2007-07-24: Rack Em


Persi_icon.gif Saint_icon.gif

Summary: Hustlers hustle to hustle each other in a haven of hustling.

Date It Happened: July 24, 2007

Rack 'Em

Den of Iniquity

Right, so evening-going-on-night, sun's gone down, but, well, who cares? It's New York. The sun isn't used for much except for gauging how likely you are to get mugged. And, well, considering the kinda place the Den is, Persi's chance just went way up just by walking in the door. She wastes no time in finding her way not to the bar, but to a pool table that's not in use, where she hops up and sits on the edge, just taking in the scene for the moment.

"You know, in some countries, that could be considered obstruction of justice." The words belong to the somewhat suave demeanor of a young man that's decided to come out of the darkness. Shadows. Whatever you want to call them. He's got a pool cue in his hand, but it doesn't look like he's been dying to play. The smile on his face is merely one that promotes teasing, but nothing is ever really the way it seems in a place like this. Or a city like this, for that matter.

Persi turns her head to look at the man emerging from the shadow. Her eyebrows perk up a little and she puts one wide, but flat smile; it's only barely curved enough to BE a smile. She looks the man up and down for a couple more moments; and, only after that long pause does she respond in any way, shape, or form — and even then, it's kinda non-sequitur, "Nice shoes." THEN, she gets back to the topic, "This table a crime scene, or something, or are you some kinda PI?"

"Actually, I'm just a nobody tryin' to play pool. And I can't actually do that if you're in the way." Saint just keeps his own smile up, before looking down at his shoes. They are quite nice, actually. But then again, he's always the type to try and get his dress to impress on. Kind of. With a couple of steps, he's moving closer to the table and to Persi, before offering a more quiet tone, "Besides. I'm undercover." Wink.

Persi doesn't move from the edge of the table, she just sits there and turns her head slightly to follow the guy's movement, "Hard to tell if you're telling the truth or just trying to be smooth." She raises one eyebrow slightly, then, and peers over her shoulder at the table, "Who're you playing against?" Seemingly not one to waste words on saying anything extraneous, Persi leaves it at that, turning her head to look back to look at Saint.

"No takers, yet. Could have something to do with the last time I tried to make a shot… I sent a couple of people to the ER." There's a helpless shrug that comes from the not-so-smooth criminal, as he's mostly just trying to keep this conversation as light as possible. "You don't want to know the rest of that story. Trust me." Nothing else to say, he leans back against the table and looks out across the Den.

Persi idly leans back where she sits and sets her palms on the felt of the table to support herself while raising one eyebrow up even further with a clearly dubious expression, "So, you mean to say that you suck so much, nobody'll play you? Kinda ironic…anyway, isn't it the way of the city to risk life'n'limb for the sake of money? I don't buy your story, Cube."

"People play this game for money?" Saint just keeps his innocent face on, since he's not exactly sure if he's about to be hustled or not. But with his story not being bought, well, he might as well just continue to play this role as innocently as he possibly can. Which, for the record, is pretty innocent. "As for the way of the city? Wouldn't know. I'm new to the area. As you can see by my lack of mugging you…"

Persi shrugs her shoulders once again and puts on a big, wide grin, "Sounds like two things I can introduce you two at once. Let's say…ten bucks a ball? Or, a safe bet at fifty bucks for the whole game?" She hops down off the table after those offers and moseys over to find herself a pool stick (19 oz., preferably), meanwhile going on, "I'm not from around here either, though. As you can tell by my not being an insufferable bitch."

"I dunno. You're trying to take 50 bucks from me without even knowing my name. I'd say that makes you pretty insufferable." Saint just shrugs and gets to racking up the balls the best way he knows how… which is definitely not the right way at all. Apparently, he's going to -really- suck at this game. "You do plan on going easy on me, at least, right?"

Persi wanders back up to the table and looks on at his crappy job of racking with a rather placid, indifferent expression; a senitment her voice matches when she responds, "I believe 'going easy' is the difference between a game and a favor. …and anyway, it's always easier to take money from someone if you don't have to know who they are. Unless you're an ID-thief. Or a conman."

Saint smirks a bit and steps away from the table, obviously giving up on getting the table set up for the match. He's just going to get his butt whooped, he can tell that already. "Fair enough. In that case…" he picks up his cue and looks at it, as if he's trying to see if it matches the one she selected. ".. maybe you should treat me like any other person you'd be playing against." Could he be offering her a chance to raise the stakes? No way…

Persi leans forward for a few moments to finish racking the balls, meanwhile looking over at Saint, "I already am, Cube. I don't play favorites." That said, she circles around to the end of the table where the racked balls are, finds the cueball, and rolls it neatly to the opposite end, "Your break. Try not to suck." Even this far into the conversation, she's remaining that classic 'one of few words' archetype.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence… Square?" Saint's figuring that he might as well give her the same kind of nickname? Not that he even understands what's going on with the nickname that he's gotten, but in the next moment he's leaning over and trying to line up a shot to break. He's even got his lip poked out as he tries to stay focused. Luckily, there's no hot babes walking around to distract him. "Here goes nothing."

Persi watches the break and raises one eyebrow a little, only to walk—no, perhaps even MARCH around the table to grab for Saint's tie to yank him forward slightly and eye him, "I am NOT a square, alright?" With a little huff (assuming she didn't get judo-chopped for doing that) she continues around the table to take her own shot. Sure, she makes a ball, but that still puts her one down after the break.

"Well. Then I'm not a cube." See? Saint's not too keen about his whole nickname either. Figuring that it's his turn, he gets himself all primed and ready to try and take another shot. He's solids, right? So he lines himself up to bust down that orange one over there in the corner. "I never get two in a row…" he says, getting himself into a wacky position before he shoots. The cue ball slides this way and that, before it finally taps the orange one. It goes in. Pure Luck.

Persi circles around the table for her own shot — and, as she leans down, she looks up at Saint with a faint smirk, "When was the last time you took a leak in some guy named John? Far as I know, your name's Cube, live with it." That said, she takes her own shot, sinking the 15 and the 11 in one shot, but missing terribly on the following shot. Seems she can make some good shots, but isn't necessarily a good overall player!

Saint frowns a little bit, "Far as I know, your name's Square then." Saint can't really figure out too much of what he's saying, but he's going to just keep messing with her. Just in case it gets her all distracted. He's spinning around the table and about to try some of that trick-shooting he sees on television. So he sends the cue ball banking off the side, it smacks into a couple of solids, sending both of them in… before sliding to a halt near the corner pocket. Whew. Almost a scratch there.

Persi settles in for another shot, smirking faintly, "That much, you're right about. However, call me that again and I'll chalk my stick in a sensitive spot, got it?" With that, she shoots, and then simply turns away from the table, disgusted at the fact that she only moved the balls much closer to the pocket rather than making anything. Now she's all behind again! Perhaps it's time to resort to alternative tactics…

Saint must be having a lucky night or something. Especially since he's not been beat down for calling her Square again. But she keeps being all threatening, so that could be something that's making her play less… well. Which is why he keeps saying it. "Touch me and I'll sue, Square." Whether or not he's being serious or just trying to get under her skin, isn't too obvious. What is obvious, though, is that he's managed to sink another ball. Oh what luck.

Persi was just about to put her looks to use for her advantage when she's distracted by that name again. For a second, she just narrows her eyes at the guy; then, as if nothing's going on, she circles around the table, apparently making as to shoot her ball. However, when she gets close, she tries a move you'd expect out of a TV-Cop-Drama in the mode of grabbing the poor guy by the tie (again) and yanking him so she can more or less sling him onto the table. However, she's no fighter and, apparently, he's no schmuck as far as seeing it coming goes.

Saint has never really been the most agile man, but he does see the girl's attack coming and ends up managing to stumble his way out of her grip. "Whoa. Fiesty." is said as he trips over his own feet and kind of bumps into her. But then there is stumbling away again, as he leans back against the table to try and get his bearings. Poor clumsy guy. "So does this mean I can't ask you out?" There he goes trying a joke.

Persi was already fuming-mad, and is only moreso now, especially after she feels a bit of a squeeze somewhere in all the stumbling awkwardness. Her cheeks are a bit red, but it's hard to tell whether it's embarrassment or anger. Though, the clenched fists probably aren't out of embarrassment. For a few seconds, she just stares at Saint, then points the end of her stick at him as best she can from a short distance, "If we weren't in here, you'd be getting your ass kicked right now." That said, she turns away sharply to restrain herself from trying to hurt someone and getting herself arrested; as she does, she huffs once again, "And you do NOT want to ask me on a date. You couldn't handle me. You can't even finish a game of pool against me."

"Let's raise the stakes then." Saint says, standing up straighter. "New game." He flashes a bit of a smile, though doesn't pursue her. He's already got her wallet. "You win? You get to kick my ass. If I win? I get you." Saint's not quite sure if this is just dumb or stupid, but he's going to see if this is a wager that she can't refuse. After all, she seems like the gambling type.

Persi pauses in her anger to momentarily consider that offer, glancing both at the table and at the door out to the street. Ultimately, she turns back around, swiftly enough that the longer portion of her shirt swishes a bit in the air, and walks back to the table. As she does, she glowers over at Saint, "Hold that thought. Maybe next time, when you're not bound to end up bleeding." That said, she lays her stick on the table and simply heads for the door without so much as a parting word. HOW POLITE!

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