The sounds, the general smells, the very atmosphere of the club was the same as the night before, but this time it was all familiar rather than overwhelming, which was a good start. Sammy was determined to enjoy himself this time around. He ignored his amorous pursuits, or the lack thereof, and wound up playing pool with Dave. He was getting his butt kicked, but that was no surprise. For all the times Hatchet had dragged Sammy along with him to this bar and that, the two had played surprisingly little pool together.

Ami sashayed in eventually, and gave Sammy a friendly wave upon seeing him, the gold bands on her arms jingling against each other with the motion. He awkwardly waved back. And then she walked off and started working her charm on a trio of werewolves at the bar. He had to admit... he envied her boldness. If he had so much confidence, the world would be his freaking oyster.

Dave had just pocketed the 8 ball when Liam finally stormed in, alone. He gave Sammy a quick obligatory nod to acknowledge his presence, but didn't slow down on his way to the bar and ordered a homebrew, something strong--stronger than any human could handle. Even if Liam lacked the ability to shapeshift, he still had some of the advantages of lycanthropy, among them a high threshold for inebriation.

Since it was now Donnie's turn to lose against Dave, Sammy broke away and approached the bar. "Hey. Everything all right?" he asked.

Liam just hunched down and kept his face forward. "No."

"Aw, I'm sorry, man," Sammy said. And even though he already knew more about his foster-brother's sex life than he cared to, he still offered, "What happened?"

"Oh, like you care," Liam snapped, managing a growl. He had to be [i]really[/i] upset to accomplish that.

Sammy backed off, palms up in surrender. "All right, man. Well, we'll head home in a little while. Hang out with your packmates or brood here, it's your choice."

He returned to the pool table just in time to catch Donnie's downcast expression over a table that was already half empty.

"I told you to ask for a step stool," Sammy said.

"I just might so I have a blunt object to beat you over the head with," he retorted. Then, in a much lower voice, he waved his cue in the air and asked, "So how come your roommate's got one of these up his butt?"

"Trouble in paradise, I guess," Sammy mumbled back. "When we get home, I'm finally gonna talk to Odysseus about getting my own room. We're both in our twenties now, this is ridiculous."

"Why didn't you ask sooner?"

"I kinda just figured the problem would solve itself when he moved to college." Sammy sighed. "I wish you'd move in with us. It'd be cool sharing a room with you again."

"Hell nah, man. Look, I love you, I love the pack, but they can be a little much sometimes. I like having a place of my own. And even if I did move in, we definitely wouldn't be roommates, not with the way your feet smell."

"My feet don't- eh, that's fair," Sammy muttered.

"'Nother round of drinks, boys?" Dave asked, standing up. "We got a little more time to kill before karaoke night starts. Mady said you love karaoke."

Sammy huffed. Did the entirety of California know everything about him? Maybe it wasn't such a bad thing, having so many strangers treating him like an old friend, but he felt so disadvantaged.

Just then, a stream of angry Russian reverberated throughout the club, followed by a crash. All heads turned towards the commotion, but what Sammy saw caused him to drop his stick and surge forward. Four burly wolves loomed over Liam, who was sprawled on the floor. One of them held a struggling Ami by the arm.

"How many times must I tell you, runt? This fox is mine," one of the Russians, apparently the leader of the group, snarled.

"I'm [i]not[/i] 'yours,' Vaska!" Ami spat.