The Divest of Bars

In a corner booth, the Mafia booth, Atticus sat, most certainly not alone. He was one of a loud group of idiots. They laughed, and drank, and told war stories. Some even of actual wars. They were a rowdy bunch. In the middle of the table was a pile of dollars that would later have to be scrapped off and hung to dry by a waitress.

"Oh Fuck You!" One of the guys says using a bottle as a pointer in Atticus' direction.

"It's True," Atticus said playing the drunk just a bit.

"At Night! in the Snow!?!"

Atticus just shrugged and took another drink of his bottle. What they didn't know was that nothing hit his throat or belly.

"Fuck you you crazy bastard." The guy looked to the others and then back to Atticus then back to the others. "He actually did it!"

"Aight, let me out, I gotta piss." Atticus pushed his way out of the booth and made his way toward the bathroom.

An athletic girl in winter wear arrived, wearing a fitted black sweater under a scarf and a leather jacket over professional charcoal pants and dark pumps. She looked like she was just off work. She lit up the room, blushed and full of life uncharacteristic to Kindred but perfect for blending in with the Kine.

Beasts did what Beasts do. She caught sight of Atticus James, one of those readily welcome here in her Regency, who she figured was intending to sate his hunger... but hey. Maybe he'd just made some friends. The Gangrel seemed humane enough to think of people as more than just food. It was one of the things she liked about the guy.

The urge to draw the little knife hidden beneath her pant leg and gut the fellow was crushed by the Grand Wyrm's will and routine as she soothed the Beast with the mindfulness exercises that she had trained herself into following through Pavlovian conditioning years before. A hand came up in a wave of greeting.

He felt the crunch of the beast as he makes his way into the bathroom. He turns around and sees Lina standing there. She waves, the waves. It felt weird. Waving. Especially for someone who has a vast swath of power over him. But there they are, just a guy waving at a girl, who waved at him. Atticus thumbs at the bathroom saying he is going in there and then holds up one finger saying he would be right back.

Atticus stood in the stall, with the door closed. While he stood there, counting time, he was thinking, What do I call her... If she were his equal, it wouldn't be an issue, but she isn't. Finishing his fake business Atticus made his way out of the stall and the bathroom, looking for Lina.

Idly, as the Supplicant disappeared into the bathroom, Moretti started racking up a game of pool on the shitty table on the far side of the room. It seemed like most dive bars had them, to go along with the reek of cigarettes and cheap beer.

Waving off a challenger who really probably would have made a good snack, she waited patiently for the Gangrel to... do whatever he was doing in the shitter...?

Atticus returns and sees Lina by the pool table, "Did you check for matchbooks under the legs?" Atticus asked as he approached the table and took a stick off the rack. He grabs the ubiquitous blue chalk and starts getting his stick ready to go. It's been a long time since he played pool, and the last time he did, it ended with a broken stick over somebody's back. I think I won? I don't remember.

"I didn't," she admitted with a sly chuckle. She got to chalking as well, with some worn down piece of shit brick that was near its dying day. She glanced down as she inserted the customary four quarters for a game, placing four more onto the rail in case anybody got any ideas about seizing her territory. "Looks fine to me."

She gestured to him, allowing him the break if he wanted it.

"So what's a classy fella like you doing in a spot like this?"

"See that group of idiots in the corner over there?" Atticus points to the mafia booth in the corner, "They work at the docks. Bunch of union guys. We're out grabbing drinks and shooting our mouths off." Atticus loads up and breaks. It's a reasonable break with one in off the break. He takes his second shot and misses. "All yours, table is open." Atticus isn't much for pool, but it's a thing. "What about you? What brings you to a hole like this?"

Moretti grinned. So he was maintaining his influence. Or... maybe just maintaining his Humanity by having actual friends. That was good. The Work was not best done in solitude. One had to be observing, understanding, and aware of what they were so they could transcend what they were for what they would become.

She fired a ball off on a challenging angle to sink a ball over by the center pocket, but the shot went side. The Grand Wyrm sighed. She usually could make one like that...

"Figured I'd come out for a game, and bar snacks. This is my stomping ground, so..."

He wasn't in the Rack. It was fine.

"So, I see you met John. Sorry he was... John at you. Y'all good now, or is there a thing I ought to be aware of going forward?"

"Oof, rough shot," Atticus made an oof face as he watched the ballsy shot go wide.

"Davis..." The Savage had little to say regarding the man. If he would have just acted like a man, stood up, and went outside for a good scrap, they could have finished the evening off with a drink. But instead, he had to act the punk and try to monologue his way out of it. Atticus lined up his shot and sunk a stripe, he then tried to follow it up with what should have been an easy shot, but he hit a dead rail. "Dead rail." An exhale of frustration, "As for Davis, everything depends on him. I am surprised though."

That shot was a bummer, too. They were both having a rough go. Lina popped an easy stripe in and missed the second shot, making a sour face at it. "Only thing you can depend on there is him moving his lips into trouble," she muttered. At his mention of being surprised, however, she looked up.

"By what?"

She leaned against a wall for him to take his shot, head tilted slightly to the side as she heard him out.