Hairspray and a .45

Something's not right, that much is clear. The door is locked, but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end. Without a second thought, he tucks his overnight bag just inside the front door and silently closes it behind him - surveying the strewn clothes and shoes. Sam, he'd know the jacket hanging off the coffee table anywhere, pants - a wrinkled pool on the floor. One female, tacky shoes - worn to death by the looks of it. Skimpy dress, but comfortable looking - so probably not a pro. But it was Sam, can't rule anything out. He smiles and draws his weapon, finger caressing the trigger guard as he makes a silent beeline for the bedroom.

He pauses just outside the door for a long moment, listening for the telltale signs that the party wasn't over yet, but only heard slow and shallow breathing - mostly asleep but not for long. With a smile, he opens the door and lowers the gun right at his friend - eyes glancing over his blonde companion. "Morning."

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Clementine, for her part?

Screams.

Loud and long.

Damn it, why is her service revolver ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE ROOM?

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Sam then wakes with a start as Clem screams as he looks around "What the hell Clem is going on" he then rubs his face slowly and then sees Mikey as a grin breaks out on his face.

"Hey Mikey, you're home."

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Michael raises an eyebrow and licks his lower lip, slowly lowering the weapon. "Hey, we're making friends again?"

He scans the room, taking note that everything is mostly where it should be - not that he really has much to mess with. "You're in my bed."

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Clementine raises an eyebrow and turns toward Sam. "This is his bed?" She shove Sam lightly. "And this is Michael?" she appraises the younger man, and would normally be thinking 'nice body', but not with the gun-pointing.

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The one thing Clem should notice is that Sam is not bothered by the gun, and then her looks at her and shrugs a little.

"Yes This is Michael, And this is his bed as well."

What they can't go back to his sugarmama's can they?

"Mikey, this is Clementine,"

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Not at all amused, Michael tucks his weapon back into the shoulder holster under his jacket - pausing a moment before stripping it off to hang up. "Pleasure." He responds, sounding just the slightest bit cold. "If you'll excuse me, I've had a hell of a day..."

He doesn't finish his thought, but starts unbuttoning a blue shirt that had clearly seen better days - smudges of filth and gun shot reside staining the front of the shirt and patches of his khaki trousers. "What's your story, then?"

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Clem's definitely not afraid of guns, just the ones that get pointed at her. The coldness doesn't surprise her, judging from what Sam's said of Michael. She offers him her hand.

..And probably accidentally flashes him in the process.

"Uh cop...ex-showgirl...I've been seeing Sam for six months now." And he didn't tell Michael about her? She pokes Sam again.

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Sam then groans out as he rubs his side as he sits up and then gets out of bed and puts on his boxers. "Yeah, I've not seen him that much we've been talking about work, I told him I was dating a girl."

He said trying to smooth it over.

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Bemused by the polite gesture (Sam's usual "dates" were hardly the type to shake hands) Michael takes her hand and gives a firm gripped pump. "I see..." The corners of his mouth tick in what may potentially be a smile were it not for Sam opening his mouth.

"Showgirl turned cop, sounds like a good time girl." He drops her hand slowly, only letting his eyes linger her barely-covered body long enough for Sam to make a failed attempt at modesty. "Work, Sam. Some of us still work for a living."

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"Used to be. I still am. I got sick of being turned into a duck every night." She starts putting her underwear on under the covers - Sam's sitting on her bra; eh, forget it. She reaches for her sarong.

"How long have you known each other, anyway? Sam talks about you all the time."

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Sam then looks at him. "I work, I've done work for you? Who called Barry for you and got you the papers you needed?"

He then looks at Clem and sighs. "I told him about you just not your name."

Really he told Mikey about the curvy blond with the large.....

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"Yeah... about those papers..." Michael looks down at his shirt, gesturing at his shirt in a way that could only mean; 'This is your fault.' before he turns his attention back to the blonde.

"So, Clementine..." He uncermoniously strips down to his undershirt, the white cotton tank top ringed with sweat but thankfully minus the telling signs of "business" gone awry. "Which precinct are you under?" He gently searches for information, curious as to just how much information Sam has slipped her. Sure, she seemed nice enough... but they always do.

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She bites back a snicker. "Washoe County. Reno. Nevada." She kisses the back of Sam's neck. "Hand me my dress, sailor?"

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Sam then hands her the dress and then stretches out as he looks at him. "What was wrong with the papers man." He gets up and gets a beer out of the fridge and leans against the bar.

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"Reno? Hot damn, Sammie's getting around." He cracks a too-wide smile as Sam dips back towards discussion of topics best left away from sensitive ears. He turns to face his friend, showing just the slightest bit of his teeth - more of a grimace than a grin. "We can talk about the papers later, Sam... it's taken care of." He clips his words, once more turning back to the woman.

"You're pretty far away from Reno, Miss. Sam must have had a hell of a time talking you all the way out here to get the tour of my bed."

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Sammy does indeed get around, and that's the way she loves him. "We didn't have a long trip. Sam's told you, right?" She looks at him and eyebrows again. "He's worth the ride."

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He drinks his beer, there was a time and a place when would want tell her to just shut up this might be one of them. he then looks at Mikey to nod that he got the hint as he rolls his shoulders.

"I see, and It wasn't exactly all they way like that."

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Michael quirks an eyebrow and approaches the bar, not yet stepping around the edge. "Well, I've heard he's one hell of a ride."

He watches as Sam slams the brew, a bit too unsettled for his usual routine. "I see, so you met halfway?" He chuckles slightly, cutting it off when he realizes he's the only one laughing.

"What are you getting at, Sam?"

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Clem chokes. She's not surprised Sam has a tendency toward TMI. "You could say that."

It's Sam's turn to explain. Have fun, honey - she'll be digging on the floor for her shoes.

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Sam really does want to hit her now or he's half wishing her had told her to shut up. It would have to be easier then this.

"NO we met at a bar at the end of the universe." He gives Mikey that I'm not shitting you look. It's serous and he's not bluffing about this.

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Totally not taking anything Sam says seriously, despite the 'on the level look' Mikey steps to the fridge and retrieves a cup of vanilla yogurt and well placed plastic spoon. Waiting for the punchline, he peels back the lid and takes the first bite.

"What, some shithole in Texas?" He smirks, "I always assumed the universe ended in East Texas."

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See, Sam? Clem loves you so much she'll step in and rescue you here. "It's called Milliways. And it's literally at the end of the universe." She straps on her heels. "They have great beer."

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Sam nods. "She's right, I mean that. If you want you can totally go. I'd be willing to show you. And I wish Texas would be easier.":

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