  Pandora's Box - Pool Hall The ceiling is set high with churning metal fans. The blades churn a thick haze of smoke from cheap cigars and the pungent aroma of sweat mixed with stale spilt beer. The bar runs the length of the far wall much like a saloon in an old western. A polished brass foot-rail gleams in the fading light of the occasional dropped match and guttering cigarette butt. Many of the patrons watch each other with looks of a cautious calculation. Not only are those opposite the pool table viewed with suspicion, but also the few one might mistake as a friend.
A darkness of nefarious deed reigns within the shadows as the lighting illuminates from the mouth down. It is as though the dark conspires to hide the intent deep within the eyes from the light of revelation. Then again the windows to these souls only come up black. NIGHTZONE Contents: Hana Tasha Jesse Pool Table Chuck Hiro opens the door and walks into the pool hall. Hiro has arrived. Hana sits at the bar, just receiving what might be a screwdriver from the bartender.
Compton stomps in. Heavy Parka drawn up about his head and his boots are leaving slushy prints behind him. Under his arm is tucked a long leather case and behind him is the walking freak show of Hiro. A pool hall is not the kind of place for someone like Hiro to hang out. At least, not while wearing a plaid skirt and fuzzy cat ears. Hiro can be spotted loitering somewhere behind Compton and to his left, fumbling with the cellophane around a pack of cigarettes.
Hiros desc: Bad posture is to blame for Hiro's diminutive presence: with shoulders slumped, he cruises closer to 5'6 than his modest 5'9. The polite might refer to him as 'big boned' or 'chubby': the fact remains, however, that he simply looks like a pig. Short, tousled black hair, a plain face that edges towards the porcine, and silent, placid brown eyes distorted to largeness by corrective lenses. His double-helix bears the tags of half a dozen southeast asian cultures, with a smattering of anglo-mutt thrown in on this side of the pacific. There is only one thing in this world more distressing than a convention geek, and that is a convention geek in drag. Put sailor moon and trinity in the same blender, with a healthy helping of geek, and this is the bleak result.
A dead-black jacket of some synthetic material reminiscent of kevlar: high collar, long sleeved, and designed -- obviously -- for the female form. The logo, stencilled across the back, is a yellow and black 'electric hazard' symbol: paired with the slogan: "NO CONTACT". The collar, however, is broad enough to reveal the sailor's blouse beneath, along with the red necktie tied in an elaborate bow. His skirt is just shy of knee-length, checkered green and black plaid, and -- despite the knee-socks -- neatly reveals the fact that he has failed to shave for this role. The patent leather mary jane shoes almost top it all off. Discounting the furry cat ears.
Jesse, on his stool, turns lazily to the door as it opens. Compton's bulk, encased though it may be in a parka, is given a nod and a tug of his hat brim. Then, when the porcine satellite orbits out of eclipse, Jesse snorts. Beer is spat, and his choke is mostly laugh, though a halfhearted attempt is made, mostly for decorum's sake, to turn its end into a cough. "E Rock. " Another cough.
"'ro. " He sniffs. "Nice Judy. " Tasha opens the door and walks out onto the stoop. Tasha has left. Compton stops and doffs his hood back and glares at Hiro, "Don't get us kicked out, I wanna actually play some pool this time, and um... yer lopsided.
" Hana says something long in a language you don't understand. Hana lazily looks over her shoulder, already narrow Asian eyes narrowing half a stop more. Her lips suddenly form a pearl-showing smile and, as if she's biting off the words-- She says something short in a language you don't understand. rare to see this girl mirthful; no small thing, her laughing. A moment's pause; Hiro squints nastily at Compton, and idly adjusts the tilt of his faux-breasts. They were, in fact, lopsided.
"Eat shit and die," he replies, to both greeting and admonition. Cellophane crumples idly in his fist. Jesse's thumb and pinky splay out, tracing circles in the air. Hang loose, he gestures. Then he taps two fingers over his heart. "'ro.
Sport me a square. " He glances at Hana, and shrugs with a faint grin. "It's his medication. All that television. Youth of today. What kind of messages are we sending to our children?
Return to old time values. Trickle down morality. Prayer in cartoons. " Compton in almost mindless motions done to the point of trance, Compton flashes a peace sign and taps his left breast with two fingers. A flashed V of index and middle fingers in Jesse's direction -- that's just too much -- and Hiro taps a cigarette out of the pack, offering it between the same two. "Keene cheated," is his explanation -- for what?
-- as he slumps onto a barstool. "Nobody said we were allowed to cheat. " Well, Hana is cheered for the night. She looks at Jesse, still smiling. She's the kind of girl who's a pretty bitch, but even better when smiling. She rests her elbows on the bar.
Hiro takes a seat at the barstools. Hiro joins you. The stool complains loudly as Compton deposits his ass on it, "Suck it up sissy. Cheating is always allowed. What good would the rules be if it wasn't. " and shrugs out of his coat and tucks the case under the bar, "Hey JT.
Whatcha cock?". The last part in a horribly fake cockney accent. "Monkey came through with some weird DMT analogue bonded to knockoff oxides. " The film canister from his satchel is removed once more and slid down the bar. "The oxides dehydrate you something fucking awful, though. " Jesse wags his beer side to side.
Jesse stands, frowning, and sets the beer down. Without a word, and rubbing at the side of his head, he wanders towards the bathroom. Hana, after a moment, slowly turns to look more closely at Hiro. Maybe something's caught her ears, because it's not her eyes that are so curious anymore. A narrow sideways look at the film canister; Hiro tugs his own cigarette free from the pack, fits it between his lips, and lights it in a distinctly unladylike manner. Women tuck their elbow in when they light a cigarette.
He needs to work on his schtick, obviously. Compton peers at the film can for a few seconds like it's a landmine he just stepped on. Slowly he turns it over and prys the two halves apart an inch and peers inside. Compton smirks at what he's found. A youthful twinkle in the old guys eyes. He looks over at Hiro and beams, "Gimme yer smokes Stince, and order me a rye.
Yer gonna love this. " Hana turns her back to the bar, tearing her gaze off Hiro at the same time. A couple of drunks play pool nearby, and she watches them, without actually paying attention. Her mirth is gone, once again. The packet of cigarettes was set down on the bar; Hiro offhandedly swats them down to Compton. "Why the hell are we in this shithole, anyway?
" he asks. "Maybe being gangraped was part of the bet," Hana says, apparently to Hiro, though she's looking another way. "Jesse. " Compton grumbles back, "Hes got shit and you need to get out more. Kenne has me on orders to get you laid, so..." swivels on his stool and makes a grand gesture to the room at large, "We come to where the skank lies in ambush. " That said he turns back to his tin can and the pack of cigarettes.
"I'm not going to get laid dressed like sailor sasquatch," mumbles Hiro, pointedly ignoring Hana's unpleasant commentary. He hits on his cigarette. Hana glances briefly at Compton, again at Hiro, and thankfully doesn't comment this time. Opening the pack, he pulls the foil off the untouched side of the pack. Canadian cigarette packs come with umpteen layers of packaging: Plastic cellophane, cardboard, foil etc. The large packs hold 25 cigs each unevenly divided in to a 'small' side and a 'large' side.
Unspoken smokers law says you smoke the small side first. This allows one to hold on to more foil longer, which is the most useful part of the pack. Excellent for leftovers. Compton takes the foil from the large side and flattens it out on the bar. Next two cigarettes are drawn from the small side and placed next to the foil. He closes the pack and slides it back to Hiro.
As for Hiro, he seems pretty fucking out of it. Mind, one has to be pretty fucking out of it in order to traverse public areas dressed like sailor moon. He smokes his cigarette, and offers no further commentary towards Compton; eyes fixed on the ceiling ward curl of smoke. Between calloused thumb and forefinger Compton starts to roll the first of the two cigarettes above the foil. Slowly and gently emptying the contents. When he's done with this he starts again with the second cigarette and when finished places the two empty shells carefully aside.
"I need to powder my nose," mumbles Hiro, getting to his feet. He leaves his cigarettes -- and Compton's drink -- and ambles off towards the restroom. Hana glances over after Hiro, curious to see which bathroom he goes in. "If I were him," she says to herself, "I'd definitely choose women's. " Hiro does, in fact, slip into the women's restroom. "But that's unfortunate for the girls," Hana adds, turning back to her drink, and the very bad game between drunks nearby.
Compton glances over his shoulder at the mongoloid tranny and then sideways at Hana, "You'd be doing me a favour if you followed him toots. The guy could use some help. " "Yeah, even if I were willing to climb that mountain, I wouldn't do it in a public bathroom. " Her accent, once she gets to the r's, is clearly Japanese. Compton' obviously disapointed tries one more time, "Don't use the bathroom then... The guys got cash...
Okay, I got the cash and I'm paying. Just fix him up. " Yes, he really did just say that. From the looks of him, his type, this is something he does often. Never the less he nonchalantly goes back to his ministrations on his now disemboweled cigarettes. Hana stares, but it's probably not the kind of stare Compton might usually get when making this kind of request.
Maybe Hana's surprised that he dared, so surprised she's forgotten to be pissed. "Have you got 75,000? " she asks, flatly. Maybe she's not offended. Compton blinks! Okay, that took him a little off guard, "Jesus honey?
You for real? " Hanas Desc The words poised, graceful, and subdued describe the appearance of this young Asian best. Bone-china skin covers a sculpted body, though her svelte frame is more understated than buxom. Slender limbs seem to lack almost as much muscle as fat, while finely detailed features work with the hue of her skin to give her something of the appearance of a Childrens Day doll. However, whereas a doll is painted to give the impression of life, this girl goes without makeup, without colour, and it rather suits her-- the signs of life are within her eyes, rather than the colour of her face. Thus, while the sculpture of her cheekbones, her chin, and the fine curve of her nose are precise and delicate, most striking are her eyes.
A scheme of a pale moon reflected in night-black waters, they are a liquid and true black. While her expression seems pacific, or at least composed, her eyes alter the effect with a smouldering, dark quality, a quiet, restrained passion that sparks and flares. She smiles but rarely, and it is an odd smile, evocative of an Eastern court, where reserve and discipline dictate the expression of emotion. Her hair is as stark a black as her eyes, and holds to the ethnic paradigm by being exquisitely fine and straight, somewhat past her shoulders. Her hands keep with the theme of the rest of her body. On the left hand, they end in smooth, short nails, while on the right they have been filed to sharp points.
She's wearing a t-shirt, not too lose but not tight. It's white, with a very bishounen looking man swinging a sabre style sword, his hair flying. For those who know either Japanese or the Anime, Vampire Hunter D A pair of loose, dark pants hang low on her hips, the top just covered by the end of her shirt. Upon her head she wears a pair of old English driving goggles, the strap going over her hair as if they were just raised. Over the t-shirt, a long, blackish coat tapers into the waist and thin flares a little at the hips, in a very stylish design. Faux grey fur lines the cuffs and encircles her long white neck, and the coat remains open.
Upon her feet she wears some strange black shoes of dull leather. Her hands are in blackish leather gloves. Carrying: Cricket Phone "Do I look cheap? " Hana asks, again, as if biting the words in half before they leave her mouth. You say, Well, yes. It's about then that Hiro seems to materialize from the bathroom, wedging a packet into the side pocket of his jacket.
He moves with the careful, exaggerated nongrace of someone who is deeply and properly out of their mind. "Hey, Compy," he mumbles, slumping back onto his still-warm barstool. "Lemme put it this way honey. Yer not a biker, playing pool or drinking booze in a bar. That means one thing, easy snatch. " Compton says this as he turns back to concentrating on his freeform sculpture now that Hiro has returned.
He prys the tin open and draws a tiny vial out. The kind perfume samples come in at Sears. "Is that some weird Canadian culture thing? " Hana asks. "You can't be serious. Empress Keiko over there's wearing a skirt, what kind of invitation is -that-?
" Hiro retrieves his still-smouldering cigarette from the ashtray, hits it, and promptly stubs it out. It only had one drag left in it, anyway. If he's aware of the ongoing conversation, it's only in the most distant way. He gives Compton and Hana the sideways hairy eyeball. You say, "Hey, my friends kinks aint the point. He needs help.
All I'm asking you to do is help him. " "Well, I'm not his type. trust me, " Hana says, picking up her glass of orange juice again. "I'll show you.." After taking a drink, she sets her glass down. "Hey, Chingaku, are you up for a challenge? " Hana seems to be addressing Hiro.
Compton takes the vial he's been palming and snaps the head off. Letting the powdery contents settle on the piled tobacco. With practiced care he mixes the substance in to the shredded leaf adfter discarding the container on the floor. Glassy. Hiro's eyes, that is -- that dull, disconnected sheen. "Pardon me?
" he asks, attention gradually tracking to fix on Hana. "Oh come on," Hana says, turning back to Compton. "I don't think he's even got a mountain to climb. " "Just takes a little encouragement. " Compton says over his shoulder, paying more attention to his work on the bar. Hiro sniffs sharply, scrubbing at his nose with the back of a hand.
"Whatever, man," he mumbles, fumbling for a fresh cigarette from his pack. "Hey, uh, why are we in a pool hall? " Hana must be profoundly bored, or maybe high off the fumes from someone else's drugs, because she rises and walks around Compton's seat. Assuming the glassy eyed mongrel is not quick enough to escape what she does next-- "Ta score. " Compton says as he turns back around. Two shortened cigarettes in his hand now with the filters removed.
"Here Judy, smoke this. " Hiro isn't even looking at Hana; he's now staring up at the proffered cigarette, and pawing at it in an attempt to secure it for himself. He's not quick on the uptake at the moment. Compton daftly grins at Hana now, placing the resurrected cigarette on his lips - whatever jag he was on before now lost that he has accomplished his primary goal of birthing a spliff. Hana's going to have to use a lot of mouthwash after this. She puts her right hand, sharp, evil nails pinning, around Hiro's chubby chin, jerking his face firmly towards herself as she tilts her head, leaning over, and gives Hiro a deep, deep kiss.
With tongue. Hiro paged Hana with 'Uh, Hiro just came back from slamming a couple caps of heroin, and you just startled the shit out of him He's going to be very sick. How do you want to handle this?'. " It's a pretty classic response. Normally this breed of situation only occurs in web comics. Geek dresses in sailor moon drag, ends up in pool hall, and is attacked by a random asian girl after his sidekick makes dispairaging comments.
"Mmmphgh," Hiro gurgles. He's obviously not sure if he's being raped or murdered, but he definitely seems to think it's one of the two. "Mmmmphgh! " Oh. "MMmmmMPHGH! " Oh.
Well. And that -- that's when the stream of greasy vomit erupts from between his lips. Thank god Hana is fast on her feet. Sensing some sort of...something rising in Hiro, though it's not quite the expected eruption, she sidesteps, and just gets out of the way of that revolting stream. She keeps going, though, just for good measure, uttering a soft but articulate word in Japanese. "Told you I wasn't his type," she says, flatly, to Compton.
Wild-eyed, Hiro manages to stumble while sitting down. This takes a great deal of doing. He retches until all that remains is dry heaves, and manages -- somehow -- to get off the stool and remain on his feet. "Hrrr," he complains, audibly, before stumbling off towards the exit; cigarette still in hand. Compton is convulsing with kept laughter. His head and ears are turning bright red as tears well up in to his eyes.
He still manages to keep the ciggy on his lip and even snake Hiro's lighter form the bar to light it it, "Oh well..." he wheezes, "Was a good try. " he manages between chuckles. Stepping over the steaming pile of Hiro's stomach he collects his coat and the tin and stumbles after Hiro still laughing, "Wait up kid! " he calls as he leaves the place behind. "If you think that was free, you're mistaken," Hana says, making no move to follow. "But don't worry, i'll collect later.
" Hiro stumbles out into the street, leaving staring bikers in his wake. Roll credits. 
