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While she waited, Chel would find herself hit on by an excessively ordinary looking guy who was also low key wasted. In his late 30's and maybe a little rough around the edges when you looked past the this guy is definitely an accountant-veneer, he tried to sidle in next to her, cheap beer in hand.

"Are you a 45 degree angle? Because you're perfect."

"Not the only thing coming up, babe." Winky face. Fingergun.

Well now it was.

Brow crinkling, the man thought it over and maybe he'd have even come up with an answer had he not been interrupted by America clearing her throat loudly. "Uncle Sampson."

The redhead, normally bouyant and girlish, suddenly took on the demeanor of an elderly matriarch, ready and set to lecture a wayward son who should know better.

"Wow, look at the time," the man-who-didn't-look-like-any-sort-of-Sampson looked at his wrist, presumably where a watch once was but is no longer. "It was real great meeting you miss, miss...Miss Pink. Good luck with those tax returns! Love you, Meri, gonna go do some...boating!"

There was practically a little cartoon cloud left behind as he skedaddled.

America sighed and then brightened, once more a cheery teenager as she got a good look at Chel and went in for the hug. "I'm glad you're in one piece!"

"I'll pay up," America laughed. It was worth it. Sampson was only supposed to be in town a couple more days, and she was determined to keep him out of trouble and also her pretty friend's pants.

"I've even got some awful pickup lines, so you don't miss out on the song n' dance."

"Yeah, drove the UHaul up for me. I guess he got into a bit of trouble, so everyone thought it best if he lay low outside of Florida for a bit." Gesturing to the bartender, America negotiated for the closest thing Jericho's offered to an umbrella drink.

Turning to Chel, she squints a little and then slowly begins, "I think there might be something wrong with my eyes. I..." a grin, shameless, "I can't take them off of you."