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Remy LeBeau ([info]lesyeuxrouge) wrote in [info]xinstitute,
@ 2005-07-23 21:19:00
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July day 8, the game room - open
Eyes narrowed, the cajun carefully examined his choices. Does he aim left, or does he aim right? He could easily miss the left shot, there were too many obstacles in the way, but the right was just too easy. Remy'd always liked a challenge. So left it was. Leaning into his shot, he lined everything up before 'pok', the sound of the six hitting the side of the pool table. He watched, and watched, and, "YES!" A little dance around the table with his stick in victory befoer he bumped into another body. Nice. Red on black eyes slowly darted around before hetried the innocent act, that he really should know by now, never works.

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[info]black_shamrock
2005-07-26 17:39 (link)
"Th' words yer lookin' for lad," A smiling tone voiced, "Are 'excuse me'." Chin high, and head tilted back, Black Tom Cassidy eyed the pool-shooting rogue.

"Not a bad shot," the irishman admits with a scoundrel's grin, "But tell us this: Do ye always play wi' yerself? A bit sad, that- were ye t' ask us.."

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[info]lesyeuxrouge
2005-07-26 19:36 (link)
"Y'could at least announce y'self," mumbling a few other unaudibles en francais, as he walked back around the table to where he'd started. "I ain't really playin. Jus'practicin'."

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[info]black_shamrock
2005-07-26 23:00 (link)
"Aye.. an' ye could mind yer damned fool prancin' about too," A broad grin, and low chuckle, as shilleglah is brandished like a marshal's baton.

"An fer future referance?" Tom adds, with a wink, "We understand that mumblin' frog-talk o' yers." Another chuckle. "But rack up them balls fer real, an' we'll call it square, aye?"

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[info]lesyeuxrouge
2005-07-27 06:01 (link)
The red on black became thin a moment as he narrowed his eyes at the other man. Remy don't prance, well, that was at least what he was thinking, and he wouldn't touch the frog comment - for now at least. "Grab anotha'un, mon ami," Remy shook the sticky thing, with a nod to the holdermagig, as he rearranged the balls...mun = a 5 year old. excuse her.

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[info]black_shamrock
2005-07-27 09:17 (link)
Black Tom was all smiles, as he leans his ever present walking stick against the wall, in order to free up both hands for selection of a pool que.

Looking over one shoulder with a smile, "Tell us somethin' lad.. yer nae afraid t' make this lil' game a spot more.. interestin' are ye?" Gambling. It's a weakness.

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[info]lesyeuxrouge
2005-07-27 09:51 (link)
"Guess dat all depends on y'definition o'interestin'," Remy replied, leaning on the table some, "what excatly d'y'got in mind?"

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[info]black_shamrock
2005-07-28 11:20 (link)
"Now y'see," the lean villain answers lightly, weighing the pool cue in hand, and turning back to the table at large, "Typically, we'd offer a lil' pittance of a match, let ye win th' first pass, and then up the ante, but we're feelin' painful honest this' mornin'.."

A broad grin. "Don'nae worry, t'aint contagious-" he asides, before going on, "So what say, we cut t' th' chase an' call it hundred a ball."

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[info]lesyeuxrouge
2005-07-28 15:28 (link)
While Monsieur LeBeau knew better to gamble, in the house at least, as Scott would probably give him, well, the evil eye, when did that ever stop him? "Woulda got d'truth outcha sooner o later," he confessed with an easy shruged, "but'at sound res'nable. Who startin'?"

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[info]black_shamrock
2005-07-28 21:51 (link)
Tom flashed a pirate's smile. "We'll break," the dark haired irishman returned, twirling the cue once in his hand, as he swaggers around to the head of the table.

"What's yer name, lad?"

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[info]lesyeuxrouge
2005-08-01 07:01 (link)
A nod as he finished setting them up and leaned on a wall near the table, "Remy, et vous?" He doesn't earn a tu just yet, folks.

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[info]black_shamrock
2005-08-03 16:36 (link)
The dark haired villain taps the que in the palm of his off hand twice, before chalking the end lightly, and drawing the plain white cue ball into it's marked place with a languid pass of his hand.

Leaning smoothly over the end of the table, and bridging his long fingers with practiced ease, the black Cassidy arches an eyebrow and looks sidelong at Remy to answer, "Name's Tom, lad.." Eyes back on the que ball, drawing the stick back and forth once, slowly, before striking it hard, a brief mist of blue powder rising from the stricken ball..

He breaks hard, the pool balls flying about like panicked chickens, the central cluster scattered. Black Tom will be shooting solids, today..

"But t'day, ye can call us, 'Daddy'." A laugh and wink, as he strides around on corner lazily, looking for the next shot.

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