I suck at pool?
Thursday, 12 April 2012 16:43![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
flint_garouNo. I don't have anything to say to you.
12 April, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (58% full).
This American form of Billiards is not entirely the same, but it's something familiar enough, and the drift in rules Dirk can understand. It's not so different, and it does seem to give him some small amount of comfort, at least. Although every now and again, he seems to remember something that darkens his expression a little, but Danny's enthusiasm keeps that away for the most part. And then, with a little fumbling, Dirk is able to get in two more balls, corner and side pockets. Surprise! "Failin' means you're playin'!" he says to Danny with a bright smile, teasing.
Danny makes a lewd gesture at the table while Dirk gets lucky, indicating utter disbelief that the score is legit. Then he over-chalks his cuestick, as if that must be the difference between them. The loss forces him to take another, longer swallow of his drink as he sulks at Dirk.
Alas, Dirk misses his next shot, note quite having a full grasp of the cue-sticks, yet, fingers slipping. He makes a rather universal sound of displeasure, adding, "Stick's a right scunner." But then his turn's passed, and he picks up his cider, stepping back. "Aye, go. Gi'e it laldy. A'll see if'n y'can keep up." And yes, Dirk's 17th century Scots continues to be as impenetrable as ever.
Flint makes his way into the pool hall in silence, lingering by the door before making his way for the bar—though only to get a soda, and it's the sound of Dirk's voice that brings recognition before appearance, and the Glass Walker claims his soda and makes his way to join the Silver Fang and his companion.
Danny saunters over to the table, all a-puff about the Silver Fang missing. Seems these two have a healthy sense of competition between them. He moves to make his shot, glancing up when he sees Flint joining them. Then he makes his shot. Score! Another saunter takes him to a different angle.
Aaron walks into the Pool Hall from off the street. The man lowers the hood on his hoodie and looks around briefly before crossing the building towards the bar, missing Flint by seconds, and orders himself a cheap bottle of beer.
Dirk has his arms folded over his chest, cue-stick leaning against the table, glass momentarily set aside. "Aye, right, get on," he says to Danny, putting a bit of pressure on his next shit. "Oi, welcome, Flint!" says the Scotsman to the oncoming Walker. "Met Danny here o'er at the Edge-house. He offered me a drink. An' now he's losin' at a game a' Billiards to a bum Scotsman."
Flint grins a little. "Hi, Dirk," the teen greets, watching and not interrupting. "Sorry you had to see, that— what with Thomas, the other day." Flint definitely seems to be in slightly better temper now, though not entirely free of tension. Danny gets a nod and a smile. "Hi, Danny."
Danny squints menacingly at Dirk's chide over the cue stick. He tightens his lips and sinks another solid, but has yet to get a twofer. He straightens only briefly to wave at Flint, giving him a curious look.
Aaron turns around when he hears Flint's name being called out, however, the Gnawer is in no rush to join the party. He takes a swig of beer and quietly keeps his eyes on the two men playing pool.
Dirk lifts a shoulder, some tension returning to him as he recalls the past few days' events. He glances upward, at the lights (which he still doesn't get, but hey), then back down. "Aye, well. What's for ye'll no go by ye. I dinnae kin what Thomas was on about, but 'tis somethin' for another day."
Dirk then eyes Danny somewhat and frowns. Dumb kin's beating him again.
Flint nods, "Another day." The agreement is quiet and the words with a touch of hesitation, before Flint walks around to study the pool table. "Never played," he asides. "Read about how, but. Never played."
Danny smugly steps aside, confident in his leadership in the game. At what he hears from Flint, he gives the Glasswalker a somewhat horrified expression before reaching out and tugging at him a bit, handing the cuestick over. He shows him directly where to stand for a fantastic shot at a solid…
Aaron bites his lip as he listens in to Dirk's conversation. He can hardly understand what the man is saying but tries his hardest to understand from his position at the bar. His eyes narrow as he casually sips his beer. Dirk, Danny, and Flint might look like a party, but Aaron is off on his own by the bar.
Thomas pushes in through the outside door with both hands, a little harder than necessary. Today he's wearing that battered old brown fedora, and as always, he's got his duster on as well. The man flicks a glance over the dim interior before he heads straight for the bar, his expression sour.
"If'n I knew a' this game—well, a' similar game—then it must be pretty old, aye? Got some history to it," says Dirk, the thickly accented words likely filtering towards the bar, just as Thomas is entering the building. "Gang on," he says, gesturing at Flint to give it a shot. "Nae like ye be doin' any worse than Danny," he adds, chuckling softly.
Flint smiles a little. "Can't hurt to, to try." He lets himself be guided to where to stand, and takes the cue stick to line up the shot. And it's in the middle of actually taking the shot that the cliath catches sight of Thomas entering, and the shot goes completely off, knocking the cue ball and the other ball straight off the table and likely getting a few stares as well, though Flint has the good sense to look properly abashed and ashamed of himself. "What was that, not doing any worse than?" he asks, with a wary half of his glance kept on the Uktena kin.
Danny frets when he sees the balls go flying, hands on his head as he squeezes his eyes shut in despair. He looks at Flint and gestures to the disaster as if to say "Really? REALLY?" He reaches out and jerks the cuestick from Flint's hand, frowning disapprovingly.
The Gnawer quickly notices Thomas when he reaches the bar. 'Howdy Thomas,' he whispers with a smile. It's a little hard to hear, but the Ahroun manages. He takes a sip of his beer while his eyes also flicker to the men around one of the pool tables. To Flint, the man chuckles silently.
Thomas's sour expression eases a tiny amount at Aaron's greeting; the Gnawer gets a faint nod in return. "Whiskey," is said to the bartender. Then the kin turns, eyeing Flint right back as he fishes out his wallet.
Dirk's quick to catch at least the cue ball. The other he has to go fishing for, which takes a moment. He doesn't seem to mind, finding more amusement out of the moment than not. "Best t' watch that twitch a'yours," says he, walking back to hand the balls to Danny, since he's unsure of where exactly they should go in this situation. It's only then he begins to notice the people at the bar. "Oh, aye, a'see now." He turns back to Flint knowingly, dipping his head towards the bar as if asking, 'Am I right?'
Flint surrenders the cue stick relatively easily, picking up his soda instead. "Sorry, I should— I should go," he murmurs, quieter conversation only meant for Dirk and Danny. "Yeah," is the additional affirmation, and Flint begins to eye the door, though there's a part of his attention on Thomas through all of this.
Danny frowns a little at the boy, then to the man he looks at. Confusion evident on his face, he settles the cuestick in the crook of his arm as he scribbles something on the pad of paper, angling it for Flint to read should he look the kinsman's way. It says "That guy a problem?"
Aaron has his attention on Thomas and his grim mood while Dirk is looking in his direction. 'Bad day?' he asks the kin. The Gnawer downs the remainder of the bottle before pulling out the cash for another one.
Thomas accepts his shot of whiskey and downs it, then stands up without replying to the Gnawer. He moves straight over to the Garou occupied table, eyebrows lifting as he nears. "Something to say, boy?"
Dirk offers Flint a soft pat on the back, which is designed to both comfort him and push him somewhat forward. "Now that he's here," says Dirk to the Walker, bending at the knee with one hand on the table, so mostly only Flint can hear him. "Best put it out there. Jus' be honest, nae agressive, aye? Bad blood's good for no-one." Then he stands, moving to grab up his cue stick.
Flint grimaces, and shakes his head, both to Thomas and to Dirk. His drink is put down on the table, and with a curt nod, the Glass Walker not-quite shoulders past Thomas, making straight for the door with every intention of leaving.
Thomas lifts an arm as Flint shoulders past, and hooks two fingers into the cliath's collar. It's light—a simple stronger-than-usual tug will yank him free—but it might draw him up short for a moment. "If you're going to go staring," he drawls quietly, "stomping out afterwards just makes you look childish. Now, is this an 'I gotta go before I explode' thing, or an 'I don't deal well with confrontations not on my turf' thing? 'Cause if it's the latter, leaving Theo here to fend for himself isn't very polite."
Dirk has moved to stand by Danny, as they're still sort-of playing. Even so, he informs Thomas, congenially, in a no less thick accent than before, "Danny here'll be takin' me back t'the Edge-house after he's lost. So no need stayin' on behalf a' me."
Flint does let himself get halted, though he doesn't turn to face Thomas. "It's the first. I'm sorry for, for staring, but…" and the cliath doesn't make another move. His rage is under better control than it was by the time they'd gotten to the tenement when they first found Dirk, but there's still enough evidence of it. "I really, really should leave."
Thomas unhooks his fingers from the shirt collar with a soft snort. "It's halfmoon," he notes, but doesn't follow that up. "Don't know why you are that volatile towards me." And, as if making a point, he gives Dirk a Look.
Dirk returns the Look, though less Lookishly and more with a growing sort of impatience. "Aye, Val spoke t'me. A' ken she be talkin' about ye, what with questions a' the New World and its natural inhabitants. But I don't ken why." Though he seems to have some suspicions, or he likely wouldn't be bring it up.
Flint spends a moment longer stone still. "Really, you don't know," he remarks, still not facing Thomas (or Dirk, for that matter). "Really." The teen pauses, voice level and almost cold. "Fucking fantastic. Think about it some, why don't you." And then one purposeful step towards the door is followed by another, and another, and Flint pushes the door open and leaves, letting it slam shut behind him.
12 April, 2012
The moon is in the waning Half (Philodox) Moon phase (58% full).
This American form of Billiards is not entirely the same, but it's something familiar enough, and the drift in rules Dirk can understand. It's not so different, and it does seem to give him some small amount of comfort, at least. Although every now and again, he seems to remember something that darkens his expression a little, but Danny's enthusiasm keeps that away for the most part. And then, with a little fumbling, Dirk is able to get in two more balls, corner and side pockets. Surprise! "Failin' means you're playin'!" he says to Danny with a bright smile, teasing.
Danny makes a lewd gesture at the table while Dirk gets lucky, indicating utter disbelief that the score is legit. Then he over-chalks his cuestick, as if that must be the difference between them. The loss forces him to take another, longer swallow of his drink as he sulks at Dirk.
Alas, Dirk misses his next shot, note quite having a full grasp of the cue-sticks, yet, fingers slipping. He makes a rather universal sound of displeasure, adding, "Stick's a right scunner." But then his turn's passed, and he picks up his cider, stepping back. "Aye, go. Gi'e it laldy. A'll see if'n y'can keep up." And yes, Dirk's 17th century Scots continues to be as impenetrable as ever.
Flint makes his way into the pool hall in silence, lingering by the door before making his way for the bar—though only to get a soda, and it's the sound of Dirk's voice that brings recognition before appearance, and the Glass Walker claims his soda and makes his way to join the Silver Fang and his companion.
Danny saunters over to the table, all a-puff about the Silver Fang missing. Seems these two have a healthy sense of competition between them. He moves to make his shot, glancing up when he sees Flint joining them. Then he makes his shot. Score! Another saunter takes him to a different angle.
Aaron walks into the Pool Hall from off the street. The man lowers the hood on his hoodie and looks around briefly before crossing the building towards the bar, missing Flint by seconds, and orders himself a cheap bottle of beer.
Dirk has his arms folded over his chest, cue-stick leaning against the table, glass momentarily set aside. "Aye, right, get on," he says to Danny, putting a bit of pressure on his next shit. "Oi, welcome, Flint!" says the Scotsman to the oncoming Walker. "Met Danny here o'er at the Edge-house. He offered me a drink. An' now he's losin' at a game a' Billiards to a bum Scotsman."
Flint grins a little. "Hi, Dirk," the teen greets, watching and not interrupting. "Sorry you had to see, that— what with Thomas, the other day." Flint definitely seems to be in slightly better temper now, though not entirely free of tension. Danny gets a nod and a smile. "Hi, Danny."
Danny squints menacingly at Dirk's chide over the cue stick. He tightens his lips and sinks another solid, but has yet to get a twofer. He straightens only briefly to wave at Flint, giving him a curious look.
Aaron turns around when he hears Flint's name being called out, however, the Gnawer is in no rush to join the party. He takes a swig of beer and quietly keeps his eyes on the two men playing pool.
Dirk lifts a shoulder, some tension returning to him as he recalls the past few days' events. He glances upward, at the lights (which he still doesn't get, but hey), then back down. "Aye, well. What's for ye'll no go by ye. I dinnae kin what Thomas was on about, but 'tis somethin' for another day."
Dirk then eyes Danny somewhat and frowns. Dumb kin's beating him again.
Flint nods, "Another day." The agreement is quiet and the words with a touch of hesitation, before Flint walks around to study the pool table. "Never played," he asides. "Read about how, but. Never played."
Danny smugly steps aside, confident in his leadership in the game. At what he hears from Flint, he gives the Glasswalker a somewhat horrified expression before reaching out and tugging at him a bit, handing the cuestick over. He shows him directly where to stand for a fantastic shot at a solid…
Aaron bites his lip as he listens in to Dirk's conversation. He can hardly understand what the man is saying but tries his hardest to understand from his position at the bar. His eyes narrow as he casually sips his beer. Dirk, Danny, and Flint might look like a party, but Aaron is off on his own by the bar.
Thomas pushes in through the outside door with both hands, a little harder than necessary. Today he's wearing that battered old brown fedora, and as always, he's got his duster on as well. The man flicks a glance over the dim interior before he heads straight for the bar, his expression sour.
"If'n I knew a' this game—well, a' similar game—then it must be pretty old, aye? Got some history to it," says Dirk, the thickly accented words likely filtering towards the bar, just as Thomas is entering the building. "Gang on," he says, gesturing at Flint to give it a shot. "Nae like ye be doin' any worse than Danny," he adds, chuckling softly.
Flint smiles a little. "Can't hurt to, to try." He lets himself be guided to where to stand, and takes the cue stick to line up the shot. And it's in the middle of actually taking the shot that the cliath catches sight of Thomas entering, and the shot goes completely off, knocking the cue ball and the other ball straight off the table and likely getting a few stares as well, though Flint has the good sense to look properly abashed and ashamed of himself. "What was that, not doing any worse than?" he asks, with a wary half of his glance kept on the Uktena kin.
Danny frets when he sees the balls go flying, hands on his head as he squeezes his eyes shut in despair. He looks at Flint and gestures to the disaster as if to say "Really? REALLY?" He reaches out and jerks the cuestick from Flint's hand, frowning disapprovingly.
The Gnawer quickly notices Thomas when he reaches the bar. 'Howdy Thomas,' he whispers with a smile. It's a little hard to hear, but the Ahroun manages. He takes a sip of his beer while his eyes also flicker to the men around one of the pool tables. To Flint, the man chuckles silently.
Thomas's sour expression eases a tiny amount at Aaron's greeting; the Gnawer gets a faint nod in return. "Whiskey," is said to the bartender. Then the kin turns, eyeing Flint right back as he fishes out his wallet.
Dirk's quick to catch at least the cue ball. The other he has to go fishing for, which takes a moment. He doesn't seem to mind, finding more amusement out of the moment than not. "Best t' watch that twitch a'yours," says he, walking back to hand the balls to Danny, since he's unsure of where exactly they should go in this situation. It's only then he begins to notice the people at the bar. "Oh, aye, a'see now." He turns back to Flint knowingly, dipping his head towards the bar as if asking, 'Am I right?'
Flint surrenders the cue stick relatively easily, picking up his soda instead. "Sorry, I should— I should go," he murmurs, quieter conversation only meant for Dirk and Danny. "Yeah," is the additional affirmation, and Flint begins to eye the door, though there's a part of his attention on Thomas through all of this.
Danny frowns a little at the boy, then to the man he looks at. Confusion evident on his face, he settles the cuestick in the crook of his arm as he scribbles something on the pad of paper, angling it for Flint to read should he look the kinsman's way. It says "That guy a problem?"
Aaron has his attention on Thomas and his grim mood while Dirk is looking in his direction. 'Bad day?' he asks the kin. The Gnawer downs the remainder of the bottle before pulling out the cash for another one.
Thomas accepts his shot of whiskey and downs it, then stands up without replying to the Gnawer. He moves straight over to the Garou occupied table, eyebrows lifting as he nears. "Something to say, boy?"
Dirk offers Flint a soft pat on the back, which is designed to both comfort him and push him somewhat forward. "Now that he's here," says Dirk to the Walker, bending at the knee with one hand on the table, so mostly only Flint can hear him. "Best put it out there. Jus' be honest, nae agressive, aye? Bad blood's good for no-one." Then he stands, moving to grab up his cue stick.
Flint grimaces, and shakes his head, both to Thomas and to Dirk. His drink is put down on the table, and with a curt nod, the Glass Walker not-quite shoulders past Thomas, making straight for the door with every intention of leaving.
Thomas lifts an arm as Flint shoulders past, and hooks two fingers into the cliath's collar. It's light—a simple stronger-than-usual tug will yank him free—but it might draw him up short for a moment. "If you're going to go staring," he drawls quietly, "stomping out afterwards just makes you look childish. Now, is this an 'I gotta go before I explode' thing, or an 'I don't deal well with confrontations not on my turf' thing? 'Cause if it's the latter, leaving Theo here to fend for himself isn't very polite."
Dirk has moved to stand by Danny, as they're still sort-of playing. Even so, he informs Thomas, congenially, in a no less thick accent than before, "Danny here'll be takin' me back t'the Edge-house after he's lost. So no need stayin' on behalf a' me."
Flint does let himself get halted, though he doesn't turn to face Thomas. "It's the first. I'm sorry for, for staring, but…" and the cliath doesn't make another move. His rage is under better control than it was by the time they'd gotten to the tenement when they first found Dirk, but there's still enough evidence of it. "I really, really should leave."
Thomas unhooks his fingers from the shirt collar with a soft snort. "It's halfmoon," he notes, but doesn't follow that up. "Don't know why you are that volatile towards me." And, as if making a point, he gives Dirk a Look.
Dirk returns the Look, though less Lookishly and more with a growing sort of impatience. "Aye, Val spoke t'me. A' ken she be talkin' about ye, what with questions a' the New World and its natural inhabitants. But I don't ken why." Though he seems to have some suspicions, or he likely wouldn't be bring it up.
Flint spends a moment longer stone still. "Really, you don't know," he remarks, still not facing Thomas (or Dirk, for that matter). "Really." The teen pauses, voice level and almost cold. "Fucking fantastic. Think about it some, why don't you." And then one purposeful step towards the door is followed by another, and another, and Flint pushes the door open and leaves, letting it slam shut behind him.