OK, just a little vignette. Vampires MUST get bored,
and they can't ALL hang out at the Raven EVERY night.
Right? (I also figured that all the NON-NN folks
deserved a change of pace:)
Permission granted to archive at fanfic/2, the FTP
site and anyone elsewho wants to, just drop me a line
at fenix23fyre@yahoo.com.

Usual disclaimers. The characters are property of
Sony/tristar.
==========================
Vachon studied the green felt of the table
suspiciously. Screed was sighting another shot from
behind his cue, a very difficult maneuver which could
conclude their friendly game of pool quickly (and lose
Vachon $250.) Screed took careful aim, and shot. The
white ball hit directly between the two striped balls,
scattering them at tangential angles. The yellow 9
stripe hit the red solid 3 precisely in the middle and
sent it rolling into the corner pocket right in front
of Vachon. The maroon 15 stripe veered all the way to
the other end of the table, losing momentum as it
went, toward the blue 4, looking to miss it by just a
hair. Miraculously, the stripe grazed the bright blue
solid and gently nudging it into the corner pocket
clear on the other end of the table. Vachon’s mouth
hung open with the sheer perfect geometry of the shot.


Screed walked around toward him, grinning. “Wot’s e
matter, Vachonetti me matey? Oy, atesy ball goin’ te
the lefty pock’t.” He aimed, and the WHACK of the cue
ball hitting the 8 ball and sending it sounded. The 8
ball rolled neatly into the corner pocket.

Vachon stared at the table, then stared up at Screed.
He hadn’t even gotten one turn in after breaking. His
friend was a pool shark! He should have known. The
homely carouche grinned at him, leaning on his cue
stick. “Wouldcha likes another chancey?”

Vachon shook his head. He always chided others for
underestimating Screed, and he had just proven to
himself WHY.

“OK, Screed. Where’d you learn to PLAY like that? And
no, I DON’T want another chance. I can’t AFFORD to
throw away money like that.” He grinned at the
carouche to take the sting out of his words.

Screed shrugged. “Sootcherself. I learnt’ play from a
Mister Sammy-l Clemens in t’ States.” Screed looked
around to see if there was anyone waiting for a table
that might take up a friendly wager. A big biker in
black leather was watching them, an appraising look in
his eye. He started over to the table. Screed looked
at Vachon and grinned.

Vachon started. Samuel Clemens? Screed had known Mark
Twain? Obviously THAT was a story for another time. He
made a mental note to ask Screed about it later.
Vachon sighed and took the money out of his wallet and
handed it to the carouche, then walked over toward the
door. He still had enough money to check out a heavy
metal band he liked playing at the new warehouse club
over on Queen’s Quay and Jarvis. He opened the door
and headed out into the cool Toronto night.
========================================
*Mark Twain was an avid pool player in the late 19th
century.
http://previewct.com/gbase/Lifestyle/content.html?oid=oid:19332