ArchivedLogs:In Which Some Faith Is Rewarded, Modestly

In Which Some Faith Is Rewarded, Modestly
Dramatis Personae Dusk, Skye, Taylor	2017-08-05 << A way better reason to dress up. >>
Location <NYC> Q-Tip - East Harlem
This is the kind of place you go to when you want a dive bar but don't want to wait for compete for use of the sole pool table covered with suspicious stains that always leans toward one corner pocket. Q-Tip may not be fancy, but its tables are solid and the drinks are decent. The bartenders are polite but taciturn, the regulars are diverse but largely blue collar men with a sprinkling of hipsters, and the neon-lit jukebox always seems to be playing classic rock. Today is very like many Saturday nights around here. Rush's "Tom Sawyer" is playing from the jukebox currently, a cluster of just-off-duty paramedics are getting exceedingly drunk at the bar, two just-as-drunk men have just tumbled out the door to carry on a heated exchange that looks just on the verge of turning into fisticuffs, and the table beside Dusk's has forgotten their pool game in favour of the contestants loudly singing along with the song, one man exaggeratedly singing into his pool-cue-cum-mock-microphone and another strumming /his/ cue like a guitar. Dusk, for his part, is dressed about as blandly as most people in this establishment. Faded and fraying black jean shorts, very old and worn old-skool Vans, a plain green tee with a white stripe across its chest. His wings make him stand out, here just as everywhere; today the wing membranes are patterned like the bark of a sycamore tree, a patchwork of soft earthtones, while the long sharp claws that tip them are bright green like furled leaf buds. Currently, he's leaning against his own pool cue, lightly chalking its tip with one hand, one wing curled around it half-supporting his weight. His smile is bright, broad, fangy; if he notices or cares about the /many/ looks (curious, wary, overtly hostile) that their table is getting he doesn't seem to be indulging them with a response. "If you pull this off, I'll get you /ten/ more drinks." Across the table, Taylor is just as eye-catching as his companion. In jeans, BLACK LIVES MATTER t-shirt (the 'I' in lives and the 'matter' both written in red in contrast to the rest of the white writing) with a number of extra holes cut in, he's not doing a lot to hide his numerous extra limbs. Doing even less at the moment, in fact; he has a pool cue in his hands and four /extras/ spread between pairs of limbs. The number of cue /balls/ on the table at the moment is definitely not part of a regulation game. He is, though, lining up all these shots at once. Skye is maybe a little overdressed for this place in a slinky backless red dress and black stiletto sandals. The looks that she draws as she orders herself a double shot of High West Rye are much more appreciative than the ones aimed at Dusk or Taylor, if not very much more polite in some cases. She pays for her drink in cash with a generous tip and drifts over toward the tables, smiling at Dusk from behind her glass and stopping to watch Taylor line up his shots. Dusk's smile brightens -- he straightens up, distinct appreciation brightening his thoughts as well as Skye approaches. His scruffy chin tilts up in a nod, and he lifts a hand -- wait -- to Taylor. "Yooo twenty bucks says he only sinks one of these?" Taylor /sighs/. /Exaggerated/, at the stalling hand. Three of his arms tighten against their respective cues. "Man I can /feel/ the confidence here, look at these supportive friends I got." At his current angle, already carefully working on keeping all his shots steady, he doesn't look at Skye. That doesn't stop the quick curl of his smile. "Friend of yours?" "I'll take that bet," says Skye, leaning forward with greater interest now. Mentally, she's fascinated and only slightly discomforted by Taylor's large number of inhuman limbs. "I like to think so, but I don't assume how other people count their friends." Her tilts her head forward, her smile coy now. << Probably takes a bit more than feeding a guy cheap takeout, but /damn/ he is fine. >> "Go for it," she says to Taylor now, "I have completely unfounded faith in you." "Shit yeah she is! Where are my manners. Taylor, this is Skye. Skye, Taylor. And you're on." Now Dusk gestures expansively to the table. "Go on, then." Magnanimous, now. "How I count my friends probably depends on the time of day. Get enough beers in me and I count 'em a /lot/ more liberally. But I'm stone-sober just now." << Still like to be better friends, though. >> Holding his cue properly in his hand now, he folds his wings neatly behind his back. His dark eyes focus intently on Taylor and his artillery of sticks. The skepticism in his mind is heeeavy. "I totally appreciate the support." Taylor's brow creases, attention focusing down on the table. His chest expands on one deep breath -- when he exhales again it is in tandem with five different thwacks, myriad ensuing clack-clack-clacks as his cue balls scatter around the table. He catches his breath again, holding it as he watches the skitter-roll of balls. The striped ten and fifteen -- which he'd been aiming at -- sink solidly. Soon followed by the one, after his nine ball ricochets into it and knocks it in in its place. Thirteen clanks into the eight-ball before thudding against a wall and coming to a stop in the center of the table -- though the eight and two cue balls also end up in pockets. Taylor winces, offering the others a sheepish smile. "What does that count as?" Skye whistles softly as the balls ricochet. "I'm not sure, but that's...more than one, anyway." Though she raises her eyebrows at Dusk questioningly. "Anyway, you don't have to go on being sober. Next round's on me. What're you having?" She takes a liberal sip of her whiskey. "Oh, and it's great meeting you, Taylor. Hope I didn't distract you too much." "Fuck." It sounds a bit dismayed, though it comes with an internal: << Holy shit badass. >> Dusk is pulling out his wallet from his back pocket, plucking out a twenty to pass over to Skye. "You still lose, dude, you got balls left and didn't even call the pocket." He's leaning in to pluck the 8 ball from where it sank. "Vodka cranberry, splash of seltzer, twist of lime? I'll re-rack if you're up for it. Only one cue per side this time, though." "Hey, /I/ didn't have any money on this." Taylor looks /just/ a little bit more pleased as he stands. Maybe it's the whistling. He glances over to Skye, then back down to the table. "Oh, you're not -- uh. Not distracting. /One/ of these days though maybe I'll do that without a hundred fouls." Several of his limbs shrug. "I feel underdressed," he adds after this, no hint of teasing in his tone. "Yo next time can we do /black-tie/ billiards?" "Gracias, and you're on." Skye salutes Dusk with the bill and tucks it casually into her cleavage. "And hey, we only had twenty bucks riding on this, you had bragging rights to gain, or lose. This isn't what I normally wear to shoot pool, I just came from a thing. I would be down for /fancy/ billiards night, though." << A way better reason to dress up. >> She waves down a server, but then asks Taylor, "You want anything to drink?" "You got a tux?" One of Dusk's eyebrows lifts. "I'll trick you out for black-tie pool if you want." Circling the table, he collects the balls to line them up quickly in the triangle. "Hey, you're classing up this place by /far/. We should just step up our game next time. Maybe Elizabethan Pool after that. Roman pool. Tang dynasty pool. Jupiter Ascending Wedding pool. We have /options/." Mentally, he is picturing Skye in a variety of these formal outfits. Then Taylor. Theeen starting to catalogue the amount of time it might take to /make/ him and Taylor appropriate outfits for this venture. A small crease forms between his brows. "Not /yet/." Taylor waggles his brows right back at Dusk. "But you just work at home you got time to do do that right? That's not like a /real/ job." He's looking a little wistful after this teasing. "But damn you gotta admit I'd look on fucking /point/ in that red wedding jacket." Frown. "Not like -- a /Red Wedding/ jacket --" A brief mental image of a wolf's head skewered atop a body flashes through the others' minds. "That'd be a hella different theme." He leans against the side of the table as he watches Dusk rack the balls, perking up at the offer of drink. "Oh right uh -- what he's having." One slim arm gestures to Dusk. "I can play classy when I need to." Skye swishes her whiskey around the bottom of the glass. "I think my wardrobe can handle Tang dynasty pool. Everything else... Well, I /definitely/ don't have anything that would work for a /Red Wedding/ theme, it's a bit early for Halloween." She shudders, just a little, at the flash of the severed head and corpse. "But, I'm loving this Jupiter Ascending formal pool party idea. We can make it happen." She starts toward the bar, adding with a grin and a nod at the table, "I'll be right back, so get ready for a slaughter."