But gently. They're sensitive. [ looking equally as pleased with himself, tony tips back more of his drink. ] Lemme finish this and I'll demonstrate. I should at least be tipsy to give you a chance.
[ tony simply smiles mysteriously at him from above the glass. while he drinks, he explains that the white ball is what you thrust into the colored balls, of which there are two types: striped and solid. the goal is to sink all of your type into the table pockets, saving the black eight-ball for last. he explains more of the basic rules, all in his normal offhanded tone and wagging a finger around, succinct and without room for questions.
once he finishes, tony gulps down the remainder of his glass, says, ] Simple, right? [ and chalks up a cue. ] Now watch your sensei at work. [ he assumes the correct bridge and grip technique, bent over to line up his shot. ]
[Truth be told, he pays more attention to the way Tony bends over the table, the muscles of his shoulders, the dip of his bare back before the skin is hidden by his towel. (He really needs to get a grip on himself, he thinks.)]
Sounds easy enough, [and he tries to keep his tone light and casual. No sense in giving anything away.]
[ the muscles in tony's right arm bunch right before he thrusts the cue forward for the break. the balls collide, clacking and splitting apart, rolling across the table. tony watches his handiwork as the clacking and rolling winds down, his mind automatically mapping out distances and angles. ] Good. Your turn, [ he says. over his shoulder as he leaves the table to refill his drink, he adds, ] Don't scratch my table.
[He leans over the table, mimicking Tony's angle. His first attempt is too soft, and the cue doesn't hit the ball. Another try, and he learns that he needs to turn his hand slightly so that the cue slides over skin instead of fur, which makes the polished wood skid. Finally, he hits the ball, and watching it makes something click in the back of his mind. None of the colored balls go into the pockets, but he knows what to do next time.]
[ walking back, tony playfully points out, ] For now, [ and then the studies the table with his cue planted like a king with his scepter. he's no professional player, but his eye for geometry naturally places him ahead of the curve. by his quick calculations, he can easily pocket three balls in a row, provided he correctly applies the necessary physics. that application is where human error comes into play, hence the drinking to even the odds between them.
but he's not even tipsy yet and tony actually does want simba to have a good time, so... ] Why don't you take another crack at it? In fact, just keep going. We'll call this your practice round.
[His smile is bland and innocuous, giving nothing away. But when he settles in to take his next shot, the angles line up in his mind. The position he takes is a bit odd - someone less experienced might assume that he'll only succeed in knocking the balls around a bit - but he eyes the cue ball for a moment, narrows his eyes, and proceeds to sink four balls in one shot.]
[ tony almost chokes on his drink, but swallows it before it travels up his nose. he coughs neatly. ] You're a ... fast learner, [ he observes, squinting in thought. he can see mathematically how the shot worked, but it would have required pixel-perfect accuracy and an application of force so precise it went down into multiple decimal places, i.e. something inhuman, or ... or superhuman. ]
[ tony looks at him with a sharp curiosity. there's always that one-in-a-million chance someone lands that or a similar shot, but if simba can reliably replicate the results, then it's all skill, not luck or a fluke. ]
[He picks up the cue ball and tosses it from hand to hand idly, feeling the weight.]
It'll have to be stripes.
[Because he doesn't have enough solids left lolol. But he's pretty sure Tony doesn't care about the game right now, not with something else to distract him. So he doesn't even wait for a response before he sets the cue ball back on the table in just the right spot. He lines up the shot and watches as the balls ricochet off each other and the sides of the felt-lined table. Sure enough, another four sink into the pockets with unerring accuracy.]
[ tony has leaned into simba's space to watch it closer to his perspective. ] Just a good eye, huh? [ he drawls up at him with a small, pleased smirk like he's in on the secret and then places his cue back into the rack. ]
[Tony leans in, and a tiny spark of something fizzes up his spine at the proximity. He barely notices it, though, because he actually feels pleased by his skill, by doing something that isn't violent. It's just a simple game, that's all.]
Somethin' like that.
[He allows the poker face to slip, and he smiles back at Tony, whiskers bristling and eyes sliding shut for just a moment.]
Well, congrats. You rightfully earned bragging rights, [ tony says, raising his glass to simba. he pauses in moving it to drink from to add, ] But to be fair to myself, I bet you'd put professional players to shame.
[ test your limits and figure out your mysterious origins, tony thinks back, but only answers, ] Still get tipsy, that's for sure. [ he opens his arms. ] Anything else is up for grabs.
[He smirks at Tony, and it's one of the few signs of self-confidence that he's shown. Usually, his body language is uncertain, withdrawing, like he's trying to make himself smaller. But there's nothing of that right now, and he even seems to be reasonably relaxed after the treatment he'd received upstairs.]
You mean you're up for showing off more, [ tony says with a hint of pride. he glances to the table. if simba wants to show off, tony will provide a platform. ] All right. Let's see what you can do. [ he sets his glass down and strokes his chin. after a couple moments, he begins rearranging the pool balls. ]
[His eyes dart as he follows Tony's moves, not unlike a cat watching a particularly interesting bird. They certainly seem to sparkle with that same intensity, the pupils growing larger. Even his tail starts to twitch.]
[ without looking up, tony distractedly mutters back, ] Because I can't want to encourage someone's potential without having a selfish ulterior motive? [ despite his words, he crouches on the opposite side of the table to level his eyes with the balls, unbothered. ]
[ tony glances at him. to many the glance may seem unreadable or guarded, but the micro expressions he lets slip through depict a brief, quiet puzzlement. ] I am having fun, [ he says. sure, this isn't a high thrill like jet skiing or the full-bodied anticipatory tingle of a beautiful woman pushing him into bed, but tony wanted to spend the night in simba's company and he is. that's all he needs. well, that and his drinks.
tony stands and plucks a couple more balls out of the table pockets. aaaalmost done. simba will need more than good angles to solve this. ]
[He crouches down, then ends up on his knees to get him at eye level with the table as Tony sets up the last few balls. Though he's not quite aware of it, the muscles in his shoulders bunch slightly as he envisions the shot - or the shot thus far - and the cue ball ricocheting off the felt walls of the table. His hands rest on his knees - thankfully, because his claws flex in and out, digging into the (probably expensive) cotton of his bedsheet.]
[ tony tosses up and catches the cue ball in his hand during his final checks. when he sees simba, his pleased smirk scrunches up against a joke. ("you want the ball, boy?" he could say, but not only did he learn his lesson that night at the pool, he actually does respect the gion. he's trying to show it, even if it's kinda cute the feline way simba expresses interest.) instead, tony sets the cue ball down in a new location, throwing off all of the gion's calculations, and challenges, ] All right. Puzzle this one out.
Rules are as follows, [ he declares, continuing, as he leaves for the bar counter with his glass: ] sink all stripes and none of the solids in two shots or less. You scratch on the cue or eight ball, you lose. [ after refilling his glass, tony leans his elbows back on the counter, ankles crossed, patiently spectating, but his eyes sharp on simba. ] No do-overs, so take your time. [ siiiip. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
no subject
Go easy on me, it's my first time.
no subject
once he finishes, tony gulps down the remainder of his glass, says, ] Simple, right? [ and chalks up a cue. ] Now watch your sensei at work. [ he assumes the correct bridge and grip technique, bent over to line up his shot. ]
no subject
Sounds easy enough, [and he tries to keep his tone light and casual. No sense in giving anything away.]
no subject
no subject
There. Your table's intact.
no subject
but he's not even tipsy yet and tony actually does want simba to have a good time, so... ] Why don't you take another crack at it? In fact, just keep going. We'll call this your practice round.
no subject
[His smile is bland and innocuous, giving nothing away. But when he settles in to take his next shot, the angles line up in his mind. The position he takes is a bit odd - someone less experienced might assume that he'll only succeed in knocking the balls around a bit - but he eyes the cue ball for a moment, narrows his eyes, and proceeds to sink four balls in one shot.]
How's that?
no subject
no subject
[He smiles innocently. What, it isn't totally normal to take out half the balls in one turn?]
no subject
[ tony looks at him with a sharp curiosity. there's always that one-in-a-million chance someone lands that or a similar shot, but if simba can reliably replicate the results, then it's all skill, not luck or a fluke. ]
no subject
It'll have to be stripes.
[Because he doesn't have enough solids left lolol. But he's pretty sure Tony doesn't care about the game right now, not with something else to distract him. So he doesn't even wait for a response before he sets the cue ball back on the table in just the right spot. He lines up the shot and watches as the balls ricochet off each other and the sides of the felt-lined table. Sure enough, another four sink into the pockets with unerring accuracy.]
no subject
no subject
Somethin' like that.
[He allows the poker face to slip, and he smiles back at Tony, whiskers bristling and eyes sliding shut for just a moment.]
no subject
no subject
[But since Tony doesn't seem inclined to play anymore at all - and he's still drinking - he asks instead:]
What do you want to do now?
no subject
no subject
[He smirks at Tony, and it's one of the few signs of self-confidence that he's shown. Usually, his body language is uncertain, withdrawing, like he's trying to make himself smaller. But there's nothing of that right now, and he even seems to be reasonably relaxed after the treatment he'd received upstairs.]
no subject
no subject
[His eyes dart as he follows Tony's moves, not unlike a cat watching a particularly interesting bird. They certainly seem to sparkle with that same intensity, the pupils growing larger. Even his tail starts to twitch.]
no subject
no subject
Because I don't want you to feel like I'm having all the fun and you're doing all the work.
[Tony does more than enough work on his behalf as it is, after all.]
no subject
tony stands and plucks a couple more balls out of the table pockets. aaaalmost done. simba will need more than good angles to solve this. ]
no subject
[He crouches down, then ends up on his knees to get him at eye level with the table as Tony sets up the last few balls. Though he's not quite aware of it, the muscles in his shoulders bunch slightly as he envisions the shot - or the shot thus far - and the cue ball ricocheting off the felt walls of the table. His hands rest on his knees - thankfully, because his claws flex in and out, digging into the (probably expensive) cotton of his bedsheet.]
no subject
Rules are as follows, [ he declares, continuing, as he leaves for the bar counter with his glass: ] sink all stripes and none of the solids in two shots or less. You scratch on the cue or eight ball, you lose. [ after refilling his glass, tony leans his elbows back on the counter, ankles crossed, patiently spectating, but his eyes sharp on simba. ] No do-overs, so take your time. [ siiiip. ]
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)