All Inclusive Mods (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
concierge) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
all_inclusive2014-09-01 10:24 pm
concierge) wrote in all_inclusive2014-09-01 10:24 pm
Gathering: ...in the corner pocket
Anyone who passed the billiards room in the evening was treated to the sound of light laughter, billiard balls being struck with firm confidence, and the clatter of glasses and plates. The notice had been posted only that day for the tournament, but all were welcome to join in and play, while free drinks and small morsels of food were passed around for the enjoyment of all. The two billiard tables were rarely empty, even though the prize wasn't much to speak of, but pride was always a great motivator in people's ambitions and the ability to say you'd won was always on the line.
The billiards tournament was casual and many were lingering around, watching as the players took their turns. Waiters circulated the room with their trays, and every once in a while, new competitors were welcomed into the informal billiards competition that had begun only a few hours earlier.
Everyone was welcome, though some people would be leaving the event with a loss on their backs. It was lucky, then, that there was alcohol, food, and good company to help dull the defeats.
The billiards tournament was casual and many were lingering around, watching as the players took their turns. Waiters circulated the room with their trays, and every once in a while, new competitors were welcomed into the informal billiards competition that had begun only a few hours earlier.
Everyone was welcome, though some people would be leaving the event with a loss on their backs. It was lucky, then, that there was alcohol, food, and good company to help dull the defeats.
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She'd become more accustomed to the hotel in the weeks she'd been there, but was still trying to get a good sense of who was present. She understood that many came from supernatural backgrounds -- whether the person was of the supernatural or had merely interacted with it. It made so she kept her guard up. The hotel seemed safe enough; certainly, she'd hadn't heard of anything bad happening since she'd arrived. But it was strange enough that she tried to keep alert.
She had a plate of small sandwiches as she watched the game in front of her.
"Who do you expect to win?" she asked the person to right; if anything, she'd learned it was okay to be bold here. A trait she found she rather liked.
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He's both pleased and anxious to find Vanessa watching the same event as him, having yet to shed his worry that she can see right into his soul. "Anyone's game," Victor notes with a dismissive hint. "While some players use angles and geometry to bolster their skills, these two don't look like as though they'd recognise an acute angle if it snapped off one of their legs."
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It seems too long ago, almost impossible to think of those days when Anne and he and Thomas had sat around, filled with joy and surrounded by their family and the many books at their disposal.
Better to have games, he thinks. And, truly, lucky that Porthos isn't here, lest the man gamble away most of his wages in the attempt to win.
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It's a night away from her stress and her worries and she doesn't even need to go far from it. The instant she'd heard it was a tournament, she had practically vaulted for a cue and taken her place beside the table. Really, what's billiards when it comes down to it? It's angles and math and Simmons might be a biochemist, but she's a very smart one and she's had Fitz to teach her all the gaps in her education.
So in the midst of her first game, she's not doing too badly at all. "We could make this more interesting," she says, to her competition. "And put something more than money on it?"
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"What sort of wager did you have in mind?"
He wouldn't normally have engaged her, but Jordan had poured enough gin into him that his judgment could be considered hazy at best— and the look of shock on Simmons' face when she realized he was addressing her was more than enough to make up for the lapse.
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Erik nodded, twisting chalk onto the end of the cue. "And you're Jemma Simmons of S.H.I.E.L.D.," he said. She seemed pleased to be remembered; God, she was young.
With his hands still occupied, a few silver dollars floated out of his pocket and lined themselves up on the edge of the pool table beside him. "Shall we say a dollar per ball to start?"
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"I think that's a reasonable amount," she agrees, trying not to appear too boastful or arrogant of her chances given that she's quite good at the game and the boiler room had given her plenty of practice. "Do you play much billiards, in your line of work?" Which, she can't precisely recall, but absolutely believes that driving towards the question can hardly hurt.
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That won her a laugh, whether she'd been trying for one or not. "More than you might think, actually." Though the line of work in which he'd needed to pass through high society unremarked, a faceless gentleman in a tailored suit, was so far distant from him now that he'd nearly forgotten what it was like to inhabit that life. He'd learned manners, languages, all the trappings that were necessary to disguise him from the men he hunted— and now he was using them to gamble for pocket change against a girl barely Raven's age.
"And you? I wasn't under the impression that biochemistry and billiards had much of an overlap." Though until he'd met Charles, he hadn't thought scientists knew how to drink, either.
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One eyebrow arched high on his forehead. "So I'm already at a disadvantage." He eyed her thoughtfully. "I'm not accustomed to being fleeced. Luckily for you, there's no metal in those things." He gestured to the balls on the table with a little smirk. He hoped she understood he was joking.
As she lined up her first shot, Erik couldn't help indulging some curiosity. "When you say 'the Academy', I'm assuming you don't mean the FBI."
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"Oh, no, they don't have nearly the scientific resources that I need or want," Simmons says warmly, given that she'd looked into all her options, after gaining two PhDs at a rather young age. "I turned my interests to a far more secretive organization devoted to security, though it's unfortunately collapsed under the weight of far too many traitorous employees," she says, trailing away with mild dissatisfaction. "It's left my job situation in a precarious position."
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"I'm familiar with SHIELD," said Erik, frowning. "I knew someone once who was part of it. It was her whole life— but she never mentioned anything about its collapse." Though he knew from ample experience that people could be torn from their lives with no idea of what had lain in store for them— perhaps it had been a blessing that Carter hadn't been left behind to witness her beloved agency's demise.
"What do you think you'll do now?" he asked as she finally leaned down and took the shot, sinking a solid neatly into the far pocket.
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For years, Chase didn't realize you could just hang out aimlessly. He'd been taught that you had to make something of every opportunity and then Dad had left and, well, it's not like Chase had ever wanted to network, but the opportunity got robbed from him in raising his sister and taking care of his mother.
He should play. He likes billiards, is even half good at it. Pushing himself away from the chair, he hesitates as he looks around the room and then remembers that he doesn't exactly know many people here, at all. Maybe he should've brought House with him -- people might end up offended and crying, but he's a great icebreaker when you get down to it.
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Bent across the felt, she glanced up at him through the mop of her platinum hair when he followed. "You looked lost," she explained, and flipped up the wooden rack with a flourish. "Stripes or solids?"
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"I'm not fussy," he replies, his gaze sliding from her hair to the woman. He doesn't want to say anything, but he remembers dyeing his hair a similar colour during his high school years. He takes up a cue when he figures he doesn't really have a choice about the game he's about to play (and it's not that he minds, seeing as it'll keep his mind off things). He gestures to the table.
"You can shoot first, if you want," he offers. "I'm Chase."
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"Guess that means I'm solids," she said, and rocked back on her heels once before rounding to the side of the table to line up another shot. "You play this much?"
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No matter where he goes, he can't escape Cameron, though he imagines that it's not like she's doing this on purpose to fuck with his head. His head feels a little malleable lately, but then, he's been stabbed by a patient and still isn't sure whether he wants to go back to work, so yeah, his head's in a bit of a rough place. "I was married to a Cameron, once," he says, as if that's the sort of casual thing you just say. "And nah, I don't really have much time for pool. I spend most of my spare time surfing."
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"So, you're what? Australian?" she asked as she stepped back and slouched against the brace of her cue.
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He's kept the accent, refusing to completely give into becoming an American. He might've been running from his family, but there are some lengths he didn't ever consider going to.
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"Where are you from?"
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"I was in school there, and then there was this..." She trailed off, flopping a hand as she tried to find a word neutral enough for Cardiff and Joe and everything that went with them. "Opportunity. So I guess we were both in shitty places for business."
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Even if Joe hadn't been long gone, she didn't think she'd ever forgive him for letting Apple get to her idea first.
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Pursing her lips, she watched the two competitors at the nearby table go head to head, figuring that, as she had in her uni days, she could pick up some ability by sheer osmosis.
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Surely someone in this joint knows how to play.