Myitt tenses as Ozzy's tailblade drapes itself over her shoulder, then slowly turns and stares, gaping, as he explains himself to Sub.
"Ho-ly sh*t," she says, shaking her head slowly. "You scared the Christ outta me. Don't do that again." She gives him a loopy, half-drunk, arm's length shake of a hug from her wooden seat. Standing right now might be a bit of an issue. "Ozzy, I was wondering when the hell you were gonna show up, ya feck. How are ya?" Very Bostonian. Definitely drunk. She glances at Sub as she bolts away. "What'samattah with 'er?" She giggles, inexplicably.
The bartender sighs and hands her another beer, which weirdly doesn't read "Samuel Adams" on it anymore, but has mutated into some off brand that looks similar but is written in an alien script. Instead of Sam Adams on the bottle there is some kind of tentacle-mouthed monstrosity, holding a mug of beer.
((It's Luke, fina-frickin-lly! XD *waves*))