slate—an older, quieter bartender—worked below that evening. there were a few other rockets scattered about on the couches, but roach had taken a break from the conversations to play a solo game of pool.

an aged unovan bourbon sat off on a ledge with a couple of square napkins underneath. beside it was a large crystal-cut ashtray, in which burned a brick-colored cigar, lazily wafting notes cedar and leather and black pepper.

he leaned down some, though barely needed to get parallel with the felt. roach knew his angles too well.

as he pulled the cue back, however, the door opened, and he froze. everyone looked up and regarded her; some only briefly, some more curious than others. a new face always caught longer stares. did she belong here, or did she somehow stumble in while the doorman had gone out for a cigarette?

roach, of course, was the most cautious. he raised up, cocking his head to the side and smiling a little crookedly.

“how ya doin’? don’t think we’ve seen ya down here before.”

betty, the resident mandibuzz, squawked from a corner on her perch, looking a bit grumpy—as always.

Remi Cassel

☉

It's a weird, uncomfortable, almost terrifying feeling to have all eyes on you. She feels like steps stepping foot into a pool of piranhas, and she's cut her toe wide open on the way in. They look hungry, suspicious, agitated- all of it bundles into raw nerves and sharp teeth.

No faces stuck out as familiar because no one here is familiar. They're all nameless, shapeless faces that would ultimately haunt her nightmares someday. Every face you see in a dream is a face you've seen in passing, whether you think you remembered them or not.

What she should hear as the pluck of a pool cue striking the ball is replaced with silence and the clink of glasses as they are lifted from the bar. Remi stands off to the side, having never strayed into the centre of the room too deeply just in case of this exact reaction. She was a stranger among strangers- something dangerous and unpredictable.

"Just visiting. Figure I may as well get familiar with the crowd if I plan on stickin' around."

She responds to the one person in the room who had addressed her. She notes the cue in his hand and the crooked smile offered. He's suspicious, and rightfully so. This is a den of wolves, and she's fresh meat.

"You look like you could use a partner."

virgil roach

☉

his eyes cut the very tiniest hair and he leaned about a foot to the left to get a look at the doorman. there was some wordless transaction through a glance, before he leaned back and reached for his drink with his empty hand.

“do i?” he nodded towards a cue stick rack on the wall, every one of them pristine and finely crafted, with various inlays of ivory, pewter and gemstones. “grab a cue when yer ready, then.”

roach didn’t mind playing by himself. in fact, much of the time he preferred it. it was a good way to get to know a stranger, though, if he wasn’t working the bar.

“i’m roach.” in case she was looking for him. in case ‘partner’ meant more than just pool.

Remi Cassel

☉

He leans. She stays put, her gaze careful while he looks past her to the door.

He doesn't know her.

He doesn't trust her.

He's a smart man.

But ultimately, it seems her company is given a green light. With rough hands around a glass of what she might assume is bourbon if she got close enough to smell it, he gestures with his chin the rack of cue sticks.

Remi traces her fingers against the length of a stick draped along the middle. She doesn't go for the top nor the bottom, settling somewhere in between. She plucks it from it's resting place and strokes her thumb across the tip.

"Remi," she says, though her statement suggests she did already know who he was. Though she hadn't been looking for him, necessarily, it was convenient she's bumped into him so easily.

"It's a nice place you have here, Roach."

virgil roach

☉

he watched her, not so much assessing her choice as her look, but noting it regardless. roach preferred a 19 oz, himself, such as the one that rolled gently against the fulcrum of his hand. this one was rosewood, with carved ebony and ivory in sharp, detailed designs flowering up the shaft from the butt end.

bourbon was hot and sweet on his burnt tongue, eyes over the lip of the glass. remi. didn’t ring a bell.

“well thanks. ya been upstairs yet?” it wasn’t as nice, still in partial recovery from earlier that year when it had nearly burnt to the ground. that had been a day of poor decisions.

he leaned his cue into the slotted mahogany ledge and set his drink there again, grabbed a triangle, and gathered the balls to rerack.

Remi Cassel

☉

The male gaze wanders, as it typically does especially when their tongue is tainted with liquor.

But his eyes settle on the pole in her hand, and a part of her has to wonder if there is a reason for that.

"Nah, they specifically said to sneak in the back. I assumed there had to be a reason."

Her attention wanders briefly, searching the room for apparent stairs. Whether she finds them or not, she refocuses on Roach first before moving to the table. He sets the stage for them, and the sound of the balls knocking gently against each other brings her mild comfort. Eyes drilling the back of her neck seem to fade and regular chatter resumes.

"Friendly crowd."

She states this sarcastically, and her lip twitches with the suggestion she might be teasing.

virgil roach

☉

“oh, you were gon’ sneak in, huh?” he smirked, not serious unless he should be, in which case, he was.

the rest of the patrons had already become absorbed in their conversations again. cigar smoke still wafted—not only his own. the collective haze was sharp in the nose, and roach clearly lived in it. his skin was taking on the beginnings of leather. he had a voice like low-grit sandpaper. despite his whiskey-warm eyes, he was the caricature of  a flea-bitten scoundrel.

he smiled at her assessment of the rest of the lot.

“ah, they ain’t that bad.”

his fingers hooked into the bottom of the rack, knuckles pushing the balls more tightly together. he gave it a small roll against the felt for good measure, before lifting away and looking up at her.

“ya wan’ break?”

Remi Cassel

☉

"If the door hadn't been open, you bet."

Remi smirks in response. She was teasing, though her statement had not been entirely off. Roach's bar was a popular spot in Slateport, specifically for members of Rocket. They had explicitly mentioned visiting the bar's basement, which implied a back entrance.

Which, implied in some capacity, sneaking.

The man's relaxed disposition and charming manner of speech proves fruitful in keeping her attention and encouraging her own good mood. She had arrived anticipating some level of hostility and discomfort- she was a stranger stepping foot in a wolf den.

"Sure."

Remi takes a moment to examine the triangle before palming the white cue ball and setting it up to strike. She doesn't dawdle, breaking the formation and watching the balls spread out in wide array. By a stroke of luck as opposed to skill, as Remi is not particularly good at pool, one of the striped balls sinks.

Surprise momentarily flashes across her expressive brows, and the woman takes a moment to adjust before taking aim at the next nearest stripe. That shot, however, misses its mark.

virgil roach

☉

he chuckled lightly, and hoped she wasn’t serious.

every moment, he was gauging her in ways. not because she was attractive, although it was naturally noted, but rather because roach wasn’t nearly as trusting as he’d used to be. he had a lot to lose, and he'd wised up.

the cue ball hit the rest with a sure, satisfying smack. a ball sunk. not everyone had a good break, especially not in such a nerve-inducing place as this, surrounded by strangers. it showed confidence. her next shot, however, was not great. a lack of skill was quickly readable.

he didn’t offer any pointers, only going around the table to lean in for his own shot. then another. then another.

“you from kalos, then?”

roach wasn’t from hoenn either, as could be told by his  drawl.

the table was nearly cleared before he missed again. maybe by accident, or maybe not.

Remi Cassel

☉

She wasn't serious. Mostly.

She can feel his eyes pouring over her while she takes her first shot. She feels them shift while she takes her second, the way they linger even while she sucks in to voice her disappointment.

And she returns the favor in kind, though with increasing amazement as the man sinks every shot he takes. The repetitive plunk as each ball drops into the pocket should discourage or dissuade her, as clearly shes chosen an opponent far beyond her skill level.

But it doesn't discourage her, because she picked him knowing she'd aimed too high. She never stood a chance in an actual game. She wasn't even here to play a game, at least not this one.

"Lumiose city, yes."

The woman glances at him, both hands wrapped around the shaft of her cue stick. In her peripheral, his last shot misses and the ball bounces off the wall and back toward the center. She hesitates, having fully expected to not take another shot.

What did that mean?

"Interested?"

Remi chuckles, stepping forward to line up her next shot.

virgil roach

☉

he raised up, and stepped aside, so that he could witness remi’s skills. with the turn of his shoulder, rough fingers retrieved his glass again. his eyes hovered over the bite of whiskey, sharpness lingering on his mustache.

if roach had to guess, she was here for a reason. why else did anyone walk into such a place by themself? ritual underground wasn’t some obscure dive bar to be recommended by even the nosiest of hipsters. this was a nest of vipers—something your typical friend wouldn’t suggest walking into alone.

she was suspicious.

he watched her lean in, criticisms lining his thought process.

“in what?”

Remi Cassel

☉

Beating around the bush had never been her strong suit, but something about the tense atmosphere and the prying eyes had prevented her from barging in, guns blazing, to speak her mind.

This was a den of wolves, as she'd already prophesied, and if they really were into the type of shady shit she was, being blunt could be the end of your career. Or your life.

She was here for a reason, it was true. But being straightforward had not done her any favors when bumping into Killian Decker. Rocket was full of secrets, full of challenges, full of absolute assholery, really.

"In me. I'm looking for... work."

Remi exhales, her cue strikes, and her next shot sinks.

virgil roach

☉

it was a world in which they were always looking at each other sideways. he might’ve been new to the organization, but he was hardly new to the concept.

he eyed her carefully, reaching for his cigar again to puff a thought cloud.

“work, huh?”

her aim was truer this time, he noted. more confident? maybe she was better under pressure.

“i’m always lookin’ fer good help. shall we head upstairs, ‘n grab ya an application?”

his gaze challenged her from across the table, as he rolled the smoking sweet leaf over his lip. of course, he figured she didn’t mean bartending. she’d need to tell him what kind of work it was that she wanted, though. he wasn’t in the business of reading minds.

Remi Cassel

☉