Have fun. (and ya'll say i'm good for nothing but polls...yeesh...))Andrew Lipson leaned up against the black, wooden chair and frowned. The shot, it looked, well...near-impossible. Was it even possible to get a pool ball to move that way? He didn't know. He didn't think that balls curled like that, and to hit the one ball he needed to sink in order to win, he'd have to pull off the impossible. Stepping up to the table, he tried to channel his inner Mars Callahan. Sure, it was a brutal excuse for a pro player as he could think of, but the fact was that the director of Poolhall Junkies was the only even semi-pro player that came to mind. Readying his cue, he adjusted...waited...adjusted, and shot.
Andrew Lipson was a skilled pool player, and while he hoped that the rules of gravity would not apply in this place, this rather nice-looking restaurant/bar combination that they were in, but alas, it was not to be. The cue ball hit the black ball and sent both careening over to the other side of the table.
"Damnit! Shit, guy...that was an impossible shot, and you know it!"
His opponent grabbed the cue ball and set it next to the black 8-ball. Grinning, he set his green eyes on Andrew and chuckled a little. Ordinarily, he wouldn't have found himself being that social, but at this time, he really didn't give a shit. He didn't have many worries at the moment, and for the forseeable future, Cole Hudson didn't figure that things would get any worse. Lining up his shot, he easily sunk the eight ball into the corner pocket, scoring a win over the disgruntled-looking Lipson.
"Aw, come on Andrew. Don't take it too hard. You're out of practice, that's all. I mean, first time on legs in awhile, too, eh?"
Andrew rolled his eyes.
"Yeah, I guess...but whatever man. Didn't Edward say he wanted a go at you? Hell, where'd he go, anyway?"
The pool tables weren't the only thing in the room. In fact, it was more like a rather large restaurant, like a sports bar, except quieter and less populated. Of those that were in the bar, most talked quietly amongst themselves. Some sat in shock in corner booths, getting the waiters (one whom Andrew was POSITIVE was a jolly-looking Marlon Brando) to bring them drink after drink. The bar served food, whatever you wanted on a menu that was absolutely enormous - all free of charge. There was tons of stuff to do, from an arcade in the back, a bowling alley next door, a dartboard in the bar...Andrew shrugged. It was all so very odd a feeling. Being dead, and all. That was the commonality between every single person in the room. Each and every one of them were dead. He had already spoken to a glum-looking Sydney Morvran, who had introduced him to his brother and a friend of his from his class. They had seemed nice enough, but Andrew figured that Sydney was having a bit of trouble getting used to the idea that he was dead.
Someone who he noticed was taking the transition rather well was Edward Rommel. The usually reserved boy had been quite ecstatic, Andrew had noticed, when he came in, and had actually been the one to kind of ease Andrew into the fact that he was, indeed, dead. It hadn't taken all that long to get used to, and the sight of seeing Rommel munching on his jelly-beans was actually kind of funny. In the corner, he saw Arturo Villamor betting on, and what a morbid, yet interesting thing to bet on who would be the next person to walk through the door of the bar. Sure, they were only sixteen year olds, but they were dead, so Andrew supposed that it didn't really matter. He noticed a couple others, Tayli Vreeland and Uriel Hunter specifically, chatting away while watching television in the television lounge off to the side. Andrew had popped his head in to take a peek, and had been surprised to see that the television that they were watching was actually their fellow classmates on the island. It seemed that a great number of people were interested to see who was going to make it out alive. Andrew had to admit though, he loved the fact that the person's inner thoughts were broadcast on subtitles underneath the screen. It made it so much more interesting.
Man, what a place... Andrew sighed. At least he could walk again. That was something he was finding as a real plus. Shrugging, he went up to the bar and ordered a fruit punch. As strange a thing to order as it was, Andrew figured that for a post-death drink, it was as good a thing to start with as ever. Looking around the room, he saw more familiar faces. Alan Shinwrath was trying his hardest to impress August Masbeth and Helena van Garret, both of whom had been surprisingly kind to him when he had entered the room. They had both hugged him tightly and (with tears in their eyes, he had been surprised, actually) had apologized profusely for being such bitches back in the world to him.
Funny thing was, Andrew felt himself forgiving a lot easier than he ever figured that he would of before.
Bizarre... He thought, and took a long drink out of his fruit punch.
Not too bad...
