suppose I am. Technically speaking, I'm around eight years old. I think. I think there's a manufacturer's mark on me somewhere, but it might be on my spleen. If I have a spleen. Which I might not," he says.

The display of knifesmanship and general tomfoolery with all the bamfing has Longshot slowly drawing on his straw, enjoying the pine-melon-tequila-y goodness of whatever concoction he's been given.


'Curly' twists about, giving his brother a look as well. He wants to win this fair and square, actually… and his sibling isn't helping. Though, 'collectables' is a draw, and one that perhaps Curly will look into. After all- that drink?


Returning his attention to the matter at hand, that is, the alcohol, Number Six is stared at, and Kurt would swear 'cross-eyed'. "Whiskey…" is whispered, and there's a distinct slur to the word. Still, the chibi-demon looks up at Domino, and the smile remains, though it flickers to determination, and Six is downed quickly. It's an uncertain hand, however, that lines it up, and the three that he had stacked *clinks* and falls.

"Bamf…" Awww…

Kurt looks to his little brother, ready to put an end to it all when Domino throws the knife. "Hey!" The largest Wagner is putting in his complaint. "No cutting tails off." Or throwing lead around. Or… "I would imagine that would disqualify you."

Those words, however… even Curly doesn't like them, and a hissed "bamf" is tossed Kurt's way.

Kurt leans over the table now, and his words are low, "Do not ever say that again, ja? Verstehen-sie auf?"

'Longshot's bamf', well.. the knife comes skittering at him, and a leap is made to the back of the seat, the little plastic sabre in hand, now in tail. "Bamf!" is offered up in protest towards Domino.


With the collapse of Curly's little shotglass tower she 'snrks' and grins at the guy. "An architect, you are not."

When a 'manufacturer's mark' is mentioned Domino hesitates, just slightly. Here's something she didn't expect to hear another say, and something which she would really rather not think about. At all. "Hard to get the barcode reader on a spleen," she flatly replies. "They've over-rated, anyway." Spleens? Yeah..spleens.

Seven up! Seven -down.- On the hilt of the embedded knife with a soft *chink!* Like a floppy little glass hat.

Now she's starting to get comfortably numb.

"Okay..really, now," she says while pointing a (somewhat unsteady) finger at Curly. "You've just drank your entire fluid volume. -Where the hell are you putting it all?-"

She actually turns to stare at Kurt, wondering if somehow the drinks are getting teleported into -his- stomach.

This is just crazy, yo.

"Yeah? Well disqualify -this.-"

Eight up! Eight down. Hard.

"Mmmfffuck me sideways, here we go…"


Longshot doesn't seem particularly perturbed or threatened by Bamf-scrambling, even if one of them has armed himself. A part of him wants to challenge the little thing to a duel, but he suspects his longsword might be a wee bit oversized for the job. Isn't it always?

"I think Mojo's more likely to put an actual signature than a barcode. Kind of like an artist signing his work. Even if he didn't design or actually manufacture me, he would get the credit. He usually insists on that kind of thing," he says.

He's drawn one of his own throwing blades, like a straight razor but longer, almost like the kind of thing you'd find in a box cutter if you drew it out of the sheathe. It rolls back and forth over his oversized knuckles in its own little dance, "Sideways? Well, if you insist, but I think you should finish your game first. They have rules about that sort of thing on this world. Believe me, I found out the hard way. I'm still not allowed back at Goldman's Deli."


The bamf isn't paying a whole lot of attention to those in attendance. He's got alcohol in front of him, and it's a -very- good question that Domino is asking. Where the hell is he putting it?


Curly watches Seven come and go, as well as Eight. Swallowing hard, the little bamf's tail stiffens visibly when his own Seven is taken in hand. For a long moment, the little guy stares at the drink, then Domino, then the drink again…

And the drink is downed.

Curly actually coughs, bleary yellow eyes blinking as he leans over. Every fiber in the little bamf's being says that Number Eight has to be downed!

Can't. Lose.

Little fingers reach out for Number Eight, but they're attached to an unsteady hand. Drink threatens to spill with the shake, and to keep that from happening, his mouth meets drink rather than the other way around. It's taken, and in echo of Domino's putting the glass on her knife hilt, he sticks his upside down on his tail. A hiccough exits the little guy, and he looks quite unsteady. Good thing he doesn't have to walk!

Kurt is looking sympathetic, now that agreement has been reached. His attention flicks back and forth, from bamf to Domino, and back, sparing a glance to Longshot. Brows rise and his voice is low, "I don't think she meant literally, mein freund."

The little bamf with his 'dangerous' sabre looks almost disappointed. Instead of sulking, however, he puts the 'sword' into his mouth and crawls on all-fours back to the fruity drink in order to stab another bit of fruit.


"Mojo..?" Blink. "Hey..could we not talk about that ..sorta thing..? It's makin' me feel a little ..y'know. Not comfy."

(So how was your day, Dom? Oh, fine. I just lost over five million dollars' worth of gold to a drunk Muppet. No big.) Number nine is almost gingerly taken into her fingers, though she waits a moment before attempting to lift it from the table.

(I am -not- losing this, dammit.)

Before she can issue the next challenge to the Bamf, Longshot tells her something -else- which she's not expecting to hear. "What-? -Dude,- it's a fing-FIGgure of speech! I didn't..oh for fuck's sake," she mutters with a heavy sigh. "Just..go back to shaving your knuckles." With that straight razor-like blade.

Once more she looks back to Curly. Eyes narrowed. Face etched in hard lines of determination. Curly's starting to falter. She can see it. "Come on then, you bouncy blue bastard. Bring it!"

Nine..down. Whoooahboy.

The empty glass doesn't quite make it onto the table upside-down, being thunked down at an angle which causes the heavy shot to roll free of her fingers then onto its side, clinking against a more positively stationed glass a few inches away.

Then she folds her arms together on the table and leans forward, positively -staring- at Curly.

"Girl power."


Longshot shrugs, "As you wish. I am quite good at it," he says nonchalantly. "People here use language very strangely. Always asking for things they don't really want." he says.

He does, indeed, dance the blade more, finally flicking it off his thumb and leaning back so it lands right in its sheathe in his bandolier.

"I have never seen a duel before in which the participants were expected to harm themselves, rather than vice versa. It is a novel concept. I don't think it would work as well with swords. It's very awkward to stab yourself with a sword."




That sounds more like it, and Curly looks to the only German in the room.

Yellow eyes are back and following the progress of that drink up and to black lips, only to be emptied and placed back (unsteadily, mind) to the table. Curly shuffles his butt closer to the drinks, and towards the spot where Kurt is seated, and makes a reach for the drink. Three stubby fingers take hold, and it's only by the grace of the micro-suction discs on its hand and fingers that he can actually keep hold of it. Mouth attempts to find end of hand, and doesn't do too well. It takes him a long moment to collect himself, and as the drink goes back, so does his body. Back.. back..

Where Curly sat, he sits no longer. A *thump* can be heard as a little bamf hits the floor. *clink* The emptied glass (he drank it!) falls finally from his chubby little grasp, and yellow eyes are closing.

"Bamf.." and there's movement, but it's the flick of the tip of his tail.

Kurt exhales in a long sigh, and smiles tightly, decided concern for the downed imp. "I think that is it, Domino. I will have one of the other bamfs get it for you." No sooner spoken than one of the other bamfs does just that- a soft bamf! sounds as it teleports away, and the sound repeats as it arrives, a large chest (in comparison to it!) in hand.


Longshot applauds, as is appropriate at the completion of any show, another fruity drink arriving in succession to replace its drained predecessor, "Bravo. Your dedication to picking your innards has paid off! But what's inside the box? Is it the treasure you sought or a goat wearing a sombrero? We won't know until you open it!"

"Orrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…you could trade the box for what lies behind…door number 2!" he says, pointing towards the kitchen. Yeah, he really doesn't know what's back there.


"Yeah, well you use your face very strangely," Domino grunts back at Longshot. Though, stabbing yourself with a sword… She glances his way and..very loosely..rolls her shoulders in a shrug. "Only if the blade's too long." She pauses once more, thoughts and focus cast adrift before she out of the blue repeats "Mmmmmmojo…" Then more quietly, "What the fuck is a 'Mojo,' anyway?"

Then..oh, wait..! Here it comes, heeeeere it-

Dom's grin only grows further as she reaches up a hand and mock-waves goodbye with black-nailed fingers as Curly tilts further and further backward.


Then Longshot starts clapping, and asking what's inside of the box which has now magically appeared in front of her. Well..she -does- need to know that the gold is actually still inside of it. The only problem is that she's not in the best of shape to fend it off from anyone else that wanted a crack at becoming very damn rich very damn quickly.

And a 'door number two' is being offered.

"I think I'll take my chances, thanks," she replies in a tired and slightly slurred tone, limply dropping a hand on top of the case in a possessive manner. Then she shifts her heavy gaze toward Kurt, asking "Hey. How much for a bamf home..?"

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