Corner Pocket - A Hanako Short
Posted: Mon Oct 14, 2013 1:10 am
I had a few KS thoughts floating around of late, and had one I was able to make a short fanfic on. I generally do not write fanfics though so this could very well be awful, but I think it worked well. It's non-canon, from Hanako's point of view. If you want to pencil it into a pre- or post-route, then I guess it could be after Lilly's epilogue, but it's simply intended to be it's own story.
The game is eight-ball, a popular one, easy to pick up, the go-to game for the weekend crowd, and one that, while easy to learn, is difficult to master. Tonight is no different than most, a crowd intimidating to any passerby, especially to myself. One man chomps on the end of a cigar as he lines up a shot, the seven ball in the side pocket. At least, that is his intention. The cue ball kisses the edge of the seven before rolling to a stop in front of the eight ball. The other cheers, but my eyes are not on the match, but on him. Why anyone would add a tattoo to their bodies I will never know. The minute you add the ink your body is no longer the same, no longer pure, no longer attractive.
My fingers rub the edge of the neighboring pool table, the flickering light shining just enough to show I was there. Clank. I miss the finish, but anyone within earshot already knew the result. Eight ball. Corner pocket. Game over. Tattoo-san defeats cigar-san for bragging rights, and my heart races just a bit, mostly out of nervousness. I slink over, watching as each ball is fished out, returned to its home, the colors paired together. Do the cue ball and eight ball go together? Or are they destined to be alone? The eight ball’s existence seems solely to be the one bit around, the endgame, the one you get rid of to win.
“Hey you, you up for a round?” The laughter is aimed at me, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? They see the girl just standing there and pounce, a couple of wild animals.
“I-if it’s not t-too much trouble…” I already know what they are planning as tattoo-san turns his back to me, chatting with two others, more concerned with what is going on at the bar rather than the matches here, and why wouldn’t they be? After all, the difference between the group and me, and the young men and women at the bar, well, that’s night and day.
“I’ll go easy on you. 5,000 yen on the game, and I’ll make it quick too.” My mouth works faster than my mind for what is probably a first, and I instantly cover my face as I say it.
“T-Ten thousand.” Their laughter is understandable; after all, maybe they are regulars here, not used to a challenge. I can only hope that they have been here a while and are not well-balanced. Soon enough, the laughter subsides as I unconsciously move backwards, wanting to run.
“Your funeral. I break.” Tattoo-san does so, hitting a clean break, knocking down the five ball. My heart sinks, wanting to be solids, but soon enough he misses the next shot and I am up. I see one arch back, now that I am a bit more… visible. But as far as I know, there is no one else here, just me and the cue ball. The cue ball… any time it gets close to another, it hits it and chases it away. I’ve been on both sides of that over the years, and I completely miss on my first attempt.
An eternity passes, or at least that is what tattoo-san is telling his friends. The 11 ball is hit just enough to slide in the corner pocket, as the cue comes to a rest right at the 14 ball. After the 14 and 15 make their way in, my eyes wander just a bit to the returning cigar-san and the rest. They do not know what to make of me. Their eyes open just enough that it could either me a look of shock and horror at me, or… oh, that’s probably it. But if that was true, would they not be averting their eyes? I mean, they continue to look, and the cue ball just narrowly misses the 9. Sorry Lilly, I’ll bring you home another time.
Swiftly, the balls continue to make their way into the pockets for both of us. Before long, we are both left with two. He has the two and three balls, and I have the 9 and 12. Unfortunately, they are on opposite sides of the table. It would have been nice for them to be together. The 12 is probably the closest to me. There are a few wear and tear scratches on it, so it may as well be.
The two ball bounces off the edge, and tattoo-san looked close to snapping the cue stick in half. Calling him tattoo-san feels so juvenile, but I haven’t heard any of them exchange names, and, well, asking is not going to happen. I ready my shot, eyeing the side pocket for the 12 ball. How fitting, me off to the side. After readying my stance just so, I gently push the stick ahead. The cue moves over to 12’s location, and it lands in the side pocket, as it should. Only one more to go, and in the background the group only gets louder.
If there is one skill I have, it’s tuning things out. The shouts at the bar, the argument about funding this match, and everything else going on. The last thing on anyone’s mind is the girl about to hit in the 9 ball at the pool table. Lilly makes her way into the far corner pocket as the distance is just enough. It’s a good thing that tattoo-san is aggressive. The shots are overpowering and they just bounce around the edges. So many play like that, and why they do is something I will never know.
“C-Corner.” I point and mention the pocket, barely dialing above a whisper. I turn over to see them not even paying attention. Are they actually wondering how to pay after all that? One motions for the rest to look back, and I step back, blocking my face with one hand and pointing again, noting the pocket again, just a bit louder. He nods and sighs louder than my own voice.
The eight ball is almost dead center on the table, and with the cue off to one corner it makes the shot very easy. As I lean in there’s a shout, and I almost drop the stick. They are right behind me now, and the last thing I need to do is turn back around to see what the fuss. Either it did not concern me, or worse, it did.
Perhaps the cue ball and eight ball were meant to be together after all, paired just like the solids and stripes for each color. Yet the game wins when one is pushed away from the other. Or was the victory when the cue ball final made the move and struck the eight ball when it needed to be most? It was not until well after the ball made its way home that I returned back to the bar, outside of the pool zone and no longer able to just block out everything. The grimace on tattoo-san’s face said it all.
“Have to say, never saw that coming. You showed us.” He slammed the money down on the table as he made his way back to the bar. I quickly grabbed the money, shoving it into my pocket and putting the balls back in place.
“If you want a rematch anytime, we’ll be here.” As I made my leave I stopped in my tracks, not expecting cigar-san or anyone to speak to me. Turning around, all had their eyes on me, but the words came to me easy this time.
“I l-look forward to it.”
The strong wind took me by surprise as I left the bar, making my way back. It was almost a disappointing night this time. Only 10,000 yen? I guess I can’t complain; this will be some nice spending money to have, even if it pales in comparison to last week’s winnings. Thankfully that is not a bar populated by regulars, so it’s the go-to spot to hone my craft, and maybe, just maybe, get a bit of respect from my victims in the process.
It may not be much, but it’s something that I can call my own. A lot has been taken away from me in the past, but now, even if it’s just once in a while, I’m in control.
The game is eight-ball, a popular one, easy to pick up, the go-to game for the weekend crowd, and one that, while easy to learn, is difficult to master. Tonight is no different than most, a crowd intimidating to any passerby, especially to myself. One man chomps on the end of a cigar as he lines up a shot, the seven ball in the side pocket. At least, that is his intention. The cue ball kisses the edge of the seven before rolling to a stop in front of the eight ball. The other cheers, but my eyes are not on the match, but on him. Why anyone would add a tattoo to their bodies I will never know. The minute you add the ink your body is no longer the same, no longer pure, no longer attractive.
My fingers rub the edge of the neighboring pool table, the flickering light shining just enough to show I was there. Clank. I miss the finish, but anyone within earshot already knew the result. Eight ball. Corner pocket. Game over. Tattoo-san defeats cigar-san for bragging rights, and my heart races just a bit, mostly out of nervousness. I slink over, watching as each ball is fished out, returned to its home, the colors paired together. Do the cue ball and eight ball go together? Or are they destined to be alone? The eight ball’s existence seems solely to be the one bit around, the endgame, the one you get rid of to win.
“Hey you, you up for a round?” The laughter is aimed at me, of course. Why wouldn’t it be? They see the girl just standing there and pounce, a couple of wild animals.
“I-if it’s not t-too much trouble…” I already know what they are planning as tattoo-san turns his back to me, chatting with two others, more concerned with what is going on at the bar rather than the matches here, and why wouldn’t they be? After all, the difference between the group and me, and the young men and women at the bar, well, that’s night and day.
“I’ll go easy on you. 5,000 yen on the game, and I’ll make it quick too.” My mouth works faster than my mind for what is probably a first, and I instantly cover my face as I say it.
“T-Ten thousand.” Their laughter is understandable; after all, maybe they are regulars here, not used to a challenge. I can only hope that they have been here a while and are not well-balanced. Soon enough, the laughter subsides as I unconsciously move backwards, wanting to run.
“Your funeral. I break.” Tattoo-san does so, hitting a clean break, knocking down the five ball. My heart sinks, wanting to be solids, but soon enough he misses the next shot and I am up. I see one arch back, now that I am a bit more… visible. But as far as I know, there is no one else here, just me and the cue ball. The cue ball… any time it gets close to another, it hits it and chases it away. I’ve been on both sides of that over the years, and I completely miss on my first attempt.
An eternity passes, or at least that is what tattoo-san is telling his friends. The 11 ball is hit just enough to slide in the corner pocket, as the cue comes to a rest right at the 14 ball. After the 14 and 15 make their way in, my eyes wander just a bit to the returning cigar-san and the rest. They do not know what to make of me. Their eyes open just enough that it could either me a look of shock and horror at me, or… oh, that’s probably it. But if that was true, would they not be averting their eyes? I mean, they continue to look, and the cue ball just narrowly misses the 9. Sorry Lilly, I’ll bring you home another time.
Swiftly, the balls continue to make their way into the pockets for both of us. Before long, we are both left with two. He has the two and three balls, and I have the 9 and 12. Unfortunately, they are on opposite sides of the table. It would have been nice for them to be together. The 12 is probably the closest to me. There are a few wear and tear scratches on it, so it may as well be.
The two ball bounces off the edge, and tattoo-san looked close to snapping the cue stick in half. Calling him tattoo-san feels so juvenile, but I haven’t heard any of them exchange names, and, well, asking is not going to happen. I ready my shot, eyeing the side pocket for the 12 ball. How fitting, me off to the side. After readying my stance just so, I gently push the stick ahead. The cue moves over to 12’s location, and it lands in the side pocket, as it should. Only one more to go, and in the background the group only gets louder.
If there is one skill I have, it’s tuning things out. The shouts at the bar, the argument about funding this match, and everything else going on. The last thing on anyone’s mind is the girl about to hit in the 9 ball at the pool table. Lilly makes her way into the far corner pocket as the distance is just enough. It’s a good thing that tattoo-san is aggressive. The shots are overpowering and they just bounce around the edges. So many play like that, and why they do is something I will never know.
“C-Corner.” I point and mention the pocket, barely dialing above a whisper. I turn over to see them not even paying attention. Are they actually wondering how to pay after all that? One motions for the rest to look back, and I step back, blocking my face with one hand and pointing again, noting the pocket again, just a bit louder. He nods and sighs louder than my own voice.
The eight ball is almost dead center on the table, and with the cue off to one corner it makes the shot very easy. As I lean in there’s a shout, and I almost drop the stick. They are right behind me now, and the last thing I need to do is turn back around to see what the fuss. Either it did not concern me, or worse, it did.
Perhaps the cue ball and eight ball were meant to be together after all, paired just like the solids and stripes for each color. Yet the game wins when one is pushed away from the other. Or was the victory when the cue ball final made the move and struck the eight ball when it needed to be most? It was not until well after the ball made its way home that I returned back to the bar, outside of the pool zone and no longer able to just block out everything. The grimace on tattoo-san’s face said it all.
“Have to say, never saw that coming. You showed us.” He slammed the money down on the table as he made his way back to the bar. I quickly grabbed the money, shoving it into my pocket and putting the balls back in place.
“If you want a rematch anytime, we’ll be here.” As I made my leave I stopped in my tracks, not expecting cigar-san or anyone to speak to me. Turning around, all had their eyes on me, but the words came to me easy this time.
“I l-look forward to it.”
The strong wind took me by surprise as I left the bar, making my way back. It was almost a disappointing night this time. Only 10,000 yen? I guess I can’t complain; this will be some nice spending money to have, even if it pales in comparison to last week’s winnings. Thankfully that is not a bar populated by regulars, so it’s the go-to spot to hone my craft, and maybe, just maybe, get a bit of respect from my victims in the process.
It may not be much, but it’s something that I can call my own. A lot has been taken away from me in the past, but now, even if it’s just once in a while, I’m in control.
