roach enjoyed her company, too. his eyes narrowed a little—not in an unfriendly way. smirk grew. she had no problem piercing the illusion, just to fuck with him, but he’d never once been under any impression that he was special—he just had a good imagination, and knew how to make fleeting visits in fantasy without staying too long. he functioned well like this. it fed a void.

“you got it, woman.”

he chuckled, eyes leaving her again to scan the crowd as he brought the whiskey to his lips.

the support in her words softened the wolfishness in his face. “yeah, i ‘preciate that jessie.” a sigh. “it’ll come along.” would it?

she then informed him that it would be his job to navigate the course of the evening. raise some hell and live their best lives.

“sheit. raise hell, she says.” he laughed. “alright. devil drinks liquor.” with a turn and a few fingers up, two shots were soon being poured in front of them. “i say we get drunk first, ‘n then figure it out.”

@jessica

☉

their stares locked for a moment from either side of a wafting ribbon of aromatic smoke. he didn’t stop watching her, even when she broke away.

clunk.

puff.

”mm. outside, huh?”

a little bird told her.

“well. might be right.” smoke escaped his lips lazily, and he set the cigar off to the side in glass again. “'far be it from me to turn away a woman with experience.”

his hand slid down the shaft of his cue as he bent at the hip, following through with a deft stroke and satisfying clack.

another ball sunk, and he was on the eight.

“in what then? movin’? ’r gittin’?”

Remi Cassel

☉

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

☉

every single one of them, and surely she knew as much, being the entertainer that she was. still, his drawl was like sweet molasses through teeth too smirky to be losing so much money.

“just you, darlin’.”

he watched her take the shot, chuckling at her feedback and dismissing it over the lip of his own glass, “yeah, yeah… don’t tell the other girls.”

the mention of rocket assignments caught a small wince, as his eyes idled across randoms in the bar around them, avoiding her for a moment. he wasn’t grateful for being in the ranks. in fact, he felt imprisoned by them.

“an experience.” his walnut gaze found her again, the glow in his grin somewhat diminished. “huh.”

after a moment, the edge of his hairy mug curled higher once more. whatever brief cramp had just occurred was gone.

“ahh, same ole same ole. holdin’ down ritual—” barely. “—‘n all that shit.” see: criminal activity that actually kept the lights on. with its lack of business, roach figured ritual’s ability to remain open for so long might’ve been suspicious in itself. these days, the speakeasy below saw more traffic, and its profit was next to none. rocket had literally moved into his life rent-free.

“been kinda slow, since the whole fire fiasco, but we’ll get ‘er back. it ain’t over.”

his rough hand spun his whiskey on the bar, before he took it and rotated towards the floor. shrugged off worries and focused on the quality of their environment, a vision of willfully high(proof) spirits.

“fuck all that, though. what’re you gettin’ us into?”

@jessica

☉

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

☉

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

☉

“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

☉

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

☉

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

☉

“'cause i like it.”

roach leaned on his elbow against the bar, taking a load off but still not on the right side. he was enjoying the feeling of work when there’d been depressingly little at ritual as of late.

“it’s got grenadine, crème de menthe, galliano, rum, ‘n love.”

when she got her phone out, roach took quick action ahead of her. looking around himself briefly to make sure no one important was watching, he reached out with a silver lighter, rolled the wheel and sent a flame whooshing across the green surface in a bright burst. it was fun, and flaming shots always made for better pictures.

he sighed lightly at her request. “yeaaah, alright, fine. twistin’ my arm.”

he poured himself a unovan bourbon and then went to lean again. this time, the bartender was looking. he heard a ‘roach!’ and looked over, catching a finger gesturing in a circle around to the other side. roach shook his head and begrudgingly made his way there to sit next to her, but his grin didn't leave.

“how ya been, trouble?”

@jessica

☉

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

☉

the thing about nightlife was that it was a different world. people who worked in it tended to know one another, because who else did you talk to after you got done wiping down the bar at two a.m.? the other people. the girls dancing on platforms, when their legs got tired but their minds didn’t, because the night never ended just because the doors locked and the drunks went home.

tonight, though, it wasn’t that late. he’d locked his before everyone else, because fuck four hours for five bucks.

he’d sent out a text or two. somehow, he’d found himself briefly behind a bar that he didn’t even work at, giving a hand while he shot the shit with the person meant to be there.

he heard her the first time, but didn’t turn, instead going to work making a colorfully layered shot with things he typically didn’t have to work with.

once he was finished and she’d called for him a couple of times, he turned and set it in front of her with a wink and a cheesy click of his tongue.

“jessie.”

@jessica

☉