Roman (nephilims) wrote in saveatlantisic, @ 2018-01-27 21:26:00 |
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Roman had thought about visiting the beer festival, or the beer can festival, the day prior, but he decided to skip it and be lazy at home instead because that was a completely new experience for him. Or it was just another Friday afternoon in the day and the life of Roman Smith. He actually considered himself to be somewhat productive while watching way too many reruns of the Golden Girls. "Between repeating Sophia's lines by memory to constructing a house of graham crackers with little men made out of the leftover pieces of trail mix, he felt rather accomplished. It was no day's work at the command center or working on transcribing an ancient text, but that graham cracker house was four levels and had both a west wing and a detached garage. Those trail mix pretzel people were living the high life in their swanky house. As much fun as that had been, though, the following day he knew it wasn't the best idea to spend the majority of the afternoon laying on his couch watching another marathon, this time of Laverne and Shirley no matter how compelling of an argument he could make up in his own head if he really put his mind to it. So, grabbing his coat, he braved going out into the cold and snow that was still lightly falling. The blizzard of the last few days had slacked off considerably, but flakes still landed on his coat as he walked. It was around mid-afternoon when he arrived at Dive, and thankfully the place wasn't too crowded given the early hour. There was some type of sporting event showing on a couple of screens that Roman halfway paid attention to while he nursed the two bottles of beer he was served. After a while, he noticed a couple of kids (most everyone was a kid to him) playing pool in the back of the bar and observed them for a while. Neither were very good, but that didn't stop each from talking junk to the other with every single shot. When the second bottle was finished and he was signaling for a third, he got up and walked over to the guys as they were finishing up their game. "You guys are pretty good," he said, taking a sip from the bottle. "What do you say about a little wager?" They exchanged looks with each other as if considering the offer. "Depends. What are the stakes?" One of them asked. Roman picked up a stick and leaned against it like he needed it to properly stand upright. "Loser pays the tab of everyone in the bar." Considering how many people were currently there, it wouldn't be a steep wager no matter who won. "I'll even let you two break." Still, it caused the guys to laugh. "Deal." He started out a little slow, but eventually Roman fell into his rhythm after the first couple of hits. Even without his enhanced senses, he'd had several centuries to hone his skills since the game was developed and popularized in the mid-1300s. By the third turn, Roman had taken control of his solids and finished off the eight ball in the left corner pocket by banking it off of the opposite side and around a couple striped balls. The two poor souls had sour expressions on their faces as they'd realized they'd been played. Roman simply laughed and slapped one of them on the back as they headed off towards the bar to settle up with the bar. "Better luck next time, boys," he said as he chalked up his cue stick and started to gear up for a game against himself. |