[ The balls have a satisfying weight and smoothness. An idle thought about ballistics crosses his mind, is un-idly crossed out, and he refocuses on helping Ben set up. ]
Sure.
[ His agreement is neutral, but ever so slightly soft. When he picks up one of the equally brand new pool cues, he's struck by rare self-consciousness as he tries to remember exactly what he's supposed to do first. It makes him look younger, although he doesn't know it.
He's pretty sure chalk comes first, so he collects a fresh cube from the top of the rack, setting the tip of the cue into the unused divot and spinning it. ]
And whatever we sink first decides which balls are ours, right? [ He asks, lifting the rack off the felt. ] Stripes or solids.
[ He doesn't wait for an answer before he stoops over the table, tenting his fingers to line up the cue with the white ball. He can almost smell the mustiness of his uncle's basement, remember him leaning on the edge of the table with a half-finished beer and fond eyes.
This isn't anything like that. ]
Here goes nothing.
[ He mutters, sounding more like the teenager he actually is than he has at any point before. He exhales and slides the cue forwards, sending the white ball careening forward to slam into the point of the pyramid. The balls go spinning off with moderate force, bouncing off the walls, and Krouse straightens up with a tiny, crookedly surprised smile. None of them go into a pocket, but he's pretty sure that's allowed. He glances sideways at Ben to make sure it is. ]
no subject
Sure.
[ His agreement is neutral, but ever so slightly soft. When he picks up one of the equally brand new pool cues, he's struck by rare self-consciousness as he tries to remember exactly what he's supposed to do first. It makes him look younger, although he doesn't know it.
He's pretty sure chalk comes first, so he collects a fresh cube from the top of the rack, setting the tip of the cue into the unused divot and spinning it. ]
And whatever we sink first decides which balls are ours, right? [ He asks, lifting the rack off the felt. ] Stripes or solids.
[ He doesn't wait for an answer before he stoops over the table, tenting his fingers to line up the cue with the white ball. He can almost smell the mustiness of his uncle's basement, remember him leaning on the edge of the table with a half-finished beer and fond eyes.
This isn't anything like that. ]
Here goes nothing.
[ He mutters, sounding more like the teenager he actually is than he has at any point before. He exhales and slides the cue forwards, sending the white ball careening forward to slam into the point of the pyramid. The balls go spinning off with moderate force, bouncing off the walls, and Krouse straightens up with a tiny, crookedly surprised smile. None of them go into a pocket, but he's pretty sure that's allowed. He glances sideways at Ben to make sure it is. ]