Barney couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten this drunk. Then again, there were a lot of nights he couldn't remember, so it wasn't really any big deal. He didn't mind, either - being drunk brought out the funny in a lot of people. He'd ended up standing on top of a table in the middle of McLaren's, doing magic tricks for a trio of cute Russian girls who were in town on a foreign exchange program. He'd managed to hold out a good twenty minutes before using the old "I bet we could exchange a few things, if you know what I mean" line. Only one of them had slapped him. The other two had giggled, and pushed another beer at her, and told her to loosen up. Barney liked them already. So he'd done a couple of little flash-bang light tricks with the flash powder he'd had on hand, and lo, they were hooked.
"Where do you KEEP all that stuff?" Ted marveled, as they both met at the bar to compare girl-hunting notes and grab a fresh round of beer.
"Ted, Ted, Ted," Barney sighed, patting his shoulder before flashing the inside of his suit to show off the inside and vest pockets, "this is why you really ought to look into suiting up. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have an audience as a performer for the Rrrrussian Circus, ha-HA."
"Da, comrade," Ted deadpanned, fishing for his wallet.
After the second trick, the girls started paying for beers, and Barney broke out the cards. The more rounds they bought, the more attempts he had to make at "is this your card", and the harder the fancy shuffling got. A few aces and eights ended up in the pitcher of beer, and he'd decided to leave off the cards and go out with a real killer of a trick involving the ten-foot string of handkerchieves stuffed into his jacket sleeves. Getting up on the table, he rationalized, was supposed to increase the dramatic effect - but really, it was just a good excuse to get a better view of their collective cleavage. Slap Girl, especially, had a rather nice offering on the table. However, he hadn't picked the sturdiest girl of the trio to help pull, and she tripped over her chair, ending up on her (rather fine) ass on the floor. The scarf tangled around the chair, and the end of it caught on the clasp of his watch. McLaren's tables weren't the most stable pieces of furniture ever constructed, either, and as sure as he didn't buy his suits at WalMart, Barney's feet went out from under him and he fell, cracking his head on the table. The last things that registered were the sound of Lily's startled screech from the booth at the back, the smell of the beer from the pitcher that had upended itself on his head, and the sight of Klutzy Russian's pouty lips and her eyes, wide and blue, as she stared at him in shock. Then the lights went pretty swimmy, and the bar went black.