Pool Tables

The night was young and the landlord had nothing to occupy his mind or his time so he figured he'll waste it at the bar. With a drink in his hand the bulk demon circles around the table hoping to find the best shot to take next. (Damn Lavena. How the hell could they not have killed her.) He took aim at the white ball, picturing it to be the dark queens face. He pulled back on the stick and smashed the dead ball across the table missing every other ball on the table.

With a more than audible cracking noise, the cue ball smashes into the number five ball, sending it flying across the table into the desired pocket.

Lifting his beer to his rosey colored lips the demonic landlord just glide around the table. He was trying his best to keep from just lashing out against his allies that had failed to kill the dumb bitch that had left him for dead, something that he would never forgive. He wanted the dark queen to hurt just as much as he did when he gave her his heart only to have it crushed and tossed aside. With a burning fire flowing through his veins his hues darts towards an shot that had presented itself before him. With the stick in hand he bent over the table, taking aim, and relesed. Stricking the cue ball he watched as if rode down the side of the table, heading towards a pair of balls on the opposite end of the table.

As the heavily scuffed white ball comes crashing into contact with the balls, they fly in opposite directions, neither of which land in any pockets. However, a new shot is lined up perfectly for another ball on the other end of the table.

Damion moves over to Bruce's pool table and looks around wondering what a big man like him was doing here alone. He moves a hand to rub over his close cut hair that was nearly ball. His eyes move to the table watching the arrangements the other demon have. He have been paying pool here since he started working here. He guess he's pretty good at it by now, he isn't one for really making friends. No he doesn't know what the meaning of friends mean anymore. He really have no one, the nearly sinister warlock looks to the demon finally again. He moves up to the table and nods his head to him.

"You're good." He says to him looking back up at bruce his lips closing for a long moment. He rubs a hand over his bare chest and zips up his leather jacket a little too mid chest. He didn't want another guy looking at him. He have a feelign he won't have to worry about that with Bruce. His eyes moves back to him a little more darker. "I'm the new owner here. Damion." He says to him.

The landlord's eyes follow the balls as they bounce around a bit, not going anywhere. It does't bother him. It's not like he's betting anyone. He sees the other shot lined up. He takes aim. Just as he's about to shoot, the young punk, Damion, walks up to him. He doesn't outwardly acknowledge the compliment from the warlock. He knew his abilities. That someone else would see them, as well, was only natural.

When the bitter warlock announces he's the new owner, he does give the nearly blad man a glance before lining up his shot again and taking it. "I know who you are." He says gruffly. Not rude, but after years of yelling at tennants, his voice had gotten quite harsh. "Conratulations on finally taking out the cocksucker." He stands and places the butt end of the pool cue on the floor, leaning on it slightly as he grabs his beer from the edge of the table and takes a long swig.

He gives Damion a long, calculating look. Apartment two b. Rent was always on time. No brawls in the middle of then ight to disturb the others. In fact, he never heard from him until rent was due. Or when he was here and saw him tending bar. But he did't make a habit of befriending his tennants. If he did that, they'd want favours, rent extensions, goddess knew what else. Damion was, in Bruce's eyes, the perfect tennatn. Kept to himself, made his own repairs, paid the rent on time and always in cash.

"So you plan on whipping this place back into shape or what?" He asks, not caring how he'd acquired ownership of the bar. He had, and that's all that mattered.

[As predicted, the ball goes flying into the pocket with ease. There are now only five balls remaining; 8, 14, 3, 6, 10.]