Of Course Velvet Elvis is Art!


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Scene Title Of Course Velvet Elvis is Art!
Synopsis Minea's Malibu breaks down and takes refuge in a billiard hall for a drink and shelter. Lou is there and a bet is made over a game of pool.
Date January 3, 2009

Fat Cat Billiards

Fat Cat Billiards is far more than just a bar. Equipped with a plethora of tables for pool, ping-pong, shuffleboard, chess, checkers, backgammon and scrabble sets to satisfy a mob, as they say, it's almost like an adult arcade. A barely noticeable layer of smoky haze hangs in the air, and smooth Jazz plays over the speakers as the boisterous Saturday Night crowd goes about their business of occupying their time in whatever way they choose.
At one of the pool tables near the back a tall figure is alone, working his way through what appears to be his third pitcher to judge by the empties nearby. Aside from an occasional glance into the crowd, he seems to be satisfied playing alone.

A tall brunette, leather jacket, jeans boots comes into fat cats. Glowering look on her face and flipping a set of keys over and over in her hand. A blackberry is tapped off, phone call ended. There's something muttered about fucking cars as Minea moseys near the bar. She needs to wait now, for a tow truck. She doesn't look quite like she fits in. But she doesn't obviously stick out as it is either.

Lou calmly sinks the seven before coming back on the three. He takes a moment to study the table intently before sighing—the cue ball is now stuck right behind the eight. Mildly annoyed, he turns his eyes on the rest of the bar as he moves to grab up his mug once more, just in time to see the brunette wander in. As a matter of fact, he practically stares for a moment, eying her up in the way folks usually only ascribe to construction workers.

Lou gets an eyeful back from Minea while the bartender starts to fill her order. A beer it seems for the little lady. She breaks her gaze away to look at her watch before grabbing her cup. Money slipped to the bartender, she starts to make her way over to the table. "Well, isn't that a pickle you have yourself in" A gesture to the table as she takes a deep swallow. "You could skip it, over the Eight, to get to the four into the right north pocket"

Lou shakes his head, peeling his eyes away before turning them back to the table. "Too close, I'll smack right inta tha eight first an' then it's mah last shot anyhow. Then again, I ain't never been much good at shooting off the bank, either."

"So then what's your other option? You could always use the eight to try and get your other guy into a bad position and hope that he can't make it and you end up in a good position. Or you can try jumping the 8." It's spoken with a great deal of confidence.

Lou says, "Well, normally I'd tap the cue just far enough and leave him with the problem instead, but since I'm the other guy tonight, there's not much point in just going back and forth," he replies before he sips at his mug. "I'm thinkin' I just go off the banks an' hope for the best. I could use the practice, anyhow."

Minea studies the table, looking at the various pool balls before nodding. "If you got money riding on it, best to just slice your wrists and win it back another round, if not, well.. eat it, and set it back up again for a fresh game"

"No money on this game, no," he replies with a smirk. "Then again, the bills wouldn't have far to travel." He chuckles and empties his mug before moving to refill it. "Care for some table time? Gets me out of making this shot."

"I got time to kill till the tow truck gets here" Minea shrugs. "Been a bit since I played. Parents had a table in the basement. My brothers used to crack their sticks over each others heads more than they actually played it. Take the shot anyways. You need the practice like you said"

"Guess that's fair," he replies, setting his mug aside long enough to lean down and fire an unfocused shot. The cue ball bounces about some, finally slamming into a mass of stripes, spreading them out and sending two into the side and corner pockets. "Well don't that just figure… Pick a stick, hun, an' I'll get us set up."

"Rack em straight" Her glass is put off to the side at a small round table. Where she can see it as she hunts for the elusive pool stick that's good enough for her. She's not good enough to have her own, much less carry one around. She has that back at her parents place for when she visits, but she knows the different between a shorter or a longer stick. "Minea" An offer of an introduction.

Lou wanders his way around the table, shoving the balls to one end and retrieving them from pockets. "Lou," he replies, pausing long enough to offer a calloused hand to shake in return.

Minea's hands snakes out, taking it. It's not calloused, but nor is it soft. "Come here often Lou?" Now it's her turn to go back to standing, watching, drinking as he racks up the balls. Maybe a little chalk on the end of the stick.

"First time, actually," he replies, dropping the balls into the triangle with precision, carefully arranging them not just to be in the standard solid/stripe, but arranged numerically (and thus by color) as well. "Figured I got m'self all moved into the new place, so I'd treat m'self to a night out."

Just how she likes them. How she was taught to. None of this color only arrangement. It shows on her face too. "Where you working?" Minea starts up the small talk, while she waits. "You breaking or am I?"

"Well, technically I was the last one to lose a game, so I'm gonna say you," he answers, tucking the frame back under the table before moving back to his beer. "And I'm workin' for Brown & Root. One of the companies doin' the construction after… y'know… poof." He makes a motion with his hands indicating an explosion. "A shit ton of machinery, and someone's gotta put 'em back together when some idiot pushes 'em too hard."

"Someone has to put the caterpillars back to functioning when they break" She knows what he means. Cat's, Deere's, she grew up in a house of manly men. She knows how to play pool even. There's some mental note to bring Conrad here. It might be the sort of thing he enjoys. "Art consultant. I hook wealthy people up with works of art that most of them could care less about. But it pays the bills and I get to work with artist that I respect" Minea licks her lower lip, circling the table to get the white ball and set it down right where she likes it. Witherou further ado, the stick nestled in the crook of a finger, she lets it fly, waiting expectantly to see what she's going to be. Striped or solid.

"Those, shop trucks, some of the crane work—but not too much," he replies nodding along before a long pull from his beer and settling into a seat nearby. "Ah. Workin' with the public, and the sort of public with more money than sense. Not sure if you've got my envy or pity," he adds with a chuckle before relaxing a bit and looking back to the table to see the results himself.

"Envy for working with some very talented people, pity, that most of the people won't appreciate it. But it gives me first bids on some pieces" Solids for her. There's a frown as there's not really any scattering though and she sacrifices, to open up the field a bit more, and pass the turn to Lou.

"Hrm…." he vocalizes, considering both the table and her appraisal of her job. "If it's something ya like, I guess that probably makes it worth it. I guess I'm happy enough lookin' at dogs playin' poker," he jokes as he leans down to bear down on the twelve. He cuts it just a bit too much, and it bounces off the corner of the pocket. "hrmph."

"Now that painting, I am happy to say, not even a reproduction, has been bought by any of my clients. Most have good sense" She switches with him, standing to the side and takes a mouthful of beer. "It pays the bills" it does more than pay the bills, and so does other stuff.

"Impugning my artistic sensibilities," he replies, taking on a look of mock offense. "I may just stop taking it easy on ya after that."

"Personal preference, that's all" Lucky number seven. He's knocked the white ball into the perfect place for her to sink it into a side pocket. "Not saying it's bad art, I just… it's dogs. Playing poker. Sometimes the strangest stuff gets the most publicity, while some of the more well made pieces languish in obscurity."

"Oh come on now," he protests, not entirely serious. "Next thing yer gonna tell me all them velvet paintings of Elvis and the matadors don't belong in museums. I mean, hell, by yer logic 'Starry Night' is just a night… being starry." He smirks broadly and reaches for his beer once more, not seeming entirely worried about the progress of the game.

You say, "Shut your mouth! Velvet Elvis will always have a place on my wall" Minea grins, but that grin is replaced by a curse when she sinks one of his balls instead of her. 'Your distracting me""

"Pfft. I ain't touched you nor the table," he retorts. "And don't let that give you any ideas." Another deep pull from the glass and it's set to the side in favor of his cue. "And if you keep that up, I'm gonna be tempted to start betting." He takes a short moment to look over the table and circles towards the cue ball, immediately taking a shot that sinks the fifteen. "No love for the matadors, huh?"

'Maybe the matadors. Maybe my dad's shoved one up on the wall by now. Elvis would get lonely" No comment to the not getting any idea's. She just grins, dusting her cue again with chalk while waiting her turn. "I deal with paintings in the Post ten grand range Lou. Velvet matadors and elvi, are not on my shopping list. Try more like pitchforks in urinals and starry sky's indeed"

"Huh. I just might hafta…" his voice trails off as he makes another shot, this one dropping the thirteen and leaving him lined up nearly perfectly on the twelve. "Weld a few bits of flotsam around the shop together, throw some meat from the market on it, and start talkin' about how it's an expression of post-industrial 'similation of the transhuman movement. Pay the rent for a couple months."

"I have someone, if you really think of doing that. He has a thing for metal sculptures. Good heavens, you going to jsut fucking plow through them all?" IT's nto meant to be condescending just a shake of her head at his luck, or his skill with the balls as she finishes off her beer. Hey, she sure won't be driving.

From all appearances, Lou's more than matched her just since she walked through the door and had a pretty hefty head start besides. "Oh come on, I'm sure that's not good enough. I'd hafta superglue on a rubber dong or something to make it actual New York art," he replies with a smirk. "And no, I think I'll just stick with putting things back together. Money may not be the best, but I don't have much of an urge to put my fist in the nose of my customers or boss." As he leans down to take his next shot his eyes dart to hers for just a moment, and his grin gets wider. Of course the cue is slightly off, and the twelve once again bounced off the corner of the pocket. "'Parently not."

"Bout time. Was about to take up knitting and make myself a sweater if you hadn't screwed up finally" Her turn! "Three, corner pocket. If i don't, your next beer's on me. I need to make the game quick in case the tow truck gets here sooner than I think." Over she leans, maybe a look or two towards her, and yup, there sinks the four. The six also quickly follows.

"I'm drinking them by the pitcher," he warns as she makes the wager the scrutinizes her shot. "Uh huh. Well someone's trying to get me drunk—you're gonna hafta work really hard to convince me that wasn't on purpose." Obligingly, he empties his mug and pours another, topping off his mug and killing the pitcher. "How quick you want the game?" he asks, taking another sip and grabbing up his cue despite not making any moves to the table.

"Maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. You'll never know. I'll forever be Minea of the pool hall. Never to cross your path again, but buys you a pitcher of beer" She studies the layout. "Free for all?"

"Ahhh, yet another mystery for the ages," he muses before taking another large swig and setting his beer to the side and sliding towards the table. "Oh no, standard rules," he replies, leaning down to sink the eleven and the nine in the same shot. "Just wondering how fancy I should be trying to make this look."

"Impress me Lou. Or am I not pretty enough to be worth impressing" She raises her brows in a challenge like motion. Minea doens't make a move yet, to get another drink for herself or to replace his pitcher.

"Well, Minnea of the pool hall," Lou replies with a smirk as the twelve walks around the three and right into the corner. "Pretty or not, if we ain't gonna be crossin' paths again, I'd say there's really only so much effort worth expending."

"How about this. Impress me enough, i'll leave you my card. In case you decide to solder or weld some pieces of metal together. Or you want a rematch" Another challenge, and she daringly, reaches for his glass to take a mouthful of the beer and swallow.

"Oh?" he questions, lifting a thick brow, and pulling back from his shot to lean up against the table instead. "And just what are you gonna do to impress -me- enough to make me want a rematch or be the dealer I choose to promote my obviously well-deserved breakthrough into the art world? Fake dongs and mufflers can't be promoted by just anyone, you know."

'Well, I do come from a family with a velvet elvis, that should be impressive enough, and I am buying you a new pitcher of beer" Minea gives a lopsided grin to Lou.

Lou sways his head from one side to the other as he appears to mull it over. "Well… it's -something- so I suppose I can at least give it some consideration. No promises on the art thing if I have another stunning dealer wander up to my table an' offer to promote my artistic expressions." With that, he snatches the cue off the table and offers it to her. "Put it on the table."

"daring. But then, how many high end art dealers drive a 81 Malibu?" The white ball is taken though, rolled around in her palm warming it and studying the table. Find the akward angle, the hardest shot to take. Something impressive. She puts it down, two inches from the left side, right along that line where the white ball always starts. "Impress me velvet Elvis"

"Depends on whether you're saying they have good taste or bad… Not a single gorgeous car made after '67 if ya ask me," he replies with a self-satisfied smirk before looking back to the table to study it. "Huh," he vocalizes before switching sides of the table and bearing down on the ball, obviously intending to bounce it off the banks. "Care to raise the stakes before I do this?"

"Now now, the 81, is a piece of art. It's still running" Right, well you know, she had neglected in finding a proper garage to put in the parts she had for it. "And it has great emotional value. So, I put down, pizza one night, and a ride in said piece of art, in at time yet to be determined"

"Hrm. I'll see your pizza, and raise you a ride in an -actual- piece of art, a '61 Ford. Side pocket," he replies before sending the ivory ball into one rail, then another, then the eight, sending it neatly into the indicated pocket. The cue ball keeps on going, approaching the corner just fast enough to inspire a moment of hope before coming to rest on the lip.

"If you have one, in this city that hasn't been stolen yet, and looks decent" Her brown eyes track the ball as it goes around and around and then sinks the 8 home without downing the cue ball. There's a wry laugh, and just in time as it looks like a tow truck driver is coming in the front door. From her back pocket, she produces a card holder, simple metal affair and produces a cream colored stockcard from it, simple raised black lettering denoting Dahl Consultations. "Call there. You'll get me. Ride's on you, the pizza's on me"

"Fine," he replies, taking the card and tucking it into his breast pocket. "But if you're not playing chauffeur, the gas is on you, too." He glances to the door and the driver before looking back to her, "guy's got great timing."

"I can't let you be seen in my car. Like you said, you'd show me a real piece of art. I'll pay for the gas. Give me a call and i'll meet you someplace to get picked up in style" She slides her stick into the racks, wiping her hands on her jeans. "That he does Lou. That he does. Have a good night. Don't drive yourself home" A gesture to the pitcher before she gathers her keys and starts heading for the driver.

"I'm thinkin' subway," he replies with a nod before raising his hand in a farewell wave. "Besides, I'm parked well across town anyhow."

"Subway's good velvet Elvis" She calls across the bar, much to some of the laughter. "You plan what you want on your pizza" and with that, the brunette, Minea Dahl it says on the card, disappears out the door with the stout tow truck driver. Of course, only after she's paid for his next pitcher of beer.

January 3rd: Prelude to Armageddon, Part II
January 3rd: Little Bird
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